The Kiss



I hoped that he would love me,
And he has kissed my mouth,
But I am like a stricken bird
That cannot reach the south.

For tho' I know he loves me,
To-night my heart is sad;
His kiss was not so wonderful
As all the dreams I had.




November



The world is tired, the year is old,
The little leaves are glad to die,
The wind goes shivering with cold
Among the rushes dry.