Contents.

PAGE
[To a Dead Poet][11]
[A Minor Poet][13]
[Xantippe][23]
[Medea][35]
[Sinfonia Eroica][58]
[To Sylvia][60]
[A Greek Girl][62]
[Magdalen][65]
[Christopher Found][69]
[A Dirge][74]
[The Sick Man and the Nightingale] [76]
[To Death][77]
[A June-Tide Echo][78]
[To Lallie][80]
[In a Minor Key][83]
[A Farewell][86]
[A Cross-Road Epitaph][87]
[Epitaph][88]
[Sonnet][89]
[Translated from Geibel][90]

To a Dead Poet.

I KNEW not if to laugh or weep;
They sat and talked of you—
“’Twas here he sat; ’twas this he said!
’Twas that he used to do.

“Here is the book wherein he read,
The room, wherein he dwelt;
And he” (they said) “was such a man,
Such things he thought and felt.”

I sat and sat, I did not stir;
They talked and talked away.
I was as mute as any stone,
I had no word to say.

They talked and talked; like to a stone
My heart grew in my breast—
I, who had never seen your face
Perhaps I knew you best.