Thus, from the shades that gather
Around my path to-night
Your glad child-hands have drawn me
Back to your lands of light,
Giving me for my sadness
The medicine of your gladness,
O littlest hands and dearest,
O golden heads and bright.
A LOVE SONG
Love came to me once more,
His wings all drenched with rain;
Silent his singing lips,
His eyes were dark with pain.
Dead roses in his hands—
Gone were the flowers of yore;
Only a poor, grey ghost,
Love lingered at my door.
Wasted his rounded limbs
And grey his golden hair—
Poor, shadowy, silent God,
Who once had been so fair.
"O Love, great Love," I cried,
"Why come you thus to me?"
"I am Love's ghost," he said;
"Men name me Memory."
A SONG OF LOVE
Love came loitering down the way,
(Heart, but we two were young!)
Laughter light in his eyes there lay,
Music was on his tongue;
"Stay, Love, stay—walk with us, pray!
(Sweet were the songs he sung.)