and worn,
That life has carved with care and doubt!
So weary waiting, night and morn,
For that which never came about!
Pale lamp, so utterly forlorn.
In which God's light at last is out.

Gray hair, that lies so thin and prim
On either side the sunken brows!
And soldered eyes, so deep and dim,
No word of man could now arouse!
And hollow hands, so virgin slim,
Forever clasped in silent vows!

Poor breasts! that God designed for love,
For baby lips to kiss and press!
That never felt, yet dreamed thereof,
The human touch, the child caress--
That lie like shriveled blooms above
The heart's long-perished happiness.

O withered body, Nature gave
For purposes of death and birth,
That never knew, and could but crave
Those things perhaps that make life worth--
Rest now, alas! within the grave,
Sad shell that served no end of Earth.

COMMUNICANTS

Who knows the things they dream, alas!
Or feel, who lie beneath the ground?
Perhaps the flowers, the leaves, and grass
That close them round.

In spring the violets may spell
The moods of them we know not of;
Or lilies sweetly syllable
Their thoughts of love

Haply, in summer, dew and scent
Of all they feel may be a part;
Each red rose be the testament
Of some rich heart.

The winds of fall be utterance,
Perhaps, of saddest things they say;
Wild leaves may word some dead romance
In some dim way.

In winter all their sleep profound
Through frost may speak to grass and stream;
The snow may be the silent sound
Of all they dream.

THE DEAD DAY

The West builds high a sepulchre
Of cloudy granite and of gold.
Where twilight's priestly hours inter
The day like some great king of old,

A censer, rimmed with silver fire,
The new moon swings above his tomb;
While, organ-stops of God's own choir,
Star after star throbs in the gloom.

And night draws near, the sadly sweet--
A nun whose face is calm and fair--
And kneeling at the dead day's feet
Her soul goes up in silent prayer.

In prayer, we feel through dewy gleam
And flowery fragrance, and--above
All Earth--the ecstasy and dream
That haunt the mystic heart of love.

KNIGHT-ERRANT

Onward he gallops through enchanted gloom.
The spectres of the forest, dark and dim,
And shadows of vast de