A glance may into being start
Vain hopes that nevermore may sleep.

The quiet touch when hands are clasped
Would seemingly no sense impart,
Yet may it wake a deathless theme
And send it quivering to the heart.
And thus may kindred spirits feel,
Though tone of voice be never heard,
The sweet impassioned eloquence,
The magic of unspoken words.




O! TAKE AWAY YOUR FLOWERS.

O! take your pale camellias back;
Their soft leaves, waxen white
And odorless, too ill accord
With my dark mood to-night.

I do not want your hot-house flowers,
They're like the love you give--
A something tame and passionless
That breaths but does not live.

You take my hand as though you feared
Your clasp were over-bold,
Your kiss falls light at flake of snow,