With towering chimneys outlined tall and swart
Against the silver pools.  Two figures pace
The wharf in ghostly silence, face from face. 
O’er the black line of mountain, silver-clear
In faint rose-tint of vaporous evening air,
Sinketh the bright suspicion of a wing,
The slim curved moon, who in shy triumphing
Hideth her face.  Above, the rose-tint pales
Into a silver opal, hills and dales
Of cloudy glory, fading high alone
Into a tender blue-grey monotone.—­
And then I thought:  “ere that fair, slender moon
Has rounded grown and full, (so soon, so soon!)
Our hearts’ desire accomplished we shall see
Dear one, all light, and joy, and ecstasy!”

PARTED.

My spirit holds you, Dear,
    Though worlds away,”—­
This to their absent ones
    Many can say.

“Thoughts, fancies, hopes, desires,
    All must be yours;
Sweetest my memories still
    Of our past hours.”

I can say more than this
    Now, lover mine,—­
Here can I feel your kiss
    Warmer than wine,

Feel your arms folding me,
    Know that quick breath
That aye my soul would stir
    Even in death.

’Tis not a memory, Love,
    Thoughts of the past,
Fleeting remembrances
    Which may not last,—­

But, as I shut my eyes
    Know I the sign
That you are here, yourself,
    Bodily, mine.—­

So, Love, I cannot say
    “My spirit flies
Over the widening space,
    Under dull skies,

To where your spirit is,”—­
    Though I may know
Seas part us, earth divides,
    It is not so

Here to me, now, for you
    Lean on my heart. 
Who says that you and I
    Ever can part?—­

TOUT POUR L’AMOUR.

The world may rage without,
    Quiet is here;
Statesmen may toil and shout,
    Cynics may sneer;
The great world,—­let it go,—­
June warmth be March’s snow,
I care not,—­be it so
    Since I am here.

Time was when war’s alarm
    Called for a fear,
When sorrow’s seeming harm
    Hastened a tear. 
Naught care I now what foe
Threatens, for scarce I know
How the year’s seasons go
    Since I am here.

This is my resting-place
    Holy and dear,
Where pain’s dejected face
    May not appear;
This is the world to me,
Earth’s woes I will not see,
But rest contentedly
    Since I am here.

Is’t your voice chiding, Love,
    My mild career,
My meek abiding, Love,
    Daily so near?—­
“Danger and loss,” to me? 
Ah, Sweet, I fear to see
No loss but loss of thee,
    And I am here.

SOOTHING.