When the thousand lamps are blazing
Through the street and lane--
Mimic stars of man's upraising--
Still I linger, fondly gazing
From my window pane!

For, amid the crowds slow passing,
Surging like the main,
Like a sunbeam among shadows,
Through the storm-swept cloudy masses,
Sometimes one bright being passes
'Neath my window pane:
Thus a moment's joy I borrow
From a day of pain.
See, she comes! but--bitter sorrow!
Not until the slow to-morrow,
Will she come again.



AUTUMN FEARS.

The weary, dreary, dripping rain,
From morn till night, from night till morn,
Along the hills and o'er the plain,
Strikes down the green and yellow corn;
The flood lies deep upon the ground,
No ripening heat the cold sun yields,
And rank and rotting lies around
The glory of the summer fields!