empt to improve it, or extract from it a different use. The author
decides in the affirmative. A rose is best "graced," not by reproducing
its petals in precious stones for a king to preserve; not by plucking it
to "smell, kiss, wear," and throw away; but by simply leaving it where
it grows. A "pretty" woman is most appropriately treated when nothing is
asked of her, but to be so.

"IN A YEAR" is a wondering and sorrowful little comment on a man's
shallowness and inconstancy.

"WOMEN AND ROSES" is the impression of a dream, and both vague and
vivid, as such impressions are. The author _dreams_ of a "red
rose-tree," with three roses upon it: one withered, the second
full-blown, the third still in the bud; and, floating round each, a
generation of women: those famed in the past; the loved and loving of
the present; the "beauties yet unborn." He casts his passion at the feet
of the dead; but they float past him unmoved. He enfolds in it the
glowing forms of the living; but these also elude him. He pours it into
the budding life, which may thus respond to his own; but the procession
of maidens drifts past him too. They all circle unceasingly round their
own rose.

"BEFORE" and "AFTER" are companion poems, which show how differently an
act may present itself in prospect and in remembrance, whether regarded
in its abstract justification, or in its actual results. The question is
that of a duel; and "BEFORE" is the utterance of a third person to whom
the propriety of fighting it seems beyond a doubt. "A great wrong has
been done. The wronged man, who is also the better one, is bound to
assert himself in defence of the right. If he is killed, he will have
gained his heaven. For his slayer, hell will have begun: for he will
feel the impending judgment, in the earth which still offers its fruits;
in the sky, which makes no sign; in the leopard-like conscience[96]
which leers in mock obeisance at his side, ready to spring on him
whenever the moment comes. There has been enough of delay and
extenuation. Let the culprit acknowledge his guilt, or take its final
consequences."

The duel is fought, but it is the guilty one who falls; and "AFTER"
gives the words of his adversary--his boyhood's friend--struck with
bitter remorse for what he has done. As the man who wronged him lies
wrapped in the majesty of death, his offence dwindles into
insignificance; and the survivor can only feel how disproportionate has
been the punishm