Volume Ii Part 147 (1/2)

Heap not the heavy marble o'er my head To shut away the suns.h.i.+ne and the dew; Let small blooms grow there, and let gra.s.ses wave, And raindrops filter through.

Thou wilt meet many fairer and more gay Than I; but, trust me, thou canst never find One who will love and serve thee night and day With a more single mind.

Forget me when I die! The violets Above my breast will blossom just as blue, Nor miss thy tears; e'en nature's self forgets; But while I live, be true.

Elizabeth Akers [1832-1911]

FLORENCE VANE

I loved thee long and dearly, Florence Vane; My life's bright dream and early Hath come again; I renew in my fond vision, My heart's dear pain-- My hopes, and thy derision, Florence Vane.

The ruin, lone and h.o.a.ry, The ruin old, Where thou didst hark my story, At even told-- That spot--the hues Elysian Of sky and plain-- I treasure in my vision, Florence Vane.

Thou wast lovelier than the roses In their prime; Thy voice excelled the closes Of sweetest rhyme; Thy heart was as a river Without a main.

Would I had loved thee never, Florence Vane!

But, fairest, coldest wonder!

Thy glorious clay Lieth the green sod under-- Alas, the day!

And it boots not to remember Thy disdain, To quicken love's pale ember, Florence Vane.

The lilies of the valley By young graves weep; The daisies love to dally Where maidens sleep.

May their bloom, in beauty vying, Never wane Where thine earthly part is lying, Florence Vane!

Philip Pendleton Cooke [1816-1850]

”IF SPIRITS WALK”

If spirits walk, love, when the night climbs slow The slant footpath where we were wont to go, Be sure that I shall take the selfsame way To the hill-crest, and sh.o.r.eward, down the gray, Sheer, graveled slope, where vetches straggling grow.

Look for me not when gusts of winter blow, When at thy pane beat hands of sleet and snow; I would not come thy dear eyes to affray, If spirits walk.

But when, in June, the pines are whispering low, And when their breath plays with thy bright hair so As some one's fingers once were used to play-- That hour when birds leave song, and children pray, Keep the old tryst, sweetheart, and thou shalt know If spirits walk.

Sophie Jewett [1861-1909]

REQUIESCAT

Tread lightly, she is near, Under the snow; Speak gently, she can hear The daisies grow.

All her bright golden hair Tarnished with rust, She that was young and fair Fallen to dust.