y salt tears would come,
To ease the cruel pain that is so dumb,
And will not let me sleep.

Down in my heart, down deep
A poisoned arrow burns. It would fall out
And tears would wash the wound, I have no doubt,
If I could only weep.

Maybe my pulse would leap,
And bring one thrill back, of a vanished day,
Instead of throbbing in this dull, dead way,
If I could only weep.

O silent Fates who steep
Nectar or gall for us through all the years,
Take what thou wilt, but give me back my tears,
And let me weep and weep.

WHY SHOULD WE SIGH

Why should we sigh o'er a summer that's dead--
Let us think of the summer to be.
It always better to look ahead,
For the rose will come again just as red
And just as fair to see.

Why should we weep o'er a pleasure past--
Let us look for the pleasure to be.
New shells on the shore by new waves are cast;
Let us prize each new joy more than the last,
And laugh if the old joy flee.

What folly to die for a love that was--
Let us live for the one to be.
For time is passing, and will not pause;
How foolish the shore were it sad because
One wave ebbed out to sea.

Then let us not sing of a year that is fled--
Though dear its memory be:
For though summer and pleasure and love seem dead,
Love will be sweet, and the rose will be red
When they blossom for you and me.

A WAKEFUL NIGHT

In the dark and the gloom when winds were fretting
Like restless children worn out with play,
I said to my heart, 'This task, forgetting--
Is harder now than it is by day.
For a hungry love that hides from the light,
Like a tiger steals forth, and is bold at night.'

The wind wailed low like a woman weeping;
Deeper and darker the dense gloom grew.
And, oh! for the old, sweet nights of sleeping,
When dreams were happy, and love was true.
Before the stars from heaven went out
In a sudden blackness of dread and doubt.

The wind wailed loud, like a madman shrieking,
And I said to my heart, 'Oh! vain, vain strife;
We cannot forget, and the peace we are seeking
Can only be won at the end of life.
For see! like a lurid and living spark
The eyes of the tiger shine through the dark.'

The wind sighed low like a sick man dying,
And the dawn crept silently over the hill.
And I said, 'O heart! there is no use trying,
We must _remember_, and love on still.'
And the tiger, appeased with its midnight feast,
Fled