He prances off at a goodly pace;
    ’T is a noble steed he rides,
  That bears as well in the speedy race
    As he bears in battle-tides. 
  What tho’ ’t is but a rocking-chair
  That prances with this stately air? 
    ’T is a warrior bold
    The reins doth hold,
  Who bids all foes beware!

THOU ART MY LUTE

  Thou art my lute, by thee I sing,—­
    My being is attuned to thee. 
  Thou settest all my words a-wing,
    And meltest me to melody.

  Thou art my life, by thee I live,
    From thee proceed the joys I know;
  Sweetheart, thy hand has power to give
    The meed of love—­the cup of woe.

  Thou art my love, by thee I lead
    My soul the paths of light along,
  From vale to vale, from mead to mead,
    And home it in the hills of song.

  My song, my soul, my life, my all,
    Why need I pray or make my plea,
  Since my petition cannot fall;
    For I ’m already one with thee!

THE PHANTOM KISS

  One night in my room, still and beamless,
    With will and with thought in eclipse,
  I rested in sleep that was dreamless;
    When softly there fell on my lips

  A touch, as of lips that were pressing
    Mine own with the message of bliss—­
  A sudden, soft, fleeting caressing,
    A breath like a maiden’s first kiss.

  I woke-and the scoffer may doubt me—­
    I peered in surprise through the gloom;
  But nothing and none were about me,
    And I was alone in my room.

  Perhaps ’t was the wind that caressed me
    And touched me with dew-laden breath;
  Or, maybe, close-sweeping, there passed me
    The low-winging Angel of Death.

  Some sceptic may choose to disdain it,
    Or one feign to read it aright;
  Or wisdom may seek to explain it—­
    This mystical kiss in the night.

  But rather let fancy thus clear it: 
    That, thinking of me here alone,
  The miles were made naught, and, in spirit,
    Thy lips, love, were laid on mine own.

COMMUNION

  In the silence of my heart,
    I will spend an hour with thee,
  When my love shall rend apart
    All the veil of mystery: 

  All that dim and misty veil
    That shut in between our souls
  When Death cried, “Ho, maiden, hail!”
    And your barque sped on the shoals.

  On the shoals?  Nay, wrongly said. 
    On the breeze of Death that sweeps
  Far from life, thy soul has sped
    Out into unsounded deeps.

  I shall take an hour and come
    Sailing, darling, to thy side. 
  Wind nor sea may keep me from
    Soft communings with my bride.

  I shall rest my head on thee
    As I did long days of yore,
  When a calm, untroubled sea
    Rocked thy vessel at the shore.