Seven--no more.'

Then Echo woke--and spoke
'No more--no more,'
And a wave broke
On the sad shore
When Echo said
'No more,'

Nought else made reply,
Nor land, nor loch, nor sky
Did any comfort try,
But the wave spread
Echo's faint tone
Alone,
All down the desolate shore,
'No more--no more.'




'IF I FORGET THEE, O JERUSALEM.'


Out of the melancholy that is made
Of ebbing sorrow that too slowly ebbs,
Comes back a sighing whisper of the reed,
A note in new love-pipings on the bough,
Grieving with grief till all the full-fed air
And shaken milky corn doth wot of it,