roars
Of the wild Baltic sound within my ears
When to my dreams thy stalwart form appears.

This will the future bring. See! Thou hast given
From out the fulness of thy strength and will
This courage to me. Though the rugged hill
Looms high, and fronts our vision, yet our heaven
(I see it when I sleep) with portals wide
And shining towers, gleams on the farther side.

Song.

"Tshirr!" scolds the oriole
Where the elms stir,
Flaunting her gourd-like nest
On the tree's swaying crest:
"May's here, I cannot rest,
Go away; tshirr!"

"Tshirr!" scolds the oriole
Where the leaves blur,
Giving her threads a jerk,
Spying where rivals lurk,
"May's here, and I'm at work.
Go away, tshirr!"

Misunderstanding.

Spring's face is wreathed in smiles. She had been driven
Hither and thither at the surly will
Of treacherous winds till her sweet heart was chill.
Into her grasp the sceptre has been given
And now she touches with a proud young hand
The earth, and turns to blossoms all the land.

We catch the smile, the joyousness, the pride,
And share them with her. Surely winter gloom
Is for the old, and frost is for the tomb.
Youth must have pleasure, and the tremulous tide
Of sun-kissed waves, and all the golden fire
Of Summer's noontide splendor of desire.

I have forgotten,--for the breath of buds
Is on my temples, if in former days
I have known sorrow; I remember praise,
And calm content, and joy's great ocean-floods,
And many dreams so sweet that, in their place,
We would not welcome even Truth's fair face.

O Man to whom my heart hast leaned, dost know
Aught of my life? Sometimes a strong despair
Enters my soul and finds a lodging there;
Thou dost not know me, and the years will go
As these last months have gone, and I shall be
Still far, still a strange woman unto thee.

I do not blame thee. If there is a fault
Let it be mine, for surely had I tried
The door of my heart's home to open wide
No need had been for even Love's assault.
And yet, methinks, somewhere there is a key
Thou mightest have found, and entered happily.

I am no saint niched in a hallowed wall
For men to worship, but I would compel
A level gaze. You teachers