THE SUMMONS.

I EXPECT you in September

With the glory of the year:

You shall make the Autumn precious,

And the death of Summer dear;

You shall help the days that shorten,
With a lengthening of delight;

You shall whisper long-drawn blisses
Through the gathering screen of night.

I will lead you, dream-enchanted,
Where the fairest grasses grow;
I will hear your murmured music
Where the fresh winds pipe and blow.
On the brown heath, weird-encircled,
Shall our noiseless footsteps fall,-
We, communing with twin counsel,
Each to other all in all.

Leave the titles that men owe thee;

Like the first pair let us meet;

Name the world all over to me,

New-created at thy feet;

Gentle task and duteous learning,

I will hang upon thy breath

With the tender zeal of childhood,

With the constancy of death.

What shall be the gods declare not, They who stamp Love's burning coin

Into spangles of a moment,

Into stars that deathless shine.

Oh! the foolish music lingers;

For the theme is heavenly dear :

I expect you in September,

With the glories of the year.

WAITING.

I HAVE set my house in order
For a stately step to grace;

I have bidden the mirrors keep record
Of a never-forgotten face;

I have brightened with thrifty cunning

The walls of my sylvan home:

They are beautiful in the shadow

Of him who vouchsafes to come.

I have swept the leaves from the greensward, And the gray stones twinkle and shine;

I have loosened each fretful tangle

Of the twisted cedar and vine;

I have ordered the waters waste not

Their splendors upon mine eye,

But to wait, like my heart, for thy footsteps,

And gush when thou drawest nigh.

Myself I would dress for thy presence;
But there I must stand and weep,

Since the years that teach Love's value

His vanishing treasure sweep.

But words that are spells of magic,
And merciful looks and ways,

Shall brighten the rusted features

That faded when none did praise.

Thou gracious and lordly creature,
Do the trees, when thou passest by,
Let down their fair arms to enlace thee,
And the flowers reach up to thine eye?

Do they wait, all athrill, when thou passest,

For a touch of thy life divine?

Do they fold their meek hands when thou fleetest,

And die for a breath of thine?

My heart has leapt forth to embrace thee;

It clings, like a babe, to thy breast;

And my blood is a storm-stirred ocean

That waits for the word of rest.

Time loses his paltry measure

Now that Love's eterne draws near,

And the lingering moments that part us Are endless in hope and fear.

Oh! what if, beyond thy sunshine, Some gathering storm should brood? Thy rapture, forsaking, shall leave me Alone with God's orphanhood.

The heart thou hast blest so inly

Shall wait no inglorious breath:

Come hither, then, ye who walk twinly; So enter here, Love and Death!