Have left our sad world for some fairer sky?
What will it matter, dear, when, far apart,
We miss the touch of hand and beat of heart;
When one's at peace, while unto one is given
With lonely feet to walk the hills at even?
What will it matter that one fault more now
Brings clouds upon one eager mortal brow,
That one grace less is given to one poor soul,
When both drink from the last immortal bowl?
For fault and grace, dear love, when we go hence
Will find the same Eternal recompense.

THE COURIER STAR

Into a New World wandered I,
A strong vast realm afar;
And down the white peaks of its sky,
Beckoned my courier star.

It hailed me to mine ancient North,--
The meadows of the Pole;
It whistled my gay hunters forth,
It bugled in my soul.
On plateaux of the constant snow
I heard the meteors whir;
I saw the red wolves nor'ward go
From my low huts of fir.

The dun moose ran the deep ravine,
The musk-ox ranged the plain;
The hunter's song dripped in between
In notes of scarlet rain.

The land was mine: its lonely pride,
Its distant deep desires;
And I abode, as hunters bide,
With joy beside its fires.

Into a New World wandered I,
A world austere, sublime;
And unseen feet came sauntering by;
A voice with ardent chime
Rang down the idle lanes of sleep;
I waked: the night was still;
I saw my star its sentry keep
Along a southern hill.

O flaming star! my courier star!
My herald, fine and tall!
You gestured from your opal car,
I answered to that call.
I rose; the flumes of snow I trod,
I trailed to southward then;
I left behind the camps of God,
And sought the tents of men.

And where a princely face looked through
The curtains of the play
Of life, O star, you paused;