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The soft rain pattered on the leaves,

The April grass was wet.
Ah! folly to remember;

'Tis wiser to forget.

The nightingales made vocal
June's palace paved with gold;
I watched the rose you gave me
Its warm red heart unfold;
But breath of rose and bird's song
Were fraught with wild regret.
'Tis madness to remember;

'Twere wisdom to forget.

I stood among the gold corn,
Alas! no more, I knew,
To gather gleaner's measure

Of the love that fell from you.
For me, no gracious harvest--
Would God we ne'er had met!
'Tis hard, Love, to remember,
But 'tis harder to forget.

The streamlet now is frozen,
The nightingales are fled,
The cornfields are deserted,
And every rose is dead.
I sit beside my lonely fire,
And pray for wisdom yet:
For calmness to remember,
Or courage to forget.

Hamilton Aidé [1826–1906]

NANCY DAWSON

NANCY DAWSON, Nancy Dawson,

Not so very long ago

Some one wronged you from sheer love, dear;

Little thinking it would crush, dear,

All I cherished in you so.

My Little Love

But now, what's the odds, my Nancy?
Where's the guinea, there's the fancy.
Are you Nancy, that old Nancy?
Nancy Dawson.

Nancy Dawson, Nancy Dawson,
I forget you, what you were;

Till I feel the sad hours creep, dear,

O'er my heart; as o'er my cheek, dear,

Once of old, that old, old hair:

And then, unawares, my Nancy,
I remember, and I fancy

You are Nancy, that old Nancy;
Nancy Dawson.

T

Herbert P. Horne [1864

989

MY LITTLE LOVE

GOD keep you safe, my little love,

All through the night.

Rest close in His encircling arms

Until the light.

My heart is with you as I kneel to pray,

"Good night! God keep you in His care alway."

Thick shadows creep like silent ghosts

About my bed.

I lose myself in tender dreams

While overhead

The moon comes stealing through the window bars.

A silver sickle gleaming 'mid the stars.

For I, though I am far away,

Feel safe and strong,

To trust you thus, dear love, and yet
The night is long.

1

I say with sobbing breath the old fond prayer,

"Good night! Sweet dreams! God keep you everywhere!"

Charles B. Hawley [1858

990

FOR EVER

THRICE with her lips she touched my lips,
Thrice with her hand my hand,

And three times thrice looked towards the sea,

But never to the land:

Then, "Sweet," she said, "no more delay,
For Heaven forbids a longer stay."

I, with my passion in my heart,
Could find no words to waste;

But striving often to depart,

I strained her to my breast:
Her wet tears washed my weary cheek;
I could have died, but could not speak.

The anchor swings, the sheet flies loose
And, bending to the breeze,

The tall ship, never to return,
Flies through the foaming seas:
Cheerily ho! the sailors cry;-
My sweet love lessening to my eye.

O Love, turn towards the land thy sight!

No more peruse the sea;

Our God, who severs thus our hearts,
Shall surely care for thee:

For me let waste-wide ocean swing,

I too lie safe beneath His wing.

William Caldwell Roscoe [1823-1859)

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AUF WIEDERSEHEN

THE little gåte was reached at last,
Half hid in lilacs down the lane;
She pushed it wide, and, as she passed,
A wistful look she backward cast,
And said,-"Auf wiedersehen!"

"Forever and a Day"

With hand on latch, a vision white
Lingered reluctant, and again
Half doubting if she did aright,
Soft as the dews that fell that night,
She said,-"Auf wiedersehen !"

The lamp's clear gleam flits up the stair;
I linger in delicious pain;

Ah, in that chamber, whose rich air
To breathe in thought I scarcely dare,
Thinks she," Auf wiedersehen?"

'Tis thirteen years; once more I press
The turf that silences the lane;

I hear the rustle of her dress,
I smell the lilacs, and-ah, yes,
I hear," Auf wiedersehen!"

Sweet piece of bashful maiden art!

The English words had seemed too fain, But these they drew us heart to heart, Yet held us tenderly apart;

She said,-"Auf wiedersehen!"

991

James Russell Lowell [1819-1891]

"FOREVER AND A DAY"

I LITTLE know or care

If the blackbird on the bough

Is filling all the air

With his soft crescendo now;

For she is gone away,
And when she went she took
The springtime in her look,
The peachblow on her cheek,
The laughter from the brook,
The blue from out the May-
And what she calls a week
Is forever and a day!

It's little that I mind

How the blossoms, pink or white,

At every touch of wind
Fall a-trembling with delight;
For in the leafy lane,

Beneath the garden-boughs,
And through the silent house
One thing alone I seek.
Until she come again

The May is not the May,

And what she calls a week

Is forever and a day!,

Thomas Bailey Aldrich [1837-1907]

OLD GARDENS

THE white rose tree that spent its musk
For lovers' sweeter praise,

The stately walks we sought at dusk,
Have missed thee many days.

Again, with once-familiar feet,
I tread the old parterre-
But, ah, its bloom is now less sweet
Than when thy face was there.

I hear the birds of evening call;
I take the wild perfume;

I pluck a rose-to let it fall

And perish in the gloom.

Arthur Upson [1877-1908]

FERRY HINKSEY

BEYOND the ferry water

That fast and silent flowed,

She turned, she gazed a moment,

Then took her onward road

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