VII. The sparrow's chirrup on the roof, The slow clock ticking, and the sound Which to the wooing wind aloof The poplar made, did all confound Her sense; but most she loathed the hour When the thick-moted sunbeam lay Athwart the chambers, and the day Was sloping toward his western bower. Then, said she, "I am very dreary, He will not come," she said; She wept, "I am aweary, aweary, O God! that I were dead!" ΤΟ CLEAR-HEADED friend, whose joyful scorn, Ray-fringed eyelids of the morn Roof not a glance so keen as thine: Low-cowering shall the Sophist sit; Falsehood shall bare her plaited brow: A gentler death shall Falsehood die, Shot through and through with cunning words Weak Truth, a-leaning on her crutch, Until she be an athlete bold, And weary with a finger's touch Those writhed limbs of lightning speed; Like that strange angel which of old, Until the breaking of the light, Wrestled with wandering Israel, Past Yabbok brook the lingering night, And heaven's mazed signs stood still In the dim tract of Penuel. MADELINE. THOU art not steeped in golden languors, Through light and shadow thou dost range, Sudden glances, sweet and strange, Delicious spites, and darling angers, And airy forms of flitting change. Smiling, frowning, evermore, Of wealthy smiles: but who may know Whether smile or frown be sweeter, Who may know? Frowns perfect-sweet along the brow Like little clouds sun-fringed, are thine, Thy smile and frown are not aloof Each to each is dearest brother; A subtle, sudden flame, By veering passion fanned, About thee breaks and dances; When I would kiss thy hand, The flush of angered shame O'erflows thy calmer glances, But when I turn away, |