words can say.

The idle brooks that purl across
The gleaming pebbles and the moss,
We love no less than classic streams--
The Rhines and Arnos of our dreams.

To hear her sing--with folded eyes,
It is, beneath Venetian skies,
To hear the gondoliers' refrain,
Or troubadours of sunny Spain.--

To hear the bulbul's voice that shook
The throat that trilled for Lalla Rookh:
What wonder we in homage bring
Our hearts to her--to hear her sing!

[Illustration]

A VARIATION

I am tired of this!
Nothing else but loving!
Nothing else but kiss and kiss,
Coo, and turtle-doving!
Can't you change the order some?
Hate me just a little--come!

Lay aside your "dears,"
"Darlings", "kings" and "princes!"--
Call me knave, and dry your tears--
Nothing in me winces,--
Call me something low and base--
Something that will suit the case!

Wish I had your eyes
And their drooping lashes!
I would dry their teary lies
Up with lightning-flashes--
Make your sobbing lips unsheathe
All the glitter of your teeth!

Can't you lift one word--
With some pang of laughter--
Louder than the drowsy bird
Crooning 'neath the rafter?
Just one bitter word, to shriek
Madly at me as I speak!

How I hate the fair
Beauty of your forehead!

[Illustration]

How I hate your fragrant hair!
How I hate the torrid
Touches of your splendid lips,
And the kiss that drips and drips!

Ah, you pale at last!
And your face is lifted
Like a white sail to the blast,
And your hands are shifted
Into fists: and, towering thus,
You are simply glorious!

Now before me looms
Something more than human;
Something more than beauty blooms
In the wrath of Woman--
Something to bow down before
Reverently and adore.

[Illustration]

WHERE SHALL WE LAND?

"Where shall we land you, sweet?"--Swinburne.

All listlessly we float
Out seaward in the boat
That beareth Love.
Our sails of purest snow
Bend to the blue below
And to the blue above.
Where shall be land?

We drift upon a tide
Shoreless on every side,
Save where the eye
Of Fancy sweeps far lands
Shelved sloping