Love, the aged,
Walking, bowed, the shadeless miles,
Read a volume many-paged,
Full of tears and smiles.
Love, the weary,
Tottered down the shelving road:
At its foot, lo, Night, the starry,
Meeting him from God!
"Love, the holy,"
Sang a music in her dome,
Sang it softly, sang it slowly,
"Love is coming home!"
THE LARK AND THE WIND.
In the air why such a ringing?
On the earth why such a droning?
In the air the lark is singing;
On the earth the wind is moaning.
"I am blest, in sunlight swinging!"
"Sad am I: the world lies groaning!"
In the sky the lark kept singing;
On the earth the wind kept moaning.
A DEAD HOUSE.
When the clock hath ceased to tick
Soul-like in the gloomy hall;
When the latch no more doth click
Tongue-like in the red peach-wall;
When no more come sounds of play,
Mice nor children romping roam,
Then looks down the eye of day
On a dead house, not a home!