Love much. There is no waste in freely giving;
More blessed is it, even, than to receive.
He who loves much, alone finds life worth living,
Love on, through doubt and darkness; and believe
There is no thing which Love may not achieve.
ONE OF US TWO.
THE day will dawn, when one of us shall hearken
In vain to hear a voice that has grown dumb.
And morns will fade, noons pale, and shadows darken,
While sad eyes watch for feet that never come.
One of us two must sometime face existence
Alone with memories that but sharpen pain.
And these sweet days shall shine back in the distance,
Like dreams of summer dawns, in nights of rain.
One of us two, with tortured heart half broken,
Shall read long-treasured letters through salt tears,
Shall kiss with anguished lips each cherished token,
That speaks of these loved-crowned, delicious years.
One of us two shall find all light, all beauty,
All joy on earth, a tale forever done;
Shall know henceforth that life means only duty.
Oh, God! Oh, God! have pity on that one.
HER REVERIE.
WE were both of us—aye, we were both of us there,
In the self-same house at the play together,
To her it was summer, with bees in the air—
To me it was winter weather.
We never had met, and yet we two
Had played in desperate woman fashion,
A game of life, with a prize in view,
And oh! I played with passion.
’Twas a game that meant heaven and sweet home-life
For the one who went forth with a crown upon her;
For the one who lost—it meant lone strife,
Sorrow, despair and dishonor.
Well, she won (yet it was not she—
I am told that she was a praying woman:
No earthly power could outwit me—
But hers was superhuman).