MELANCHOLY.
With shadowy immortelles of memory
About her brow, she sits with eyes that look
Upon the stream of Lethe wearily,
In hesitant hands Death's partly-opened book.
CONTENT.
Among the meadows of Life's sad unease—
In labor still renewing her soul's youth—
With trust, for patience, and with love, for peace,
Singing she goes with the calm face of Ruth.
LIFE AND DEATH.
Of our own selves God makes a glass, wherein
Two shadows image them as might a breath:
And one is Life, whose other name is Sin;
And one is Love, whose other name is Death.
SORROW.
Death takes her hand and leads her through the waste
Of her own soul, wherein she hears the voice
Of lost Love's tears, and, famishing, can but taste
The dead-sea fruit of Life's remembered joys.