I sat beneath the elm-tree;
I watched the long, long shade,
And, as it grew still longer,
I did not feel afraid;

For I listened for a footfall,

I listened for a word,-

But the beating of my own heart

Was all the sound I heard.

He came not, no, he came not,

The night came on alone,

The little stars sat, one by one,

Each on his golden throne;

The evening wind passed by my cheek,

The leaves above were stirred,—

But the beating of my own heart
Was all the sound I heard.

Fast şilent tears were flowing,
When something stood behind;
A hand was on my shoulder,-

I knew its touch was kind:
It drew me nearer,-nearer,-
We did not speak one word,

For the beating of our own hearts

Was all the sound we heard.

Richard Monckton Milnes [1809-1885]

SONG

FOR me the jasmine buds unfold

And silver daisies star the lea,

The crocus hoards the sunset gold,

And the wild rose breathes for me.

I feel the sap through the bough returning,

I share the skylark's transport fine,

I know the fountain's wayward yearning;

I love, and the world is mine!

What My Lover Said

1149

I love, and thoughts that sometime grieved, Still well remembered, grieve not me;

From all that darkened and deceived

Upsoars my spirit free.

For soft the hours repeat one story, Sings the sea one strain divine,

My clouds arise all flushed with glory;

I love, and the world is mine!

Florence Earle Coates [1850-.

WHAT MY LOVER SAID

By the merest chance, in the twilight gloom,
In the orchard path he met me;

In the tall, wet grass, with its faint perfume,
And I tried to pass, but he made no room,

Oh, I tried, but he would not let me.

So I stood and blushed till the grass grew red,!
With my face bent down above it,

While he took my hand as he whispering said-
(How the clover lifted each pink, sweet head,
To listen to all that my lover said;

Oh, the clover in bloom, I love it!)

In the high, wet grass went the path to hide,
And the low, wet leaves hung over;

But I could not pass upon either side,
For I found myself, when I vainly tried,

In the arms of my steadfast lover.
And he held me there and he raised my head,
While he closed the path before me,

And he looked down into my eyes and said-
(How the leaves bent down from the boughs o'erhead
To listen to all that my lover said,

Oh, the leaves hanging lowly o'er me!)

Had he moved aside but a little way,

I could surely then have passed him;

And he knew I never could wish to stay,
And would not have heard what he had to say,

Could I only aside have cast him.
It was almost dark, and the moments sped,
And the searching night wind found us,
But he drew me nearer and softly said--
(How the pure, sweet wind grew still, instead,
To listen to all that my lover said;

Oh, the whispering wind around us!)

I am sure he knew when he held me fast,
That I must be all unwilling;

For I tried to go, and I would have passed,
As the night was come with its dew, at last,

And the sky with its stars was filling.

But he clasped me close when I would have fled,
And he made me hear his story,

And his soul came out from his lips and said-
(How the stars crept out where the white moon led,
To listen to all that my lover said;

Oh, the moon and the stars in glory!)

I know that the grass and the leaves will not tell,
And I'm sure that the wind, precious rover,
Will carry my secret so safely and well

That no being shall ever discover
One word of the many that rapidly fell

From the soul-speaking lips of my lover;

And the moon and the stars that looked over

Shall never reveal what a fairy-like spell
They wove round about us that night in the dell,
In the path through the dew-laden clover,
Nor echo the whispers that made my heart swell
As they fell from the lips of my lover.
Homer Greene [1853-

MAY-MUSIC

OH! lose the winter from thine heart, the darkness from thine

eyes,

And from the low hearth-chair of dreams, my Love-o'

May, arise;

And let the maidens robe thee like a white white-lilac tree, Oh! hear the call of Spring, fair Soul, and wilt thou come with me?

Even so, and even so!
Whither thou goest, I will go.

I will follow thee.

Then wilt thou see the orange trees star-flowering over Spain, Or arched and mounded Kaiser-towns that molder mid

Almain,

Or through the cypress-gardens go of magic Italy?

Oh! East or West or South or North, say, wilt thou come with me?

Even so, or even so!

Whither thou goest, I will go.

I will follow thee.

But wilt thou farther come with me through hawthorn red and white

Until we find the wall that hides the Land of Heart's Delight? The gates all carved with olden things are strange and dread to see:

But I will lift thee through, fair Soul. Arise and come with me!

Even so, Love, even so!

Whither thou goest, I will go!

Lo, I follow thee.

Rachel Annand Taylor [18

SONG

FLAME at the core of the world,

And flame in the red rose-tree;

The one is the fire of the ancient spheres,

The other is Junes to be;

And, oh, there's a flame that is both their flames
Here at the heart of me!

As strong as the fires of stars, .

As the prophet rose-tree true,
The fire of my life is tender and wild,
Its beauty is old and new;

For out of the infinite past it came
With the love in the eyes of you!

Arthur Upson [1877-1908]

A MEMORY

THE Night walked down the sky
With the moon in her hand;
By the light of that yellow lantern
I saw you stand.

The hair that swept your shoulders

Was yellow, too,

Your feet as they touched the grasses

Shamed the dew.

The Night wore all her jewels,

And you wore none,

But your gown had the odor of lilies

Drenched with sun.

And never was Eve of the Garden

Or Mary the Maid

More pure than you as you stood there
Bold, yet afraid.

And the sleeping birds woke, trembling,
And the folded flowers were aware,

And my senses were faint with the fragrant
Gold of your hair.

And our lips found ways of speaking

What words cannot say,

Till a hundred nests gave music,

And the East was gray.

Frederic Lawrence Knowles [1869-1905]