IMMUNITY.
LEAF of the deep-leaved holly-tree,
Long spared the weather-god’s disdain,
Have not thy brothers borne for thee
June’s inavertible raging rain?
And they are beautiful and hale,
Those sun-veined revellers; and thou
Still crippled, still afraid and pale,
Sole discord of the singing bough!
PAULA’S EPITAPH.
GO you by with gentle tread.
This was Paula, who is dead:
Eyes dark-lustrous to the look
As a leaf-pavilioned brook,
Voice upon the ear to cling
Sweeter than the cithern-string;
Whose shy spirit, unaware
Loosed into refreshful air,
With it took for talisman,
Climbing past the starry van,
Names to which the heavens do ope,
Candor, Chastity, and Hope.