, thine arms are near,
Nearer now than e'er of old._

THE RETURN

O, hedges white with laughing may,
O, meadows where we met,
This heart of mine will break to-day
Unless ye, too, forget.

Breathe not so sweet, breathe not so sweet,
But swiftly let me pass
Across the fields that felt her feet
In the old time that was.

A year ago, but one brief year,
O, happy flowering land,
We wandered here and whispered there,
And hand was warm in hand.

O, crisp white clouds beyond the hill,
O, lavrock in the skies,
Why do ye all remember still
Her bright uplifted eyes.

Red heather on the windy moor,
Wild thyme beside the way,
White jasmine by the cottage door,
Harden your hearts to-day.

Smile not so kind, smile not so kind,
Thou happy haunted place,
Or thou wilt strike these poor eyes blind
With her remembered face.

REMEMBRANCE

O, unforgotten lips, grey haunting eyes,
Soft curving cheeks and heart-remembered brow,
It is all true, the old love never dies;
And, parted, we must meet for ever now.

We did not think it true! We did not think
Love meant this universal cry of pain,
This crown of thorn, this vinegar to drink,
This lonely crucifixion o'er again.

Yet through the darkness of the sleepless night
Your tortured face comes meekly answering mine;
Dumb, but I know why those mute lips are white;
Dark, but I know why those dark lashes shine.

O, love, love, love, what death can set us free
From this implacable ghost of memory?

A PRAYER

Only a little, O Father, only to rest
Or ever the night comes and the eternal sleep,
Only to rest a little, a little to weep
In the dead love's pitiful arms, on the dead love's breast,

A little to loosen the frozen fountains, to free
Rivers of blood and tears that should slacken the pulse
Of this pitiless heart, and appease these pangs that convulse
Body and soul; oh, out of Eternity,

A moment to whisper, only a moment to tell
My dead, my dead, what words are so helpless to say--
The dreams unuttered, the prayers no passion could pray,
And then--the eternal sleep or the pains of hell,

I could welcome them, Father, gladly as ever a child
Laying his head on the pillow might turn