oars, and the joy that gushes,
Are lost for ever to you and me.

There are dawns of amber and amethyst;
There are purple mountains, and pale pink seas
That flush to crimson where skies have kist;
But out of life there is something missed--
Something better than all of these.

We miss the faces we used to know,
The smiling lips and the eyes of truth.
We miss the beauty and warmth and glow
Of the love that brightened our long ago,
And ah! we miss our youth.

ON RAINY DAYS

On rainy days old dreams arise,
From graves where they have lonely lain;
With wan white cheeks and mournful eyes,
They press against the window pane.
One dream is bolder than the rest:
She enters at the door and stays,
A welcome yet unbidden guest
On rainy days.

On rainy days, my dream and I
Turn back the hands of memory's books:
We sup on pleasures long gone by--
We drink of unforgotten brooks;
We ransack garrets of the Past,
We sing old songs, we play old plays;
While hurrying Time looks on aghast,
On rainy days.

On rainy days, my ghostly dreams
Come clothed in garments like the mist,
But through that vapoury veiling, gleams
The lustrous eyes my lips have kissed.
A radiant head leans on my heart,
We walk in well-remembered ways;
But oh! the sorrow when we part,
On rainy days.

GERALDINE

Just as the sun went bathing in a sea
Of liquid amber, flecked with caps of gold, I told
The sweet old story unto Geraldine, my Queen,
Who long hath made the whole of life for me.

But though she smiled upon me yesterday,
And heaven seemed near because she was so kind, I find
She held me but as one of many men; and then
Dismissed me in her proud, yet gracious way.

Ah, Geraldine! my lady of sweet arts,
There waits for thee not very far away, a day
When thou shalt waken out of tranquil sleep, and weep
Such bitter tears as spring from anguished hearts.

Thou shalt look in thy mirror with dismay
To find upon each feature of thy face, the trace
Of time, the lover who shall follow thee, and see
Thy rare youth slipping suddenly away.

So self-assured, so certain of thy power,
It shall come on thee with a swift surprise. Thine eyes
Appalled, shall fall upon each certain, strange, sad change,
And rob thee of thy triumph in an hour.

And when that day shall come, as come it must,
You then will think of me, sweet Geraldine, my Queen,
And of the faithful heart there