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If sorrow have taught me anything
you; And if Falsehood have left me a tear to shed
For Truth, these tears are true. If the one star left by the morning
Be dear to the dying night;
Be sweetest to scent and sight,
Be dear to the desolate tree,
How dear is your beauty to me!
And more dear than the gold, is the silver
Grief hath sown in that hair's young gold: And lovelier than youth, is the language
Of the thoughts that have made youth old ; We must love, and unlove, and forget, dear
Fashion and shatter the spell
Ere life learns to love once and love well.
Since I have outlived it-see!
Since you, dear, will share them with me?
Owen Meredith. CX.
Look back, look back! the height is won,
Passion, Duty, Hope, Delight,
There were objects fresh and bright.
And from them fashion all he feels,
That half their music steals.
Flies o'er the lyre and bids it sing.
Till the very heart in reply will ring
I stand upon a vantage-height
With rocks and snows around me, And gaze on valleys smiling bright
Where earliest morning found me. By village lawns and grassy slopes
I careless mused and pondered,
Up, ever up, I wandered.
and tho' no craven,
Where lies my evening haven.
But icy chasms clouded,
Sun-lit, but dimly shrouded.
Where two score years have left me,
Oh, how has Time bereft me! Bright spots I see, like many a gem
Still in the distance burning,
But ah! there's no returning!
The path I must be going,
The mists are round me growing.
Where dangers rose beside me,
G. H. S.
RAIN IN SUMMER.
How beautiful is the rain ! After the dust and heat, In the broad and fiery street, In the narrow lane, How beautiful is the rain. The sick man from his chamber looks At the twisted brooks; He can feel the cool Breath of each little pool; His fevered brain Grows calm again, And he breathes a blessing on the rain. In the country on every side, Where far and wide, Like a leopard's tawny and spotted hide, Stretches the plain, To the dry grass and the drier grain How welcome is the rain. Near at hand From under the sheltering trees, The farmer sees His pastures and his fields of grain, As they bend their tops To the numberless beating drops Of the incessant rain. He counts it as no sin That he sees therein Only his own thrift and gain. These and far more than these The Poet sees! He can behold Aquarius old Walking the fenceless fields of air ;
And from each ample fold Of the clouds about him rolled Scattering everywhere The showery rain, As the farmer scatters his grain. He can behold Things manifold That have not yet been wholly told, Have not been wholly sung or said, For his thought, that never stops, Follows the water drops Down to the graves of the dead, Down thro' chasms and gulfs profound, To the dreary fountain-head Of lakes and rivers underground; And sees them, when the rain is done, On the bridge of colours seven Climbing up once more to heaven, Opposite the setting sun. Thus the Seer With vision clear Sees forms appear and disappear, In the perpetual round of strange, Mysterious change. From birth to death, from death to birth, From earth to heaven, from heaven to earth; Till glimpses more sublime Of things unseen before, Unto his wondering eyes reveal The universe, as an immeasurable wheel Turning for evermore In the rapid and rushing river of Time.