A DAY OF DEFECTION.

This day among the days will never stand,
Carven and clear, a shape of fair delight,

With singing lips, and gaze of innocent might,
Crown'd queenwise, or the lyre within her hand,
And firm feet making conquest of a land

Heavy with fruitage; nay, from all men's sight
Drop far, cold sun, and let remorseful Night
Cloke the shamed forehead, and the bosom's brand.
Could but the hammer rive, the thunder-stone
Flung forth from heaven on some victorious morn
Grind it to dust! Slave, must I alway see

Thy beauty soil'd? Must shining days foregone
Admit thee peer, and wondering, new-born
To-morrow meet thy dull eyes' infamy?

SONG AND SILENCE.

While Sorrow sat beside me many a day,
I,—with head turned from her, and yet aware
How her eyes' light was on my brow and hair,
The light which bites and blights our gold to grey,—
Still sang, and swift winds bore my songs away
Full of sweet sounds, as of a lute-player

Who sees fresh colours, breathes the ripe soft air,
And hears the cuckoo shout in dells of May,
Being filled with ease and indolent of heart.

So sang I, Sorrow near me: chide me not,

O Joy, for silence now! Hereafter wise,

Large song may come, life blossoming in art,
From this new fate; but leave me, thou long sought,
To gaze awhile into those perfect eyes.

LOVE-TOKENS.

I wear around my forehead evermore,

The circlet of your praise, pure gold; and how
I walk forth crown'd, the approving angels know,
And see how I am meeker than before

Being thus proud. For roses my full store,
Upon a cheek where flowers will scantly blow,
Is your lips' one immortal touch, and lo!

All shame deserts my blood to the heart's core.
Dare I display love's choicest gift—this scar
Still sanguine-hued? Here ran your sudden brand
Sheer through the starting flesh, and let abroad
A traitor's life; your wrathful eyes afar,

Had doom'd him first. Ah, gracious, valiant hand
Which drew me bleeding to the feet of God!

A DREAM.

I dreamed I went to seek for her whose sight
Is sunshine to my soul; and in my dream
I found her not; then sank the latest beam
Of day in the rich west; upswam the Night
With sliding dews, and still I searched in vain,
Through thickest glooms of garden-alleys quaint,

On moonlit lawns, by glimmering lakes where faint

The ripples brake and died, and brake again.
Then said I, "At God's inner court of light

I will beg for her;" straightway toward the same
I went, and lo! upon the altar-stair,

She knelt with face uplifted, and soft hair

Fallen upon shoulders purely gowned in white,

And on her parted lips I read my name.