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And yet for one word spoken,

One whisper of regret,
The dream had not been broken,
And love were with us yet.


Jenny kissed Me.

I LOVED him not; and yet, now he is gone,

I feel I am alone.
I checked him while he spoke, yet could he speak,

Alas! I would not check.
For reasons not to love him once I sought,

And wearied all my thought
To vex myself and him; I now would give

My love, could he but live
Who lately lived for me, and, when he found

'Twas vain, in holy ground
He hid his face amid the shades of death!

I waste for him my breath
Who wasted his for me; but mine returns,

And this lone bosom burns
With stifling heat, heaving it up in sleep,

And waking me to weep
Tears that had melted his soft heart ; for years

Wept he as bitter tears !
• Merciful God !” such was his latest prayer,

“ These may she never share!" Quieter is his breath, his breast more cold

Than daisies in the mould,
Where children spell, athwart the churchyard gate,

His name and life's brief date.
Pray for him, gentle souls, whoe'er ye be,
And oh! pray, too, for me!


JENNY kissed me when we met,

Jumping from the chair she sat in; Time, you thief! who love to get

Sweets into your list, put that in. Say I'm weary, say I'm sad ;

Say that health and wealth have missed me; Say I'm growing old, but add - Jenny kissed me!



Song. I BADE thee stay. Too well I know

The fault was mine, mine only: I dared not think upon the past,

All desolate and lonely.

I feared in memory's silent air

Too sadly to regret thee, Feared in the night of my despair

I could not all forget thee.

Yet go, ah, go! Those pleading eyes,

Those low, sweet tones, appealing From heart to heart; ah, dare I trust

That passionate revealing!

A Song of Autumn.

All through the golden weather

Until the autumn fell, Our lives went by together

So wildly and so well.

For ah, those keen and pleading eyes

Evoke too keen a sorrow,
A pang that will not pass away

With thy wild vows to-morrow.

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Yet when I'm gone, e'en lofty pride

May say, of what has been,
His love was nobly born and died,

Though all the rest was mean!

And I kept the glove so dainty and small,

That I stole as she sipped her lemonade,
Till I packed it away I think with all

Of those traps I lost in our Northern raid.

My speech is rude, but speech is weak

But I never can list to that waltz divine,
Such love as mine to tell ;

With its golden measure of joy and pain,
Yet had I words, I dare not speak:

But it brings like the flavor of some old wine
So, lady, fare thee well!

To my heart the warmth of the past again.
I will not wish thy better state

A short flirtation - that's all, you know,
Was one of low degree,

Some faded flowers, a silken tress,

The letters I burned up years ago,
But I must weep that partial fate
Made such a churl of me.

When I heard from her last in the Wilderness.
Thomas Hood.

I suppose, could she see I am maimed and old,
She would soften the scorn that was changed

to hate,
West Point.

When I chose the bars of the gray and gold,

And followed the South to its bitter fate. 'Twas Commencement eve, and the ball-room belle

But here's to the lads of the Northern blue, In her dazzling beauty was mine that night,

And here's to the boys of the Southern gray, As the music dreamily rose and fell,

And I would that the Northern star but knew And the waltzers whirled in a blaze of light:

How the Southern cross is borne to-day. I can see them now in the moonbeam's glance

L. C. STRONG. Across the street on a billowy floor, That rises and falls with the merry dance, To a music that floats in my heart once more.

A long half-hour in the twilight leaves

I went to her who loveth me no more,
Of the shrubbery: she, with coquettish face,
And dainty arms in their flowing sleeves,

And prayed her bear with me, if so she might;

For I had found day after day too sore, A dream of satins and love and lace.

And tears that would not cease night after night.
In the splendor there of her queenly smile,
Through her two bright eyes I could see the glow And so I prayed her, weeping, that she bore

To let me be with her a little; yea,
Of cathedral windows, as up the aisle
We marched to a music's ebb and flow.

To soothe myself a little with her sight,

Who loved me once, ah! many a night and day. All in a dream of Commencement eve!

