The night has a thousand eyes and other poems . e so,Long ago, ah I long ago. Child of the dark hair, can you guessWhy from your head I cut a tress? Because his lock, of the same dark hue,I burnt in scorn when he proved now I could look on it calmly, was so long, so long ago. 60 A LA CHALEUR DU JOUR. T ANDS of our childish dreams,??— Of flowers and happy streams, Too far, too far beyond recall ye fade. Children and butterflies, What gain ye, growing wise. To make amends for happiness The woods enchanted ways, Trees that were haunts of fays, All, all have lost their s
The night has a thousand eyes and other poems . e so,Long ago, ah I long ago. Child of the dark hair, can you guessWhy from your head I cut a tress? Because his lock, of the same dark hue,I burnt in scorn when he proved now I could look on it calmly, was so long, so long ago. 60 A LA CHALEUR DU JOUR. T ANDS of our childish dreams,??— Of flowers and happy streams, Too far, too far beyond recall ye fade. Children and butterflies, What gain ye, growing wise. To make amends for happiness The woods enchanted ways, Trees that were haunts of fays, All, all have lost their spell; and what remains Save memory, and troth-plight With some far-off delight. For Edens outcast, toiling on hot 6i WHEN IN THE WOODS I WANDERED. \1 7HEN in the woods I wandered,The gift of bird-like songCame on me full and strong;And many a verse I squanderedThe woods and ways along But now my verse, though ponderedWith labor sad and long,Strives vainly to be strong, Ah me ! the gift so squandered!Ah me! the bird-like song! 62. THE FORSAKEN DOVE. /^NCE, in the dying day, ^^ Into the golden skies, On wings as gold as they I watched a wood-dove the shining clouds afarHe shot, and vanished like a star. But all the moonless nightI heard in the dark wood One plaining her sad plightIn doleful solitude. O cruel light to take my love! O lonely night ! O forlorn dove! 63 MAY MEMORIES. /^H, for the light-hearted^-^ Life and the passionatePulse, and the fetterless Feet, and the strongStream of enthusiastThought, when the spirit ofSpring like a BacchanalBore me along!Oh, the luxuriantLeaves, and the effluentFlowers, and the resonantRaptures of song! 64 Oh, for the mirth-bringingMorns, and the nectarousNoons, and the exquisite Eves, when the fairFace of the noiseless queenNight, with her eloquentEyes, and her azure Abysses, lay bare;And like a breath from theBriar, from the sensitiveSoul rose the innocent Incense of prayer! 65 w AFTER STORM. IND and wave are sleeping
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