For your blown, red forests give no repin

ing

Here are my lips: will ye still be sad?
Comfort ye, comfort ye, days of cloud,
Days of shadow, of wrath, of blast
I who love ye am come at last.
Laugh to welcome me ! cry aloud!

For wild am I as thy winds and rains-
Free to come and to go as they;
Love's moon sways not the tides of my
veins;

There is no voice that can bid me stay. Out and away on the drenched, brown len! Out to the great, glad heart of the year!

Nothing to grieve for, nothing to fear,Fetterless, lawless, a maiden free!

BEFORE THE RAIN1

THE blackeaps pipe among the reeds,
And there'll be rain to follow;
There is a murmur as of wind

In every coign and hollow;
The wrens do chatter of their fears
While swinging on the barley-ears.

Come, hurry, while there yet is time,
Pull up thy scarlet bonnet.
Now, sweetheart, as my love is thine,
There is a drop upon it.

fine

Delightful, intellectual, aquiline.

Her keen eyes light it; keen, yet often kind;

Her fair hair crowns it to an artist's mind.

Fine figure and fine manners, without doubt, Determine half her charm, and bear me

out.

shelf.

DIMPLED and flushed and dewy pink he lies, Crumpled and tossed and lapt in snowy bands;

Aimlessly reaching with his tiny hands, Lifting in wondering gaze his great blue eyes.

Sweet pouting lips, parted by breathing sighs;

Soft checks, warm-tinted as from tropic lands;

Framed with brown hair in shining silken strands,

All fair, all pure, a sunbeam from the skies!
O perfect innocence! O soul enshrined
In blissful ignorance of good or ill,
By never gale of idle passion crossed!
Although thou art no alien from thy kind,
Though pain and death may take thee cap-
tive, still

Through sin, at least, thine Eden is not lost.