d,
Date Autumn's hours.

The shining banks of snowy clouds,
Steadfast in the aerial blue,
The silent, shimmering, silver sea,
To Joy are true.

My spirit in this happy air
Can thus embrace the dying year,
And with it wrap me in a shroud
As bright and clear!

THE AUTUMN SHEAF.

Still I remember only autumn days,
When golden leaves were floating in the air,
And reddening oaks stood sombre in the haze,
Till sunset struck them with its redder glare,

And faded, leaving me by wood and field
In fragrant dew, and fragrant velvet mould,
To wait among the shades of night concealed,
And learn that story which but once is told.

Though many seasons of the falling leaves
I watched my failing hopes, and watched their fall;
In memory they are gathered now like sheaves,
So withered that a touch would scatter all.

Dead leaves, and dust more dead, to fall apart,
Leaves spreading once in arches over me,
And dust enclosing once a loving heart,
Still I am happy with youth's mystery.

It cannot be unbound,--my autumn sheaf;
So let it stand, the ruin of my past;
Returning autumn brings the old belief,
Its mystery all its own, and it will last.

IN THE CITY.

The autumn morning sweetly calls to me,
And autumn days and nights in patience wait;
I answer not, because I am not free,
Although I chose my fate.

The cold, gray mist that stains the city walls
Stands silver-columned where the river glides,
Or, slow dividing, on the valley falls,
Where one I love abides.

The wind that trifles round my city door,
Or whirls before me all the city's dust,
By the sea borrows its triumphant roar,
And lends its savage gust;

Or shrieking rushes where the sombre pines
Hold solemn converse in the ancient vale,
And while 't is dying in their dark confines
Babbles their mystic tale.

Could I but climb a roof above my own,
And greet grave Autumn as he walks the earth
With secret signal that would make me known,
I should not feel my dearth.

Then silver mist or loud triumphant wind
Might come in sad disguise and misery;
I would but ponder in my secret mind
How Autumn answers me.

"I LOVE YOU, BUT A SENSE OF PAIN."

I love you, but a sense of pain
Is in my heart and in my brain;
Now, when your voice and eyes are kind,
M