“While I should make rejoinder"—(then

It was, no doubt, you ceased that least Light pressure of my arm in yours)

I can conceive of cheaper cures “For a yawning fit o'er books and men. “What? All I am, was, and mig "All, books taught, art brought, life's whole

strife, “Painful results since precious, just

“Were fitly exchanged, in wise disgust, “For two cheeks freshened by youth and sea ? “All for a nosegay!- what came first;

"With fields on flower, untried each side; “I rally, need my books and men,

“And find a nosegay': drop it, then, “No match yet made for best or worst!" That ended me. You judged the porch

We left by, Norman ; took our look At sea and sky; wondered so few

Find out the place for air and view; Remarked the sun began to scorch; Descended, soon regained the baths,

And then, good-bye! Years ten since then: Ten years! We meet: you tell me, now,

By a window-seat for that cliff-brow, On carpet-stripes for those sand-paths. Now I may speak: you fool, for all

Your lore! Who made things plain in vain? What was the sea for? What, the grey

Sad church, that solitary day,
Crosses and graves and swallows' call?
Was there nought better than to enjoy?

No feat which, done, would make time break, And let us pent-up creatures through

Into eternity, our due?
No forcing earth teach heaven's employ?

No wise beginning, here and now,

What cannot grow complete (earth's feat) And heaven must finish, there and then?

No tasting earth's true food for men,
Its sweet in sad, its sad in sweet?
No grasping at love, gaining a share

O the sole spark from God's life at strife
With death, so, sure of range above

The limits here? For us and love,
Failure; but, when God fails, despair.
This you call wisdom? Thus you add

Good unto good again, in vain?
You loved, with body worn and weak;

I loved, with faculties to seek:
Were both loves worthless since ill-clad?

Let the mere star-fish in his vault

Crawl in a wash of weed, indeed,
Rose-jacynth to the finger-tips:

He, whole in body and soul, outstrips
Man, found with either in default.
But what's whole, can increase no more,

Is dwarfed and dies, since here's its sphere. The devil laughed at you in his sleeve!

You knew not? That I well believe; Or you had saved two souls: nay, four. For Stephanie sprained last night her wrist,

Ankle or something. “Pooh," cry you? At any rate she danced, all say,

Vilely; her vogue has had its day. Here comes my husband from his whist.

TOO LATE

LERE was I with my arm and heart
11 And brain, all yours for a word, a want
Put into a look-just a look, your part,-

While mine, to repay it ... vainest vaunt,
Were the woman, that's dead, alive to hear,

Had her lover, that's lost, love's proof to show! But I cannot show it; you cannot speak

From the churchyard neither, miles removed, Though I feel by a pulse within my cheek,

Which stabs and stops, that the woman I loved Needs help in her grave and finds none near,

Wants warmth from the heart which sends it-so!

Did I speak once angrily, all the drear days

You lived, you woman I loved so well, Who married the other? Blame or praise,

Where was the use then? Time would tell, And the end declare what man for you,

What woman for me, was the choice of God.
But, Edith dead ! no doubting more!

I used to sit and look at my life
As it rippled and ran till, right before,

A great stone stopped it: oh, the strife
Of waves at the stone some devil threw

In my life's midcurrent, thwarting God! But either I thought, “They may churn and chide

“Awhile, my waves which came for their joy “And found this horrible stone full-tide:

“Yet I see just a thread escape, deploy “Through the evening-country, silent and safe,

“And it suffers no more till it finds the sea.' Or else I would think, “ Perhaps some night “When new things happen, a meteor-ball

“May slip through the sky in a line of light,

“And earth breathe hard, and landmarks fall, “And my waves no longer champ nor chafe, “Since a stone will have rolled from its place:

let be!" But, dead! All's done with: wait who may,

Watch and wear and wonder who will. Oh, my whole life that ends to-day!

Oh, my soul's sentence, sounding still, “The woman is dead that was none of his;

“And the man that was none of hers may go!" There's only the past left: worry that!

Wreak, like a bull, on the empty coat, Rage, its late wearer is laughing at!

Tear the collar to rags, having missed his throat; Strike stupidly on—“This, this and this,

“Where I would that a bosom received the blow!" I ought to have done more: once my speech,

And once your answer, and there, the end, And Edith was henceforth out of reach!

Why, men do more to deserve a friend, Be rid of a foe, get rich, grow wise,

Nor, folding their arms, stare fate in the face.
Why, better even have burst like a thief

And borne you away to a rock for us two,
In a moment'š horror, bright, bloody and brief:

Then changed to myself again—"I slew “Myself in that moment; a ruffian lies

"Somewhere: your slave, see, born in his place!" What did the other do? You be judge!

Look at us, Edith! Here are we both! Give him his six whole years: I grudge

None of the life with you, nay, loathe Myself that I grudged his start in advance

Of me who could overtake and pass. But, as if he loved you! No, not he,

Nor anyone else in the world, 'tis plain:

Who ever heard that another, free

As I, young, prosperous, sound and sane, Poured life out, proffered it—“Half a glance

“Of those eyes of yours and I drop the glass !" Handsome, were you? 'Tis more than they held,

More than they said; I was 'ware and watched: I was the 'scapegrace, this rat belled

The cat, this fool got his whiskers scratched: The others? No head that was turned, no heart

Broken, my lady, assure yourself! Each soon made his mind up; so and so

Married a dancer, such and such
Stole his friend's wife, stagnated slow,

Or maundered, unable to do much,
And muttered of peace where he had no part:

While, hid in the closet, laid on the shelf, —
On the whole, you were let alone, I think!

So, you looked to the other, who acquiesced; My rival, the proud man,-prize your pink

Of poets! a poet he was! I've guessed: He rhymed you his rubbish nobody read,

Loved you and doved you did not I laugh! There was a prize! But we both were tried.

Oh, heart of mine, marked broad with her mark, Tekel, found wanting, set aside,

Scorned! See, I bleed these tears in the dark Till comfort come and the last be bled:

He? He is tagging your epitaph. If it would only come over again!

-Time to be patient with me, and probe This heart till you punctured the proper vein,

Just to learn what blood is : twitch the robe From that blank lay-figure your fancy draped,

Prick the leathern heart till the-verses spirt ! And late it was easy; late, you walked

Where a friend might meet you; Edith's name