I sit at evening's scented close, In fulness of the summer-tide; All dewy fair the lily glows, No single petal of the row; Has fallen to dim the rose's pride. Sweet airs, sweet harmonies of hue, Surround, caress me everywhere; The spells of dusk, the spells of dew, My senses steal, my reason woo, And sing a lullaby to tare, But vainly do the warm airs sing, All vain the roses' rapturous breath; A chill blast, as from wintry wing, Smites on my heart, and, shuddering, I see the beauty changed to death. Afar I see it loom and rise, That pitiless and icy shape. It blots the blue, it dims the skies; Amid the summer land it cries, "I come, and there is no escape!" O, bitter drop in bloom and sweet! O, canker on the smiling day! Have we but climbed the hill to meet Thy fronting fare, thy eyes of sleet? To hate, yet dare not turn away?

II

I sit beneath a leaden sky, Amid the piled and drifted snow; My feet are on the graves where lie The roses which made haste to die So long, so very long ago. The sobbing wind is fierce and strong, Its cry is like a human wail, But in my heart it sings this song: "Not long, O Lord! O Lord, not long! Surely thy spring-time shall prevail." Out of the darkness and the cold, Out of the wintry depths I lean, And lovingly I clasp and hold The promises, and see unrolled A vision of the summer green. O, life in death, sweet plucked from pain! O, distant vision fair to see! Up the long hill we press and strain; We can bear all things and attain, If once our faces turn to Thee!

IN THE MIST

Sitting all day in a silver mist, In silver silence all the day, Save for the low, soft kiss of spray, And the lisp of sands by waters kissed, As the tide draws up the bay. Little I hear and nothing I see, Wrapped in that veil by fairies spun; The solid earth is vanished for me, And the shining hours speed noiselessly, A web of shadow and sun. Suddenly out of the shifting veil A magical bark, by the sunbeams lit, Flits like a dream,—or seems to flit,— With a golden prow and a gossamer sail, And the waves make room for it. A fair, swift bark from some radiant realm, Its diamond cordage cuts the sky In glittering lines; all silently A seeming spirit holds the helm And steers: will he pass me by? Ah, not for me is the vessel here! Noiseless and fast as a sea-bird's, flight, She swerves and vanishes from my sight; No flap of sail, no parting cheer,— She has passed into the light. Sitting some day in a deeper mist, Silent, alone, some other day, An unknown bark from an unknown bay, By unknown waters lapped and kissed, Shall near me through the spray. No flap of sail, no scraping of keel: Shadow, dim, with a banner dark, It will hover, will pause, and I shall feel A hand which beckons, and, shivering, steal To the cold strand and embark. Embark for that far mysterious realm, Whence the fathomless, trackless waters flow. Shall I see a Presence dim, and know A Gracious Hand upon the helm, Nor be afraid to go? And through black wave and stormy blast, And out of the fog-wreath dense and dun, Guided and held, shall the vessel run, Gain the fair haven, night being past, And anchor in the sun?

WITHIN

Could my heart hold another one? I cannot tell. Sometimes it seems an ample dome, Sometimes a cell, Sometimes a temple filled with saints, Serene and fair, Whose eyes are pure from mortal taints All lilies are. Sometimes a narrow shrine, in which One precious fare Smiles ever from its guarded niche, With deathless grace. Sometimes a nest, where weary things, And weal; and shy, Are brooded under mother wings Till they can fly. And then a palace, with wide rooms Adorned and dressed, Where eager slaves pour sweet perfumes For each new guest. Whiche'er it be, I know always Within that door— Whose latch it is not mine to raise— Blows evermore, With breath of balm upon its wing, A soft, still air, Which makes each closely folded thing Look always fair. My darlings, do you feel me near, As every day Into this hidden place and dear I take my way? Always you stand in radiant guise, Always I see A noiseless welcome in the eyes You turn on me. And, whether I come soon or late, Whate'er befall, Always within the guarded gate I find you all.

MENACE

All green and fair the Summer lies, Just budded from the bud of Spring, With tender blue of wistful skies, And winds which softly sing. Her clock has struck its morning hours; Noon nears—the flowery dial is true; But still the hot sun veils its powers, In deference to the dew. Yet there amid the fresh new green, Amid the young broods overhead, A single scarlet branch is seen, Swung like a banner red; Tinged with the fatal hectic flush Which, when October frost is in the near, Flames on each dying tree and bush, To deck the dying year. And now the sky seems not so blue, The yellow sunshine pales its ray, A sorrowful, prophetic hue Lies on the radiant day, As mid the bloom and tenderness I catch that scarlet menace there, Like a gray sudden wintry tress Set in a child's bright hair. The birds sing on, the roses blow, But like a discord heard but now, A stain upon the petal's snow Is that one sad, red bough.

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