Nic-noc, nic-noc, nic-noc!




Tear Stains



Tear-marks stain from page to page
This book my fathers left to me, --
So dull that nothing but its age
Were worth its freight across the sea.

But tear stains! When, by whom, and why?
Thus takes my fancy to its wings;
For grief is old, and one may cry
About so many things!




A Prayer



If many years should dim my inward sight,
Till, stirred with no emotion,
I might stand gazing at the fall of night
Across the gloaming ocean;