MABEL.
I waited for thee, love—'tis past the hour,
And on my dial slumbers Time in shade
When thou comest not to sun me.
ORAN.
I but stood
There on the threshold, following thy voice
Away, away through mazy lengths of dreams.
Music—low music from the lips we love,
Is the true siren that still lures the soul
From cares of earth to the Enchanted Isles.