tossed away one day,
Before thy dead sea apples turned to dust.

To dust and ashes, leaving nothing more,
That day will come, my lady, I can wait; and Fate
Shall right my wrongs. Thou smilest, Geraldine, my Queen!
Ah well, so have fair women smiled before.

ONLY IN DREAMS

How strange are dreams. Last night I dreamed about you.
All that old bitterness of loss and pain,
The desolation of my lot without you,
The keen regret, all, all came back again.

Again I faced that terrible old sorrow;
Too numb to weep, too cowardly to pray.
Again the blankness of a dread to-morrow
Filled me with sickly terror and dismay.

I woke in tears; but lo! a moment after,
When every vestige of my dream was fled,
I broke the silence of my room with laughter,
To think sleep had revived a thing so dead.

Thank God, that only in the realms of fancy
Can that old sorrow wake again to strife.
No fate is strong enough--no necromancy--
To make it stir one pulse of my calm life.

My heart is light, my lot is blest without you,
Our early sorrows are not what they seem,
Now in my slumber, if I dream about you
I wake to laugh at such an idle dream.

CIRCUMSTANCE

Talk not to me of souls that do conceive
Sublime ideals, but, deterred by Fate
And bound by circumstances, sit desolate,
And long for heights they never can achieve.

It is not so. That which we most desire,
With _understanding_, we at last obtain,
In part or whole. I hold there is no rain,
No deluge, that can quench a heavenly fire.

Show me thy labour, I straightway will name
The nature of thy thoughts. Who bends the bow,
And lets the arrow from the strained string go,
Strikes somewhere near the object of his aim.

We build our ships from timbers of the brain;
With products of the soul we load the hold;
Where lies the blame if they bring back no gold,
Or if they spring a leak upon the main?

There is no Fate, no Providence, no Chance,
The will is all. So be it thou art pure,
And strong of purpose, thy success is sure;
But fools and sluggards prate of circumstance.

SIMPLE CREEDS

If this were our creed it were creed enough
To keep us thoughtful and make us brave;
On this sad journey o'er pathways rough
That lead us steadily on to the grave.

_Speak no evil_, _and cause no ache_,
_Utter no jest that can pain awake_;
_Guard your actions and bridle your tongue_,
_Word