Tertius and Henry van Dyke, January, 1909.

THE WINDOW

All night long, by a distant bell,
The passing hours were notched
On the dark, while her breathing rose and fell,
And the spark of life I watched
In her face was glowing or fading,--who could
tell?--
And the open window of the room,
With a flare of yellow light,
Was peering out into the gloom,
Like an eye that searched the night.

Oh, what do you see in the dark, little window, and
why do you fear?
"I see that the garden is crowded wtth creeping forms
of fear:
Little white ghosts in the locust-tree, that wave in the
night-wind's breath,
And low in the leafy laurels the lurking shadow of
death."

Sweet, clear notes of a waking bird
Told of the passing away
Of the dark,--and my darling may have heard;
For she smiled in her sleep, while the ray
Of the rising dawn spoke joy without a word,
Till the splendor born in the east outburned