No secrets now, the bud's a scar;
No promises,--this is the end!
Ah, Dearest, I have seen thee bend
Above thy flowers as one who knew
The dying wood should bloom anew.
Come, let us sleep, Perchance
God's countenance,
Like thine above thy flowers, smiles through
The night upon us two.




VERSES



MY FRIEND

I have a friend who came,--I know not how,
Nor he. Among the crowd, apart,
I feel the pressure of his hand, and hear
In very truth the beating of his heart.

My soul had shut the door of abode,
So poor it seemed for any guest
To tarry there a night,--until he came,
Asking, not entertainment, only rest.

Our hands were empty,-his and mine alike,