Gold whose loss bereaves the sun."

Very sad and low said she,
"What is shining hair to me?
When from out the rain-wet mold
Kingcups borrow of its gold
Sweet and sweet 'twill be."

"Love, O Love! your hand is chill
As a snowflake lost in spring,
Wild it flutters--then lies still
As a bird with prisoned wing!"

Sad and patient answered she,
"As a bird I would be free;
As the spring I would find birth
In the sweet, forgetful earth--
Pray you, let it be!"




Joseph


NEVER in all her sweet and holy youth
Seemed she so beautiful! The tired lines
Etch her white face with look so wholly pure
I tremble--dare I speak to her of aught?--
She is so wrapt in silence. Yet her lips