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Ad Te Domine

O THOU who sendest dewdrops to the garden,
Until each fragrant bud receives its own,
Canst Thou not look on human hearts and pardon
To waiting loneliness its bitter moan?

The flowers can drink the dawn,—it hastens to them;
But hearts athirst wait sadly for their hour,
For the sweet gift that may, perchance, undo them,—
Too fatal sweet a dew for human flower.

Miranda

Miranda! dreaming through the starry night,
Thine, the far innocence of dead Elaine,
Thine, the rapt beauty of Cecilia's face,
Thine, the white fire of Mary's last embrace,
Thine, life's mad phantasy of love-in-pain,
Till, seraph-winged, our wedded soul takes flight.

Thine, the far innocence of dead Elaine,
When thirsty boyhood knelt beside the spring
Of life, and drank her crystal beauty there:
Not dead—but vanished from the noontide glare,
In the deep blue her soul is quivering—
In thy great tears she'll come to me again.

A Word for the Dumb

Pity the sorrows of a poor old Dog
Who wags his tail a-begging in his need:
Despise not even the sorrows of a Frog,
God's creature too, and that's enough to plead:
Spare Puss who trusts us purring on our hearth:
Spare Bunny once so frisky and so free:
Spare all the harmless tenants of the earth:
Spare, and be spared:—or who shall plead for thee?

Longings of Love

I long to speak the deepest words I have to say to you;
but I dare not, for fear you should laugh.
That is why I laugh at myself and shatter my secret in jest.
I make light of my pain, afraid you should do so.

I long to tell you the truest words I have to say to you;
but I dare not, being afraid that you would not believe them.
That is why I disguise them in untruth,
saying the contrary of what I mean.
I make my pain appear absurd, afraid that you should do so.

I long to use the most precious words I have for you;
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