Then she who loveth me no more, maybe I remember I awkwardly buttoned a glove

She pitied somewhat: and I took a chain On the dainty arm in its flowing sleeve,

To bind myself to her, and her to me; With a broken sentence of hope and love.

Yea, so that I might call her mine again. But the diamonds that flashed in her wavy hair,

Lo! she forbade me not; but I and she And the beauty that shone in her faultless face,

Fettered her fair limbs, and her neck more fair, Are all I recall as I struggled there,

Chained the fair wasted white of love's domain, A poor brown fly in a web of lace.

And put gold fetters on her golden hair.
Yet a laughing, coquettish face I see,

Oh! the vain joy it is to see her lie
As the moonlight falls on the pavement gray, Beside me once again; beyond release,
I can hear her laugh in the melody

Her hair, her hand, her body, till she die,
Of the waltz's music across the way.

All mine, for me to do with as I please!


For, after all, I find no chain whereby

Was crowned with a peculiar diadem To chain her heart to love me as before,

Of trees, in circular array—so fixed,
Nor fetter for her lips, to make them cease Not by the sport of nature, but of man.
From saying still she loveth me no more. These two, a maiden and a youth, were there

Gazing — the one on all that was beneath;
Fair as herself — but the boy gazed on her;
And both were young, and one was beautiful ;

And both were young — yet not alike in youth.
The Wream.

As the sweet moon on the horizon's verge,
The maid was on the eve of womanhood;

The boy had fewer summers; but his heart
Our life is twofold : sleep hath its own world — Had far outgrown his years, and to his eye
A boundary between the things misnamed

There was but one beloved face on earth, Death and existence: sleep hath its own world, And that was shining on him; he had looked And a wide realm of wild reality;

Upon it till it could not pass away; And dreams in their development have breath, He had no breath, no being, but in hers; And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy; She was his voice; he did not speak to her, They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts; But trembled on her words; she was his sight, They take a weight from off our waking toils; For his eye followed hers, and saw with hers, They do divide our being; they become

Which colored all his objects; he had ceased A portion of ourselves as of our time,

To live within himself; she was his life, And look like heralds of eternity ;

The ocean to the river of his thoughts, They pass like spirits of the past, they speak Which terminated all; upon a tone, Like sibyls of the future; they have power — A touch of hers, his blood would ebb and flow, The tyranny of pleasure and of pain;

And his cheek change tempestuously, his heart They make us what we were not — what they | Unknowing of its cause of agony. will;

But she in these fond feelings had no share: They shake us with the vision that's gone by,

Her sighs were not for him; to her he was The dread of vanished shadows. Are they so ? Even as a brother, but no more; 'twas much ; Is not the past all shadow? What are they? For brotherless she was, save in the name Creations of the mind 1- the mind can make

Her infant friendship had bestowed on him,
Substance, and people planets of its own

Herself the solitary scion left
With beings brighter than have been, and give Of a time-honored race. It was a name
A breath to forms which can outlive all flesh.

Which pleased him, and yet pleased him not — and I would recall a vision, which I dreamed

why? Perchance in sleep; for in itself a thought, Time taught him a deep answer — when she loved A slumbering thought, is capable of years,

Another. Even now she loved another ;
And curdles a long life into one hour.

And on the summit of that hill she stood
Looking afar, if yet her lover's steed

Kept pace with her expectancy, and flew.
I saw two beings in the hues of youth
Standing upon a hill, a gentle hill,
Green and of mild declivity; the last,

A change came o'er the spirit of my dream :
As 'twere the cape, of a long ridge of such, There was an ancient mansion; and before
Save that there was no sea to lave its base,

Its walls there was a steed caparisoned.
But a most living landscape, and the wave

Within an antique oratory stood
Of woods and cornfields, and the abodes of men The boy of whom I spake; he was alone,
Scattered at intervals, and wreathing smoke And pale, and pacing to and fro. Anon
Arising from such rustic roofs; the hill

He sate him down, and seized a pen and traced



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