Im Alden THE MAGIC MIRROR. The magic mirror makes not nor unmakes; Charms none to sleep, nor any from it wakes— It only giveth back the thing it takes. "Tis but the heart's own cheer that makes it glad, And one's own bitterness will drive him mad; It needeth not that other help be had. Dame Fortune maketh none to rise or fall; To him that hath not doth no portion call; They see themselves who look in Fortune's face; MB. Aldrich. IDENTITY. Somewhere, in desolate, wind-swept space,— "And who are you?" cried one, agape, Shuddering in the gloaming light. "I do not know," said the second Shape, "I only died last night!" SLEEP. When to soft sleep we give ourselves away, Drift on and on through the enchanted dark To that sweet bitter world we know by day. So high in heaven no human eye may mark The sharp swift pinion cleaving through the gray. Till we awake, ill fate can do no ill, The resting heart shall not take up again The heavy load that yet must make it bleed : For this brief space, the loud world's voice is still, No faintest echo of it brings us pain. How will it be when we shall sleep indeed? ON LYNN TERRACE. (1879.) All day to watch the blue wave curl and break, Behind me lie the idle life and vain, The task unfinished, and the weary hours; That long wave bears me softly back to Spain And the Alhambra's towers! Once more I halt in Andalusian pass, To list the mule-bells jingling on the height; Below, against the dull esparto grass, The almonds glimmer white. Huge gateways, wrinkled, with rich grays and browns, Or, if I will, from out this thin sea-haze |