THE INSCRUTABLE
A glad young girl amid the sunshine flitting,
Like a bright bird let loose from Paradise—
A weary woman, in the shadow, sitting
With haggard face and dry despairing eyes.
* * * * * *
The one in death’s dark chamber now is lying,
Stricken to marble her warm pulsing breast:
And God denies the luxury of dying
To the sad soul whose one cry is for rest.
DELILAH
Why comest thou with those grand eyes of thine
To lure me as the cruel light the moth,
To my destruction.—Long ago my wrath
Cooled its white heat in pity’s depths divine.
There was a time when full of bitter hate
I could have crushed thee—but that time is past,
And tho’ I needs must love thee to the last,
Tempt me not now—it is too late, too late.
Apart for evermore our paths must lie,
Such love as thine can only bring a curse.
I would be better for my love, not worse,
So go while I have strength to say “Good-bye.”
A BABY’S GRAVE
I could not lay her down to sleep
In a death-crowded place,
With grim black yews to keep God’s sun
From shining on her face.