And so, by night, while we were all at rest,
I think the coming sped the parting guest.

1873.



IF ALL THE SKIES


If all the skies were sunshine,
Our faces would be fain
To feel once more upon them
The cooling plash of rain.

If all the world were music,
Our hearts would often long
For one sweet strain of silence.
To break the endless song.

If life were always merry,
Our souls would seek relief,
And rest from weary laughter
In the quiet arms of grief.



WINGS OF A DOVE