The pestilence, the desert spear,
Smote them; they passed, with none to tell
The names of them who laboured here:
Stark walls and crumbling crucible,
Strait gates, and graves, and ruined well,
Abide, dumb monuments of old,
We know but that men fought and fell,
Like us, like us, for love of Gold.



LOVE'S CRYPTOGRAM



[The author (if he can be so styled) awoke from a restless sleep,
with the first stanza of the following piece in his mind. He has
no memory of composing it, either awake or asleep. He had long
known the perhaps Pythagorean fable of the bean-juice, but
certainly never thought of applying it to an amorous
correspondence! The remaining verses are the contribution of his
Conscious Self!]

ELLE.

I cannot write, I may not write,
I dare not write to thee,
But look on the face of the moon by night,
And my letters shalt thou see.
For every letter that lovers write,