Part 27 (1/2)

Sink, O my soul, in this golden glory, Die, O my heart, in thy rapture-swoon, For the Autumn must come with its mournful story, And Love's midsummer will fade too soon.

A REMINISCENCE.

I saw the wild honey-bee kissing a rose A wee one, that grows Down low on the bush, where her sisters above Cannot see all that's done As the moments roll on.

Nor hear all the whispers and murmurs of love.

They flaunt out their beautiful leaves in the sun, And they flirt, every one, With the wild bees who pa.s.s, and the gay b.u.t.terflies.

And that wee thing in pink-- Why, they never once think That she's won a lover right under their eyes.

It reminded me, Kate, of a time--you know when!

You were so pet.i.te then, Your dresses were short, and your feet were so small.

Your sisters, Maud-Belle And Madeline--well, They _both_ set their caps for me, after that ball.

How the blue eyes and black eyes smiled up in my face!

'T was a neck-and-neck race, Till that day when you opened the door in the hall, And looked up and looked down, With your sweet eyes of brown, And _you_ seemed so tiny, and _I_ felt so tall.

Your sisters had sent you to keep me, my dear, Till they should appear.

Then you were dismissed like a child in disgrace.

How meekly you went!

But your brown eyes, they sent A thrill to my heart, and a flush to my face.

We always were meeting some way after that.

You hung up my hat, And got it again, when I finished my call.

Sixteen, and _so_ sweet!

Oh, those cute little feet!

Shall I ever forget how they tripped down the hall?

Shall I ever forget the first kiss by the door, Or the vows murmured o'er, Or the rage and surprise of Maud-Belle? Well-a-day, How swiftly time flows, And who would suppose That a _bee_ could have carried me so far away.

RESPITE.

The mighty conflict, which we call existence, Doth wear upon the body and the soul.

Our vital forces wasted in resistance, So much there is to conquer and control.

The rock which meets the billows with defiance.

Undaunted and unshaken day by day, In spite of its unyielding self-reliance, Is by the warfare surely worn away.

And there are depths and heights of strong emotions That surge at times within the human breast, More fierce than all the tides of all the oceans Which sweep on ever in divine unrest.