Oh, love, the vision grows too dear,
    I live in visions—­I pursue
  Them only; come, your rival meet,
    My future bring, it will be—­you!

“O FRIEND, BEGIN A LOFTIER SONG.”

  O friend, begin a loftier song. 
  Confusion falls upon your mind;
  A sense of evil makes you blind;
  “What use,” you say, “is it to be? 
  I know not god, god knows not me!”

  O friend, begin a loftier song. 
  In other minds you place no trust: 
  You tread your laurels in the dust: 
  You see no Future, Hope has fled,
  Youth had its dreams, but Youth is dead.

  O friend, begin a loftier song. 
  “The sweet ideal of past years
  Speaks in my songs, they are my tears: 
  I’ll weep no more, I’ll sing no lays
  To bury Youth for idle praise!”

  O friend, begin a loftier song. 
  Come through the gateway of the Past,
  Dear friend.  The world will hear at last
  The little songs the poets sing: 
  Do thou with anthems make it ring!

  “Now that the pain is gone, I too can smile.”

  Now that the pain is gone, I too can smile
    At such a foolish picture; you and me
  Together in that moonlit summer night,
    Within the shadow of an aspen-tree.

  My hand was on your shoulder:  I grew wild: 
    The blood seethed furiously through my heart! 
  But you—­Oh, you were saintly calm, and cold;
    You moved my hand, and said, “’T is best we part!”

  My face fell on the bands of your fair hair,
    A moonbeam struck across my hungry eye,
  And struck across your balmy crimson mouth: 
    I longed to kiss you, and I longed to die!

  Die in the shadow of the trembling tree,
    Trembling my soul away upon your breast. 
  You smiled, and drifted both your snowy hands
    Against my forehead, and your fingers pressed

  Faintly and slow adown my burning face;
    A keen sense of the woman touched you then,
  The nice dramatic sense you women have,
    Playing upon the feelings of us men!

  Long years have passed since that midsummer night,
    But still I feel the creeping of your hand
  Along my face.  If I return once more,
    And in the shadow of that tree should stand

  With you there—­Answer!  Would you kiss me back? 
    Would you reject me if I sued again?—­
  How strange this is!  I think my madness lasts,
    Although I’m sure I have forgot the pain!

THE COLONEL’S SHIELD.

  Your picture, slung about my neck
    The day we went afield,
  Swung out before the trench;
  It caught the eye of rank and file,
    Who knew “The Colonel’s Shield.”

  I thrust it back, and with my men
    (Our General rode ahead)
  We stormed the great redoubt,
  As if it were an easy thing,
    But rows of us fell dead!