"Secretum meum mihi"
(FADED WOMAN'S SONG)



There was a spell of leisure,
No record vouches when;
With honours, praises, pleasure
To womankind from men.

But no such lures bewitched me,
No hand was stretched to raise,
No gracious gifts enriched me,
No voices sang my praise.

Yet an iris at that season
Amid the accustomed slight
From denseness, dull unreason,
Ringed me with living light.



"SACRED TO THE MEMORY"
(MARY H.)



That "Sacred to the Memory"
Is clearly carven there I own,
And all may think that on the stone