Part 8 (1/2)

And now the stars are bending slowly To kiss the lilies white; Who e'en their fragrant heads are lifting In wonder at the sight.

And one twin lily now is longing For light and heaven above; And yields unto her star-king's keeping Her wealth of life and love.

And as the star-G.o.d bends in rapture To kiss her pale, white face, Her soul is wafted into heaven Beneath his love and grace.

Twin lilies in the tide were floating, With quickly coming breath, But one is left, with sad tears falling, To mourn her sister's death.

Twin stars upon the waves were gleaming; Two star-G.o.ds pure and bright; But one is left--that one is fading And dying with the night.

Memory

A treasured link of s.h.i.+ning pearls, A by-gone melody, A shower of tears with smiles between-- And this is memory.

A thing so light a breath of air May waft its life away; A thing so dark that moments of pain Seem like some endless day.

A careless word may wound the heart, And quickly it may die; Yet in the seas of memory Forever it will lie.

And sometimes when the tide rolls back Its waves of joy and pain, That careless word, though long forgot, Will wound the heart again.

The restless seas of memory Are vast and deep and wide; And every deed that we can know Sleeps in that tireless tide.

Upon the thoughtless lives of men Its waves in mockery roll; And sweep a might of bitter pain Across each human soul.

And few can stand upon the sands Beside this boundless sea, And say with calm unfaltering voice ”It has no grief for me.”

The pa.s.sing wave may bear away Our deeds and words untrue; Yet surely as the tide comes in The wrecks will follow too.

Moonlight.

Oh, what so subtle as the spell The silvery moonlight weaves?

Oh, what so sad and what so glad, And what so soon deceives.

A vision of the long ago-- Long years of pain between; A mocking dream of happier days-- A veil of silver sheen.

A pa.s.sing gleam of falling stars-- An idle summer's dream; The sudden waking of a heart-- Things are not as they seem.

Oh, silver moon, indeed you hold The secrets of the heart; And none can know and none can guess The mystery of thy art.