he face of a year-old pain
Looking at me with a smile half tender.

With a smile half tender, and yet all sad,
Into each hour of the mild September
It comes, and finding my life grown glad
Looks down in my eyes, and says 'Remember.'

Says 'Remember,' and points behind
To days of sorrow, and tear-wet lashes;
When joy lay dead and hope was blind,
And nothing was left but dust and ashes.

Dust and ashes and vain regret,
Flames fanned out, and the embers falling.
But the sun of the saddest day must set,
And hope wakes ever with Springtime's calling.

With Springtime's calling the pulses thrill;
And the heart is tuned to a sweeter measure.
For never a green Spring crossed the hill
That came not laden with some new pleasure.

Some new pleasure that brings content;
And the heart looks up with a smile of gladness,
And wonders idly when sorrow went
Out of the life that seemed all sadness.

That seemed all sadness, and yet grew bright
With colours we thought could tinge it never.
Yet I think the pain though out of sight,
Like the warp of the carpet, is there for ever.

There for ever, and by and by
When the woof wears thin, or draws asunder,
We see the sombre threads that lie
Intertwining and twisting under.

Twisting under and binding so
The brighter threads that they may not sever.
Thus the pain of a year ago
Must stay a part of my life for ever.

SO LONG

The dawn grows red in the eastern sky,
(Long, so long is the day,)
And I lean from my lattice and sigh and sigh,
As I watch the night fog creeping by
And vanish over the bay.

The thrush soars up, over green clad hills,
(The day is long, so long;)
Like liquid silver his music spills,
And ever it quivers, and runs, and trills
In a glad sweet burst of song.

Under my window there blooms a rose,
(How long a day can be.)
And I lean and whisper what no soul knows
Of my heart's sorrows and secret woes,
And the red rose sighs, 'Ah me!'

A ship sails into the waiting bay,
(The day is long, alack,)
But what would that matter to me, I pray
If the ship that sailed out yesterday
Should never more come back.

The summer sun rides high and clear,
(The day is long, so long,)
How long it must be ere it grows to a year--
How deep the sorrow that finds no tear,
But only a wail of song.

IF I COULD ONLY WEEP

If I could only weep,
I think sweet help with m