LOVE’S LANGUAGE.

               How does Love speak? 
     In the faint flush upon the tell-tale cheek,
     And in the pallor that succeeds it; by
     The quivering lid of an averted eye—­
     The smile that proves the patent to a sigh—­
          Thus doth Love speak.

          How does Love speak? 
     By the uneven heart-throbs, and the freak
     Of bounding pulses that stand still and ache,
     While new emotions, like strange barges, make
     Along vein-channels their disturbing course;
     Still as the dawn, and with the dawn’s swift force—­
          Thus doth Love speak.

          How does Love speak? 
     In the avoidance of that which we seek—­
     The sudden silence and reserve when near—­
     The eye that glistens with an unshed tear—­
     The joy that seems the counterpart of fear,
     As the alarmed heart leaps in the breast,
     And knows and names and greets its godlike guest—­
          Thus doth Love speak.

          How does Love speak? 
     In the proud spirit suddenly grown meek—­
     The haughty heart grown humble; in the tender
     And unnamed light that floods the world with splendor;
     In the resemblance which the fond eyes trace
     In all fair things to one beloved face;
     In the shy touch of hands that thrill and tremble;
     In looks and lips that can no more dissemble—­
          Thus doth Love speak.

          How does Love speak? 
     In the wild words that uttered seem so weak
     They shrink ashamed to silence; in the fire
     Glance strikes with glance, swift flashing high and higher
     Like lightnings that precede the mighty storm;
     In the deep, soulful stillness; in the warm,
     Impassioned tide that sweeps through throbbing veins
     Between the shores of keen delight and pains;
     In the embrace where madness melts in bliss,
     And in the convulsive rapture of a kiss—­
          Thus doth Love speak.

     [Illustration:  LOVE’S LANGUAGE]

     IMPATIENCE.

     How can I wait until you come to me? 
       The once fleet mornings linger by the way,
     Their sunny smiles touched with malicious glee
       At my unrest; they seem to pause, and play
       Like truant children, while I sigh and say,
          How can I wait?

     How can I wait?  Of old, the rapid hours
          Refused to pause or loiter with me long;
     But now they idly fill their hands with flowers,
       And make no haste, but slowly stroll among
       The summer blooms, not heeding my one song,
          How can I wait?

     How can I wait?  The nights alone are kind;
       They reach forth to a future day, and bring
     Sweet dreams of you to people all my mind;
       And time speeds by on light and airy wing. 
       I feast upon your face, I no more sing,
          How can I wait?