And passed the day, and passed the night--
A blank in which my senses failed;
Then slowly came an inward light.

So plain it reproduced the hours
We lived as one,--the books we read,
Our quiet walks and pleasant talks--
Love, by your spirit was I led?

Oh, love, the vision grows too dear,
I live in visions--I pursue
Them only; come, your rival meet,
My future bring, it will be--_you!_

"O FRIEND, BEGIN A LOFTIER SONG."

O friend, begin a loftier song.
Confusion falls upon your mind;
A sense of evil makes you blind;
"What use," you say, "is it to be?
I know not GOD, GOD knows not me!"

O friend, begin a loftier song.
In other minds you place no trust:
You tread your laurels in the dust:
You see no Future, Hope has fled,
Youth had its dreams, but Youth is dead.

O friend, begin a loftier song.
"The sweet ideal of past years
Speaks in my songs, they are my tears:
I'll weep no more, I'll sing no lays
To bury Youth for idle praise!"

O friend, begin a loftier song.
Come through the gateway of the Past,
Dear friend. The world will hear at last
The little songs the poets sing:
Do thou with anthems make it ring!

"NOW THAT THE PAIN IS GONE, I TOO CAN SMILE."

Now that the pain is gone, I too can smile
At such a foolish picture; you and me
Together in that moonlit summer night,
Within the shadow of an aspen-tree.

My hand was on your shoulder: I grew wild:
The blood seethed furiously through my heart!
But you--Oh, you were saintly calm, and cold;
You moved my hand, and said, "'T is best we part!"

My face fell on the bands of your fair hair,
A moonbeam struck across my hungry eye,
And struck across your balmy crimson mouth:
I longed to kiss you, and I longed to die!

Die in the shadow of the trembling tree,
Trembling my soul away upon your breast.
You smiled, and drifted both your snowy hands
Against my forehead, and your fingers pressed

Faintly and slow adown my burning face;
A keen sense of the woman touched you then,
The nice dramatic sense you women have,
Playing upon the feelings of us men!

Long years have passed since that midsummer night,
But still I feel the creeping of your hand
Along my face. If I return once more,
And in the shadow of that tree should stand

With you there--Answer! Would you kiss me back?
Would you