ey never grow languid and never tire,--

Why, over the storm clouds and out of the dark
It shall come flying some day to you.
As the dove with the olive branch flew to the ark,
And the dream you have cherished--it shall come true.

But lest much rapture shall make you mad,
Or too bright sunshine should strike you blind,
Along with your blessing a something sad
Shall come like a shadow that follows behind.

Something unwelcome and unforeseen,
Yet of your hope and your wish, a part,
Shall stand like a sentinel in between
The perfect joy and the human heart.

I wished for a cloudless and golden day;
It came, but I looked from my window to see
A giant shadow which seemed to say,
'If you ask for the sunlight you must take me.'

Oh! a wonderful thing is the human will,
When seeking one purpose, and serving one end;
But I think it is wiser to just sit still,
And accept whatever the gods may send.

THE PLAY

In the rosy light of my day's fair morning,
Ere ever a storm cloud darkened the west,
Ere even a shadow of night gave warning
When life seemed only a pleasure quest,
Why then all humour and comedy scorning--
I liked high tragedy best.

I liked the challenge, the fierce fought duel,
With a death or a parting in every act.
I liked the villain to be more cruel
Than the basest villain could be in fact:
For it fed the fires of my mind with the fuel
Of the things that my life lacked.

But as time passed on, and I met real sorrow,
And she played at night on the stage--my heart,
I found I could not forget on the morrow
The pain I had felt in her tragic part.
For alas! no longer I needed to borrow
My grief from the actor's art.

And as life grows older, and therefore sadder
(Though sweeter maybe with its autumn haze),
I find more pleasure in watching the gladder
And lighter order of humorous plays.
Where the mirth is as mad, or maybe madder,
Than the mirth of my lost days.

I like to be forced to laugh and be merry,
Though the earth with sorrow and pain is rife:
I like for an evening at least to bury
All thoughts of trouble, or pain, or strife.
In sooth, I like to be moved to the very
Emotions I miss in life.

AS WE LOOK BACK (RONDEAU)

As we look back at our lost Used-to-Be,
'The light that never was on land or sea'
Touches the distant mountain peaks with gold,
And through the glass of memory we behold
S