O!  TAKE AWAY YOUR FLOWERS.

O! take your pale camellias back;
  Their soft leaves, waxen white
And odorless, too ill accord
  With my dark mood to-night.

I do not want your hot-house flowers,
  They’re like the love you give—­
A something tame and passionless
  That breaths but does not live.

You take my hand as though you feared
  Your clasp were over-bold,
Your kiss falls light at flake of snow,
  And just as calm and cold.

I’d rather have your hatred
  Than this lifeless loving claim,
If your heart beat one throb faster
  At mention of my name.

Leave me, and bind those soulless leaves
  A calmer brow above;
I cannot wear your flowers to-night—­
  I do not want your love.

RAIN.

            Drop! drop! drop! 
  With a ceaseless patter fall,
With a sobbing sound on the sodden ground,
  And the gray clouds over all. 
Dost weep of the parted summer,
  O, spirit of the rain? 
For the vanished hours and the faded flowers
  That never can come again?

The farmer smiles at they weeping,
  Hushing the whispering leaves,
And dreams of days in the Autumn haze
  And the gathered golden sheaves. 
There’s a voice of hope, a promise,
  In the sound of thy refrain,
And as bright the hours and as fair the flowers
  That will come to thee again.

And yet in our lives, though knowing
  That we hold a scepter’s sway,
How oft we turn with the thoughts that burn,
  To weep on Autumn day. 
Turn from the hopeful future
  To weep in grief and pain,
For the vanished hours and the faded flowers
  That never can come again.

I LOVE HIM FOR HIS EYES.

They praised the baby’s dimpled hands,
  His brow so broad and fair,
They kiss the dainty rose-bud mouth,
  Caress the sunny hair. 
His lisping words, his tottling steps,
  His smiles they praise and prize,
They love him for his cunning ways,
  I love him for his eyes.

The wealth of golden tinted curls
  Old Time will streak with snow;
The rose-bud mouth so dainty curved
  To sterner lines will grow. 
The fleeting years will mark with change
  Each feature now they prize,
Save only the sweet eyes I love—­
  I love him for his eyes.

Those wondrous, wondrous soulful eyes,
  How strange the spell they fling
Unconsciously around my heart;
  What memories they bring! 
What buried hours come thronging back—­
  A distant, dearer clime—­
Another pair of love-lit eyes,
  Another summer time.

Oh, baby, take your eyes away: 
  They burn into my heart! 
I’ll kiss you once, and say good-by,
  And hid the tears that start;
But through the years to come and go,
  The changeful scenes to rise,
I’ll love the little baby boy—­
  I love him for his eyes.