Volume Ii Part 43 (2/2)

If there come dreary winter days, When summer roses fall And lie, forgot, in withered drifts Along the garden wall; If all the wreaths a lover weaves Turn thorns upon the brow,-- Then out upon the silly fool Who makes not merry now!

For if we cannot keep the past, Why care for what's to come?

The instant's p.r.i.c.k is all that stings, And then the place is numb.

If Life's a lie, and Love's a cheat, As I have heard men say, Then here's a health to fond deceit-- G.o.d bless you, dear, to-day!

John Bennett [1865-

TO-DAY

I bring you all my olden days, My childhood's morning glow; I love you down the meadow ways Where early blossoms blow: And up deep lanes of long-gone-by, s.h.i.+ning with dew-drops yet,-- I wander still, till you and I Over the world are met.

I bring you all my lonely days, My heart that hungered so; I love you through the wistful haze Of autumns burning low; And on pale seas, beneath wan sky, By weary tides beset, I voyage still, till you and I Over the world are met.

I bring you all my happy days,-- Armfuls of flowers--oh, I love you as the sunlight stays On mountains heaped with snow: And where the dearest dream-buds lie, With tears and dew-drops wet, I toss to-day; for you and I Over the world are met!

Benjamin R. C. Low [1880-

TO ARCADY

Across the hills of Arcady Into the Land of Song-- Ah, dear, if you will go with me The way will not be long!

It will not lead through solitudes Of wind-blown woods or sea; Dear, no! the city's weariest moods May scarce veil Arcady.

'Tis in no unfamiliar land Lit by some distant star.

No! Arcady is where you stand, And Song is where you are!

So walk but hand in hand with me-- No road can lead us wrong; These are the hills of Arcady-- Here is the Land of Song!

Charles Buxton Going [1863-

WILD WISHES

I wish, because the sweetness of your pa.s.sing Makes all the earth a garden where you tread, That I might be the meanest of your roses, To pave your path with petals pa.s.sion-red!

I wish, because the softness of your breathing Stirs the white jasmine at your window frame, That I might be the fragrance of a flower, To stir the night breeze with your dearest name!

I wish, because the glory of your dreaming Strews all the field of heaven with throbbing stars, That I might storm the portals of your slumber, And soar with you beyond night's golden bars!

I wish to be the day you die, Beloved, Though at its close my foolish heart must break!

But most of all, I wish, my dearest darling, To be the Blessed Morning when you wake!

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