pring!

Saida

We passed along the high-road, you and I,
Though I remember not the place nor when;
Only the wonder of your face, and then
That you passed by.

But that was long ago, and I forget;
Perhaps 'twere better that I went alone,
You might not e'er have loved me had you known,
And yet, and yet--

In Arcady

Although 'tis but a memory,
Still in the days of long ago
We tended sheep in Arcady.

Then were we both of fancy free
And laughing Youth had much to show,
Although 'tis but a memory.

Again the pasture lands we see
Where in the golden summer glow
We tended sheep in Arcady.

And hear the tender harmony
Of shepherd pipes that softly blow,
Although 'tis but a memory.

Nor thought of any end had we
As through the grasses to and fro
We tended sheep in Arcady.

So, what if life now empty be,
Of all the past this do we know,
Although 'tis but a memory,
We tended sheep in Arcady!

The Summer Rain

As one who listens to the summer rain
Against the roof when all the night is still,
Save for the wind beneath the window-sill,
Crooning its homely, comforting refrain,--
And listening feels that neither joy nor pain
Can trouble now--only the faint sweet thrill
Of drowsiness and peace and rest until
The barque glides softly into sleep's domain;

So I, whose empty way leads wandering
Between high garden-walls that hide the sun,
Hear sometimes on the breeze a simple strain
Of an old song you once were wont to sing--
And then forgetting all, I seem as one
Who listens spell-bound to the summer rain.

Impression

A little stone o'ercrept with moss,
And red wild roses flaunting by,
A wistful breeze that seems to sigh
Where the tall grasses toss.

To sigh for one who went away,
Thus it is writ upon the stone--
Nothing can ever make atone
And tears shall fall for aye.

Oh, irony of human vow,
Even the stone is crumbling too,
And tears,--none save the evening dew,
For who remembers now?

Derelicts

A year, a year, and then to miss
That which was all in all for aye;
O Love as fleeting as your kiss,
O Love forever and a day,
To this.

How such a change in one short year,
I cannot, cannot understand;
Oh, why to cast upon Love's bier,
Whose name was written in t