feels the tender thrill of his embrace
Crushing her lilies into flowery lace;
Then sighs and starts, even as though from fright.

Then fleets before her eyes the happy past;
She turns from it with petulant disdain,
And tries to read the future,--but in vain.
Blank are its pages from the first to last.
She hears faint music, smiles, and leaves the room
Just as one rosebud more bursts into bloom.

A Problem.

Give you a problem for your midnight toil,--
One you can study till your hair is white
And never solve and never guess aright,
Although you burn to dregs your midnight oil?
O Sage, I give one that will make you moil.
Just take one weakling little woman's heart.
Prepare your patience, furbish up your art.
How now? Did I not see you then recoil?

Tell me how many times it has known pain;
Tell me what thing will make it feel delight;
Tell me when it is modest, when 'tis vain;
Tell me when it is wrong and when 'tis right:
But tell me this, all other things above,--
Can it feel, Sage, the thing that man calls "Love"?

To Phyllis Reading a Letter.

A smile is curving o'er her creamy cheek,
Her bosom swells with all a lover's joy,
When love receives a message that the coy
Young love-god made a strong and true heart speak
From far-off lands; and like a mountain-peak
That loses in one avalanche its cloy
Of ice and snow, so doth her breast employ
Its hidden store of blushes; and they wreak
Destruction, as they crush my aching heart,--
Destruction, wild, relentless, and as sure
As the poor Alpine hamlet's; and no art
Can hide my agony, no herb can cure
My wound. Her very blush says, "We must part."
Why was it always my fate to endure?

A Rose from her hair.

She gave me a rose from her hair,
And she hid her young heart within it.
I could hardly speak from despair,
Till she gave that rose from her hair,
And leaned out over the stair
With a blush as she stooped to pin it.
She gave me a rose from her hair,
And she hid her young heart within it.

When I told her my Love.

When I told her my love,
She was maidenly shy,
And she bit at her glove.

I gave Cupid a shove;
Yes, I begged him to try,
When I told her my love

What was she thinkin