Sweet Jessamine's clear depth--when the past, dead,
Mocked him, and wild, waste years forever fled!
_And the moon hangs low in the elm._

Late, late, oh, late beneath the tree stood two!
In awe and anguish wondering: "Is it true?"
Two that were each most like to some wan wraith:
Yet each on each looked with a living faith.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm._

Even to the tree-top sang the wedding-bell;
Even to the tree-top tolled the passing knell.
Beneath it Walt and Jessamine were wed;
Beneath it many a year she lieth dead!
_And the moon hangs low in the elm._

Here stands the great tree still. But age has crept
Through every coil, while Walt each night has kept
The tryst alone. Hark! with what windy might
The boughs chant o'er her grave their burial-rite!
_And the moon hangs low in the elm. _



GRIEF'S HERO.

A youth unto herself Grief took,
Whom everything of joy forsook,
And men passed with denying head,
Saying: "'T were better he were dead."