In the dewy depths of the graveyard
I lie in the tangled grass,
And watch, in the sea of azure,
The white cloud-islands pass.

The birds in the rustling branches
Sing gayly overhead;
Gray stones like sentinel spectres
Are guarding the silent dead.

The early flowers sleep shaded
In the cool green noonday glooms;
The broken light falls shuddering
On the cold white face of the tombs,

Without, the world is smiling
In the infinite love of God,
But the sunlight fails and falters

Love beckoned me to come more near,
And wait, two women's songs to hear:
The songs ran sweet, the songs ran clear;
It seemed they never could be done.
One woman sat and sang in shade,
Her still hands on her bosom laid;
The other sat and sang in sun.

" I love my love, " the one song said,
" Because he lifts such kingly head,
And walks with such a kingly tread,
That men kneel down, and men confess;
And women, in soft, sad surprise,
Acknowledge, by their longing eyes,
His beauty and his goodliness.

Sad is the thought of sunniest days
Of love and rapture perished,
And shine through memory's tearful haze
The eyes once fondliest cherished.
Reproachful is the ghost of toys
That charmed while life was wasted.
But saddest is the thought of joys
That never yet were tasted.

Sad is the vague and tender dream
Of dead love's lingering kisses,
To crushed hearts haloed by the gleam
Of unreturning blisses;
Deep mourns the soul in anguished pride
For the pitiless death that won them, —
But the saddest wail is for lips that died

O WOE to thee, oenone! stricken blind
And poisoned by a darkness and a pain,
O, woe to thee, oenone! who couldst find
No love when love lay dying, doubly slain
Slain thus by thee, oenone!
O, what stain,
Of red like this on hands of love was seen
Ever before or since, since love has been!
O, woe to thee, oenone! Hadst thou said,
" Sweet love, lost love, I know now why I live
And could not die, the days I wished me dead;
O love, all strength of life and joy I give
Thee back! Ah me, that I have dared to strive

Never the shadow of a summer cloud
Can fleet between my Lady and my loving;
The miser World shall find my head unbow'd
And my heart's temper high beyond its proving.

My heart is fixt to be her Prisoner,
And she, an honest Janitress, the keys
Doth shrine in her own heart as Treasurer,
So sure that Death itself were not Decease.

For if upon a day Fate proved unkind
And grimly stalkt betwixt my Love and me,
The glancing motions of her faithful mind
Would glint athwart him plain for me to see:

No morning ever seemed so long! —
I tried to read with all my might!
In my left hand " My Landlord's Tales, "
And threepence ready in my right.

'Twas twelve at last — my heart beat high! —
The Postman rattled at the door! —
And just upon her road to church,
I dropt the " Bride of Lammermoor! "

I seized the note — I flew up stairs —
Flung-to the door, and locked me in —
With panting haste I tore the seal —
And kissed the B in Benjamin!

'Twas full of love — to rhyme with dove —
And all that tender sort of thing —

On LOVE.

Venus, the beauteous offspring of the day,
From thy bright orb dart one propitious ray;
Awake the gentlest passions in my breast,
And be thy pow'r thro' all my soul confest.
From faithless waves thou art but feign'd to rise,
Nor gloomy Saturn gave thee to the skies;
No wanton crowds at Cyprus thee invok'd,
Nor impious incense on thy altars smok'd.

Divine thy lineage, thy resplendent star,
With chearful glory glads the fields of air:
From thee the sweet, the fertile spirit flows,

If I should love a maiden more,
And woo her ev'ry hope to crown,
I'd love her all the country o'er,
But not declare it out of town.

One even, by a mossy bank,
That held a hornet's nest within,
To Ellen on my knees I sank, —
How snakes will twine around the shin!

A bashful fear my soul unnerved,
And gave my heart a backward tug;
Nor was I cheer'd when she observed,
Whilst I was silent, — " What a slug! "

At length my offer I preferr'd,
And Hope a kind reply forebode —
Alas! the only sound I heard

Goddess of dreams, mother of love and sorrow,
Such sorrow as from love's fair promise flows,
Such love as from love's martyrdoms doth borrow
That conquering calm which only sorrow knows! —

Venus, Madonna! so serene and tender,
In thy calm after-bloom of life and love,
More fair than when of old thy sea-born splendor
Surprised the senses of Olympian Jove! —

Not these the lips, that kindling into kisses,
Poured subtile heats through Adon's languid frame,
Rained on his sullen lips their warm caresses,

My heart is sick with longing, tho' I feed
On hope; Time goes with such a heavy pace
That neither brings nor takes from thy embrace,
As if he slept — forgetting his old speed:
For, as in sunshine only we can read
The march of minutes on the dial's face,
So in the shadows of this lonely place
There is no love, and Time is dead indeed.
But when, dear lady, I am near thy heart,
Thy smile is time, and then so swift it flies,
It seems we only meet to tear apart
With aching hands and lingering of eyes.
Alas, alas! that we must learn hours' flight