But quiet as the falling dew
Was He who went away.

So swift He went, His passing left
A low, bright door in Heaven ajar--
With God it was a covenant,
To man it seemed a star.

I Whispered to the Bobolink

I WHISPERED to the bobolink:
"Sweet singer of the field,
Teach me a song to reach a heart
In maiden armor steeled."

"If there be such a song," sang he,
"No bird can tell its mystery."

I bent above the sweetest rose,
A deeper sweet to stir--
"O Rose," I begged, "what charm will wake
The deep, sweet heart of her?"

"Alas, poor lover," sighed the rose,
"The charm you seek no flower knows."

I wandered by the midnight lake
Where heaven lay confessed
"Tell me," I cried, "what draws the stars
To lie upon your breast?"

The silence woke to soft reply
"When Heaven stoops--demand not why!"

"Alas, sweet maid, love's potent charm
I cannot beg or buy,
I cannot wrest it from the wind
Or steal it from the sky--"

Breathless, I caught her whisper low,
"I love you--why, I do not know!"

You

SLANTING rain and a sky of gray,
Drifting mist and a wind astray,
The leaden end of a leaden day
And you--away!

Light in the west! The sky's pale dome
Gemmed with a star; a scented gloam
Of bursting buds and rain-wet loam
And you--at home!

The Mother

LAST night he lay within my arm,
So small, so warm--a mystery
To which God only held the key--
But mine to keep from fear and harm!

Ah! He was all my own, last night,
With soft, persuasive, baby eyes,
So wondering and yet so wise,
And hands that held my finger tight.

Why was it that he could not stay--
Too rare a gift? Yet who could hold
A treasure with securer hold
Than I, to whom love taught the way?

As with a flood of golden light
The first sun tipped earth's golden rim
So all my world grew bright with him
And with his going fell the night--

O God, is there an angel arm
More strong, more tender than the rest?
Lay Thou my baby on his breast
To keep him safe from fear and harm!

The Vassal

WIND of the North, O far, wild wind
Born of a far, lone sea--
When suns are soft and breezes kind
Why are you kin to me?

Uncounted years above the sea,
Rock-fortressed from its rage,
The fishermen, your fathers, kept
A barren heritage--
Grim as the sea they forced to pay
The sea-toll of their wage.

And lo! The fate which made you hers
And gave