e
Shrinks to a narrowing path of light;
Further and further with dread I trace
The sure advance of approaching night.

Soon will arrive its twilight pall;
Then, as the potent change is felt,
The fountain's drops will cease to fall
And feathery films refuse to melt.

But still in the solar warmth I wait,
The hand of my lov'd one clasped in mine;
Is that a tear? It is growing late,
And she asks how long the sun will shine.

ON THE PROMENADE

O joyous idler in the sun,
In pity slacken here thy pace!
A lad, whose course is nearly run,
Is watching thee with wistful face.

The glow of health upon thy cheek,
The youthful ardor in thy gait,
Appear to him, so frail and weak,
The bitter irony of Fate.

Thou art to him the vision fair
Of all he once had hoped to be;
What wonder, then, that in despair
His longing glances follow thee?

Let not the gulf too deep appear
Between thy fortune and his own!
Thou didst not see that falling tear,
Nor hear his low, half-stifled moan.

The pang of age compared with youth,
Or hunger with the spendthrift's wealth,
Gnaws not with such a cruel tooth
As that of pain confronting health.

Yet must the strong ship breast the wave,
The wreck lie rotting on the shore;
O hopes that perish in the grave!
O youthful dreams that come no more!

SOLITUDE

Had I but lived when music-loving Pan
Still played his flute amid the whispering reeds,
When through Arcadian groves the dryads ran,
And--symbolizing well man's earlier creeds--
A host of sculptured forms, divinely fair,
Portrayed the gods, and led men's thoughts to prayer,

I would have sought some beautiful retreat,
Remote from cities and the din of men,--
Some tranquil shore where lake and forest meet
By limpid stream or flower-lit, sylvan glen,
And would have reared, where none could e'er intrude,
A shrine to thee, O precious Solitude!

How hath a heedless world neglected thee,
Thou coy divinity, too shy and proud
To sue for followers from those who see
Attraction merely in the strenuous crowd!
For only those can know thee, as thou art,
Who wisely seek and study thee ... apart.

No rapt enthusiast, or mystic sage,
No Asian founder of a faith divine,
No bard, or writer of inspired page
Hath ever failed to worship at thy shrine,
O Nourisher of steadfast self-control,
Of noble thoughts, of loftiness of soul!

Yet no continuous homage dost thou crave,
No anchorite's seclusion wouldst thou ask,
Thou lov'st