I find her spirit's fragrant influence rife,
Like Mary's precious spikenard sweetening Life.

MATTHEW ARNOLD

He challenged all that came within his ken,
And Error held with steadfast mind aloof.
E'en Truth itself he put upon the proof:
Holding that Light was God's first gift to men.

THE STRANGER

Straying one day amid the leafy bowers,
A Presence passed, masked in a sunny ray,
Tossing behind him carelessly the hours,
As one shakes blossoms from a ravished spray,--
Strewing them far and wide.
Nor glanced to either side.

A-sudden as he strolled he chanced upon
A flower which full within his pathway blew,
White as a lily, modest as a nun,
Sweeter than Lilith's rose in Eden grew--
Her beauty he espied,
Approached and softly sighed.

His breath the blossom stirred and all the air
Grew fragrant with a subtle, rich perfume;
The spiced alleys glowed, the while a rare
And crystal radiance did illume
All the adjacent space
As 't were an angel's face.

Kneeling, he gently laid his glowing lips,
Like softest music on her lips, when came
A thrill that trembled to her petal-tips,
And on the instant, with a sudden flame,
Leaped forth the shining sun,
And Earth and Heaven were one.

"Who art thou?" queried she, "Tell me thy name,
To whom Godlike this Godlike power is given,
That thus for me, without or fear or shame,
But by thy lips' soft touch Greatest Heaven?"
Whilst to his heart she clove,
He whispered, "I am Love."

LOVE

(AFTER ANACREON)

Astray within a garden bright
I found a tiny winged sprite:

He scarce was bigger than a sparrow
And bore a little bow and arrow.

I lifted him up in my arm,
Without a thought of guile or harm;

But merely as it were in play,
With threats to carry him away.

The sport he took in such ill part,
He stuck an arrow in my heart.

And ever since, I have such pain,--
I cannot draw it out again.

And yet, the strangest part is this:
I love the pain as though 't were bliss.

AN OLD REFRAIN

It seems to me as I think of her,
That my youth has come again:
I hear the breath of summer stir
The leaves in the old refrain:
"Oh! my Lady-love! Oh! my Lady-love!
Oh! where can my Lady be?
I will seek my Love, with the wings of a dove,
And pray her to love but me."

The flower-kissed meadows a