day while boating,
The week she was a bride.'

A life went out in darkness,
A mother's fond heart broke,
A maiden pined in secret--
With grief she never spoke.

While robed in bridal whiteness,
Queen of a festal throng,
She moved, whose slight flirtation
Had wrought this triple wrong.

WHAT THE RAIN SAW

Winds of the summer time what are you saying,
What are ye seeking, and what do you miss?
Locks like the thistledown floating and straying,
Cheeks like the budding rose, tinted to kiss.

See ye yon mist rising up from the river?
That is the spirit of yesterday's rain.
Go to it, fly to it, call to it, cry to it,
What did ye see when ye fell on the plain?

Rosewood, and velvet, and pansies, and roses,
Blossoms from loving hands tenderly cast.
Lids like the leaves of a lily that closes
After its brief little day-life is past.

Beautiful hands on a beautiful bosom,
Folded so quietly, folded in rest.
Mouth like the bud of a white-petalled blossom,
Creased where the lips of an angel had pressed.

Lower, and lower, and lower, and lower,
Dust unto dust--but a mound on the plain.
Left alone, lonely, this, and this only,
Saw we, and see we to-day, said the rain.

Winds of the summer time vain is your seeking,
Vain is your calling with sobs in your breath.
Lips that are tender, eyes full of splendour,
Wooed away, sued away, vanished with death.

AFTER

After the end that is drawing near
Comes, and I no more see your face
Worn with suffering, lying here,
What shall I do with the empty place?

You are so weary, that if I could
I would not hinder, I would not keep
The great Creator of all things good,
From giving his own beloved sleep.

But over and over I turn this thought.
After they bear you away to the tomb,
And banish the glasses, and move the cot,
What shall I do with the empty room?

And when you are lying at rest, my own,
Hidden away in the grass and flowers,
And I listen in vain for your sigh and moan,
What shall I do with the silent hours?

O God! O God! in the great To Be
What canst Thou give me to compensate
For the terrible silence, the vacancy,
Grim, and awful, and desolate?

Passing away, my beautiful one,
Out of the old life into the new.
But when it is over, and all is done,
God of the Merciful, what shall I do?

Sweetest of slumber, and soundest rest,
No more sorrow, and