that sought after me.
I gave them the passing word--
Ah, why did I give thee more?
I gave thee what could not be heard,
What had not been given before;
The beat of my heart I gave....
And I give thee this flower on my grave.

My face in the flower thou mayst see.
Step lightly across the floor.

AT HOME: CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

When I was dead, my spirit turned
To seek the much-frequented house.
I passed the door, and saw my friends
Feasting beneath green orange-boughs;
From hand to hand they pushed the wine,
They sucked the pulp of plum and peach;
They sang, they jested, and they laughed,
For each was loved of each.

I listened to their honest chat.
Said one, "To-morrow we shall be
Plod-plod along the featureless sands,
And coasting miles and miles of sea."
Said one, "Before the turn of tide
We will achieve the eyrie-seat."
Said one, "To-morrow shall be like
To-day, but much more sweet."

"To-morrow," said they, strong with hope,
And dwelt upon the pleasant way:
"To-morrow," cried they one and all,
While no one spoke of yesterday.
Their life stood full at blessed noon;
I, only I had passed away:
"To-morrow and to-day," they cried;
I was of yesterday.

I shivered comfortless, but cast
No chill across the tablecloth;
I, all-forgotten, shivered, sad
To stay and yet to part how loth:
I passed from the familiar room,
I whom from love had passed away,
Like the remembrance of a guest
That tarrieth but a day.

THE RETURN: MINNA IRVING

I pushed the tangled grass away
And lifted up the stone,
And flitted down the churchyard path
With grasses overgrown.
I halted at my mother's door
And shook the rusty catch--
"The wind is rising fast," she said,
"It rattles at the latch."

I crossed the street and paused again
Before my husband's house,
My baby sat upon his knee
As quiet as a mouse.
I pulled the muslin curtain by,
He rose the blinds to draw--
"I feel a draught upon my back,
The night is cold and raw."

I met a man who loved me well
In days ere I was wed,
He did not hear, he did not see,
So silently I fled.
But when I found my poor old dog,
Though blind and deaf was he,
And feeble with his many years,
He turned and followed me.

THE ROOM'S WIDTH: ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD

I think if I should cross the room,
Far as fear,
Should stand beside you like a thought--