as the dawn rose red in the East.

IF ONE SHOULD DIVE DEEP

Once more on the beach with the shifting clouds o'er me
(Like the friends of a day),
And the sea all unchanged, like a true friend before me,
How the years flow away,
How the summers go by.

The shifting clouds o'er me, the shifting sands under;
Why need it seem strange,
Why need I feel bitter, and why should I wonder
That hearts, too, should change
As the summers go by.

Down here is the path where we wandered together,
'Neath the midsummer moon.
Her love was sweet as the sweet summer weather,
And left us as soon,
And the summers go by.

The bathers laugh loud in the surf over yonder.
If one should dive deep,
And rise not--no more need he suffer or ponder
O'er losses, or weep,
But sink low and sleep
While the summers go by.

TWO

As I sat in my opera box last night
In a glimmer of gems and a blaze of light,
And smiling that all might see,
This curious thought came all unsought--
That there were _two_ of me.

One who sat in her silk and lace,
With gems on her bosom and smiles on her face,
And hot-house blossoms in her hair,
While her fan kept time to the swaying rhyme
Of the lilting opera air.

And one who sat in the dark somewhere,
With her wan face hid by her falling hair,
And her hands clasped over her eyes;
And the sickening pain of heart and brain
Breathed out in long-drawn sighs.

One in the sheen of her opera suit;
And one who was swathed from head to foot,
In crepe of the blackest dye.
One hiding her heart and playing a part,
And one with her mask thrown by.

But over the voice of the singer there,
The one who sat with a rose in her hair,
Seemed ever to hear the moan
Of the one who kept in the dark and wept
With her desolate heart alone.

NO COMFORT

O mad with mirth are the birds to-day
That over my head are winging.
There is nothing but glee in the roundelay
That I hear them singing, singing.
On wings of light, up, out of sight--
I watch them airily flying.
What do they know of the world below,
And the hopes that are dying, dying?

The roses turn to the sun's warm sky,
Their sweet lips red and tender;
Oh! life to them is a dream of bliss,
Of love, and passion, and splendour.
What know they of the world to-day,
Of hearts that are silently breaking;
Of the human breast, and its great unres