You came to me, at the close of day,
Through the candlelight -- when the world was grey --
And dreams of Heaven seemed strangely new. . . .
And I told you, dear, to stay!




THERE ARE SUCH WEARY LITTLE LINES

There are such weary little lines about the mouth of
you,
Such tragic little mirthless lines -- they mock at
dreams come true,
And twist your lips when you would smile, until all
joy is dead,
And I, who want to laugh with you, am fain to
weep instead!

There are such dreary little lines about the mouth of
you,
They make me want to whisper that summer sky is
blue,
And that the rain is like a lance of silver through
the air,
And that the flowers in the lane are growing tall
and fair!

There are such tired little lines about the mouth of
you --