Of the uncomforted sad mourning dove,
Whose grief, like mine, seems deep as unavailing,
What will I do with all this wealth of love?

When the sweet rain falls over hills and meadows,
And the tall poplar's silver leaves are wet,
And, like my soul, the world seems draped in shadow,
How shall I hush this passionate regret?

When the wild bee is wooing the red clover,
And the fair rose smiles on the butterfly,
Missing thy smile and kiss, O love, my lover,
Who on God's earth so desolate as I?

My tortured senses new despair will borrow
From those reminders of a vanished day,
That was as full of joy as this of sorrow--
O beautiful, sad summer keep away!

A DIRGE

Death and a dirge at midnight;
Yet never a soul in the house
Heard anything more than the throb and beat
Of a beautiful waltz of Strauss.

Dead, dead, dead, and staring,
With a ghastly smile on its face;
But the world saw only laughing eyes
And roses, and billows of lace.

Floating and whirling together,
Into the beautiful night,
How little you dreamed of the ghastly thing
I was hiding away from your sight.

Meeting your dark eyes' splendour,
Feeling your warm, sweet breath,
How could you know that my passionate heart
Had died a horrible death?

Died in its fever and fervour,
Died in its beautiful bloom;
And that waltz of Strauss was a funeral dirge,
Leading the way to the tomb.

But you held my hand at parting,
And I smiled back a gay good night;
And you never knew of the ghastly corpse
I was hiding away from your sight.

Yet whenever I hear the Danube--
Under its pulsing strain,
I catch the wail of the funeral dirge,
And my heart dies over again.

NOT ANCHORED

My heart is like a ship that finds no rest,
Tossed here and there upon the stormy breast
Of loves of many hearts too oft conferred.

Thy love is like the harbour, safe and still,
Into whose calm that ship may glide at will,
Under the slope of God's Eternal Will.

So near the perfect peace that knows no word;
Yet with an empty, white emotion stirred,
It folds its wings like some contented bird.

At rest, and yet not _anchored_; and some day
Out of the restful peace of this calm bay
The winds of Fate will drift it far away.

THE NEW LOVE

I thought my heart was death chilled,
I thought its fires were cold;
But the new love, the new love,
It warmeth like the old.

I though