Long years ago, within a distant clime,
  Ere Love had touched me with his wand sublime,
  I dreamed of one to make my life’s calm May
  The panting passion of a summer’s day. 
  And ever since, in almost sad suspense,
  I have been waiting with a soul intense
  To greet and take unto myself the beams,
  Of her, my star, the lady of my dreams.

  O Love, still longed and looked for, come to me,
  Be thy far home by mountain, vale, or sea. 
  My yearning heart may never find its rest
  Until thou liest rapt upon my breast. 
  The wind may bring its perfume from the south,
  Is it so sweet as breath from my love’s mouth? 
  Oh, naught that surely is, and naught that seems
  May turn me from the lady of my dreams.

DREAM SONG II

  Pray, what can dreams avail
    To make love or to mar? 
  The child within the cradle rail
    Lies dreaming of the star. 
  But is the star by this beguiled
  To leave its place and seek the child?

  The poor plucked rose within its glass
    Still dreameth of the bee;
  But, tho’ the lagging moments pass,
    Her Love she may not see. 
  If dream of child and flower fail,
  Why should a maiden’s dreams prevail?

CHRISTMAS IN THE HEART

  The snow lies deep upon the ground,
  And winter’s brightness all around
  Decks bravely out the forest sere,
  With jewels of the brave old year. 
  The coasting crowd upon the hill
  With some new spirit seems to thrill;
  And all the temple bells achime. 
  Ring out the glee of Christmas time.

  In happy homes the brown oak-bough
  Vies with the red-gemmed holly now;
  And here and there, like pearls, there show
  The berries of the mistletoe. 
  A sprig upon the chandelier
  Says to the maidens, “Come not here!”
  Even the pauper of the earth
  Some kindly gift has cheered to mirth!

  Within his chamber, dim and cold,
  There sits a grasping miser old. 
  He has no thought save one of gain,—­
  To grind and gather and grasp and drain. 
  A peal of bells, a merry shout
  Assail his ear:  he gazes out
  Upon a world to him all gray,
  And snarls, “Why, this is Christmas Day!”

  No, man of ice,—­for shame, for shame! 
  For “Christmas Day” is no mere name. 
  No, not for you this ringing cheer,
  This festal season of the year. 
  And not for you the chime of bells
  From holy temple rolls and swells. 
  In day and deed he has no part—­
  Who holds not Christmas in his heart!

THE KING IS DEAD

  Aye, lay him in his grave, the old dead year! 
  His life is lived—­fulfilled his destiny. 
  Have you for him no sad, regretful tear
  To drop beside the cold, unfollowed bier? 
  Can you not pay the tribute of a sigh?