II.
Eyes in whose shadow-spell
Far off I read
That which to lovers taking loving heed
Dear women's eyes full soon and plainly tell—
Oh, will you give such cheer
This time a year?
III.
Behold! the dark year goes,
Nor will reveal
Aught of its purpose, if for woe or weal,
Swift as a stream that o'er the mill-weir flows:
Mayhap the end draws near
Within the year!
IV.
Yet, darling, once more touch
Those lips to mine.
Set on my life that talisman divine;
Absence, new friends, I fear not overmuch——
Even Death, should he appear
Within the year!
THE SINGING WIRE.
Hark to that faint, ethereal twang
That from the bosom of the breeze
Has caught its rise and fall: there rang
Æolian harmonies!
I looked; again the mournful, chords,
In random rhythm lightly flung
From off the wire, came shaped in words;
And thus, meseemed, they sung.
"I, messenger of many fates,
Strung to the tones of woe or weal,
Fine nerve that thrills and palpitates
With all men know or feel,—