Dear, do not love!
Do not love _me_, keep still aloof, above!
While you and Love in far-off glory stand
Clear sounds the voice, and harp responds to hand.
But if you loved me--if you came quite near
And set Love 'mid life's common things and dear--
Mute would the voice be, Love would be too fair
To waste upon the wide world's empty air,
And, songless, I should droop and vainly pine--
I could not sing of Love if you were mine!

_E. Nesbit._

[Illustration.]



VIII.


I know the way she went
Home with her maiden posy,
For her feet have touch'd the meadows
And left the daisies rosy.

_Tennyson._

[Illustration]