THE PROBLEM.

Two parted long, and yearning long to meet,

Within an hour the life of months repeat;

Then come to silence, as if each had poured

Into the other's keeping all his hoard.

And when the life seems drained of all its store,

Each inly wonders why he says no more.

Why, since they've met, does mutual need seem small,

And what avails the presence, after all?

Though silent thought with those we love is sweet,

The heart finds every meeting incomplete;

And with the dearest there must sometimes be

The wide and lonely silence of the sea.

CHARLOTTE F. BATES.