To see the lofty glaciers
Flash in the sun's red glow.
I feel no cold, and yet on high
Their shining spires I see.
Why should I envy Isabelle?
Why should she pity me?

Why should I envy Isabelle
When thus so easily,
Upon a tropic flower's perfume
I float across the sea?



GOOD-BY.


Again I see that May moon shine,
Dost thou remember, soul of mine?
I held your hand in mine, you know,
And as I bent to whisper low,
A tender light was in your eye,
"Sweetheart, good-by, sweetheart, good-by."

There came a time my lips were white
Beneath the pale and cold moonlight,
And burning words I might not speak,
You read, love, in my ashen cheek,
As my whole heart breathed in this one cry,
"Sweetheart, good-by, sweetheart, good-by."