keep it aglow.

For when it was Lammastide two before this,
When freshening my face after freshening my lilies,
A door opened quickly, and down fell a kiss,
The lips unforeseen were my passionate Willie's.

My Willie was travel-worn, Willie was cold,
And I might not keep but a dear lock of hair.
I clad him in silk and I decked him with gold,
But welcome and fondness were choked in despair.

I follow the wheels, and he turns with a sob,
We fold our mute hands on the death of the hour;
For heart-breaking virtues and destinies rob
The soul of her nursling, the thorn of her flower.

The lad's mind is rooted, his passion red-fruited,
The head I caressed is another's delight;
And I, though I stray through the year sorrow-suited,
At Lammas, for Willie's sake, robe me in white.

TO TWO YOUNG LADIES

There are, I've read, two troops of years,
One troop is called the teens;
They bring sweet gifts to little dears,
Ediths and Geraldines.

The others have no certain name,
Though children of the sun,
They come to wrinkled men, and claim
Their treasures one by one.

There is a hermit faint and dry,
In things called rhymes he dabbles,
And seventeen months have heard him sigh
For Cissy and for Babbles.

Once, when he seemed to be bedridden,
These girls said, "Make us lines,"
He tried to court, as he was bidden,
His vanished Valentines.

Now, three days late, yet ere they ask,
He's meekly undertaken
To do his sentimental task,
Philandering, though forsaken.

I pace my paradise, and long
To show it off to Peris;
They come not, but it can't be wrong
To raise their ghosts by queries.

Is Geraldine in flowing robes?
Has Edith rippling curls?
And do their ears prolong the lobes
Weighed down with gold and pearls?

And do they know the verbs of France?
And do they play duetts?
And do they blush when led to dance?
And are they called coquettes?

Oh, Cissy, if the heartless year
Sets our brief loves asunder!
Oh, Babbles, whom I daren't call dear!
What can I do but wonder?

I wonder what you're both become,
Whether you're children still;
I pause with fingers twain and thumb
Closed on my faltering quill;

I pause to think how