riumphed!--what more can the
world bestow?
I stand at the close of the conflict, my foot on the neck of my foe.
Prone in the dust lies the demon Despair, still shouting his shibboleth
To the treacherous Amazon dark-browed Fate, and her grisly comrade, Death.
To have lived! To have felt in my veins the surge of the rich, red tide of
life,
The quickening stir of the strong man's heart that thrills to the sound
of strife;
To have wrested success from defeat, to have striven, and struggled,
and won--
Shall this seem a small thing, think you, when the Battle of Ages is done?
To have loved! To have known of all raptures, the rapture supernal, divine,
To have felt the throb of your heart on my heart and the bloom of your
lips pressed to mine;
To have ranked with the gods on Olympus--myths tell us immortal Jove
Cleft with his swan-wings the blue of the sky for boon of a mortal's
love....
I have lived, I have loved, I have triumphed! Let Death come, or early
or late!
I hurl my challenging gauntlet full in the face of Fate!
Fate may make wreck of a future--how can she alter the past?
I have tasted the sweets of life's chalice--why shrink from the lees
at the last?
How should I cavil at aught that shall come--I stand with your head on
my breast--
I have fought as I might--I have gained _you_, beloved ... to God's
mercy the rest!
Tho' the heavens darken above me and the sky be shrunk as a scroll,
In the wreck and ruin of riven worlds, should I falter, O Soul of my soul?
Tho' the demon Despair, where he vanquished lies, still utter his
shibboleth--
I fling my glove in the face of Fate and smile in the eyes of Death!

And Yet ...

Upon the meads where we were wont to stray,
'Guiling with springtime hopes the winter hours,
The Spring has smiled; yon slope that late gloomed gray
And sternly sad, 'neath April's tender showers
Grows green and glad again. The rippled grass,
A soundless sea o'er which white cloud-sails pass,
Breaks at my feet in billows foamed with flowers;
And blue-eyed myrtle blooms with lashes wet
Smile to me thro' their tears. The skies are blue,
And life is sweet to-day and hope seems true;
My heart is barren of its long regret--
And yet...

The willow wears a wistful green. A dream
Of Summer warmth the wine-sweet breezes hold,
Fair wildings blow--bright buttercups agleam
Like shining sequins scattered on the wold,
And daffodills--a wealth of faery gold.
The buildin