His hand on hers, nor said
A word, hut beckoned on;
For a glorious meaning shone
On the lips that told no tale,
And she followed him, unafraid.

Her friends wept for a space;
Then one said: "Be content;
Surely some good is meant
For her, our Beautiful,--
Some glorious good and full.
Did you not see her face,
Her dear smile, as she went?"




A LONELY MOMENT.

I sit alone in the gray,
The snow falls thick and fast,
And never a sound have I heard all day
But the wailing of the blast,
And the hiss and click of the snow, whirling to and fro.

There seems no living thing
Left in the world but I;
My thoughts fly forth on restless wing,
And drift back wearily,
Storm-beaten, buffeted, hopeless, and almost dead.