t of _her_, who here
Sat with him but yesteryear;
Her, whose presence now seemed near
Stealthily.

And the garden seemed to look
For her coming. Petals shook
On the spot where, with her book,
Oft she sat.--
Suddenly there blew a wind:
And across the garden blind,
Like a black thought in a mind,
Stole a cat.

Lean as hunger; like the shade
Of a dream; a ghost unlaid;
Through the weeds its way it made,
Gaunt and old:
Once 't was _hers_. He looked to see
If _she_ followed to the tree.--
Then recalled how long since she
Had been mold.

_THE CLOSED DOOR_

Shut it out of the heart--this grief,
O Love, with the years grown old and hoary!
And let in joy that life is brief,
And give God thanks for the end of the story.
The bond of the flesh is transitory,
And beauty goes with the lapse of years--
The brow's white rose and the hair's dark glory--
God be thanked for the severing shears!

Over the past, Heart, waste no tears!
Over the past, and all its madness,
Its wine and wormwood, hopes and fears,
That never were worth a moment's sadness.
Here she lies who was part o' its gladness,
Wife and mistress, and shared its woe,
The good of life as well as its badness,--
Look on her face and see if you know.

Is this the face?--yea, ask it slow!--
The hair, the form, that we used to cherish?--
Where is the glory of long-ago?
The beauty we said would never perish.--
Like a dream we dream, or a thought we nourish,
Nothing of earth immortal is:
This is the end however we flourish--
All that is fair must come to this.

_THE LONG ROOM_

He found the long room as it was of old,
Glimmering with sunset's gold;
That made the tapestries seem full of eyes
Strange with a wild surmise:
Glaring upon a Psyche where she shone
Carven of stainless stone,
Holding a crystal heart where many a sun
Seemed starrily bound in one:
And near her, grim in rigid metal, stood
An old knight in a wood,
Groping his way: the bony wreck, that was
His steed, at weary pause.
And over these a canvas--one mad mesh
Of Chrysoprase tints of flesh
And breasts--Bohemian cups, whose glory gleamed
For one who, brutish, seemed
A hideous Troll, unto whose lustful arms
She yielded glad h