A LITTLE WHILE. A little while a little love The hour yet bears for thee and me Who have not drawn the veil to see If still our heaven be lit above. Thou merely, at the day’s last sigh, Hast felt thy soul prolong the tone; And I have heard the night-wind cry And deemed its speech mine own. A little while a little love The scattering autumn hoards for us Whose bower is not yet ruinous Nor quite unleaved our songless grove. Only across the shaken boughs We hear the flood-tides seek the sea, And deep in both our hearts they rouse One wail for thee and me. A little while a little love May yet be ours who have not said The word it makes our eyes afraid To know that each is thinking of. Not yet the end: be our lips dumb In smiles a little season yet: I ’ll tell thee, when the end is come, How we may best forget.
SUDDEN LIGHT. I have been here before, But when or how I cannot tell: I know the grass beyond the door, The sweet keen smell, The sighing sound, the lights around the shore. You have been mine before,— How long ago I may not know: But just when at that swallow’s soar Your neck turned so, Some veil did fall,—I knew it all of yore. Has this been thus before? And shall not thus time’s eddying flight Still with our lives our loves restore In death’s despite, And day and night yield one delight once more?

THREE SHADOWS. I looked and saw your eyes In the shadow of your hair, As a traveller sees the stream In the shadow of the wood; And I said, “My faint heart sighs, Ah me! to linger there, To drink deep and to dream In that sweet solitude.” I looked and saw your heart In the shadow of your eyes, As a seeker sees the gold In the shadow of the stream; And I said, “Ah, me! what art Should win the immortal prize, Whose want must make life cold And Heaven a hollow dream?” I looked and saw your love In the shadow of your heart, As a diver sees the pearl In the shadow of the sea; And I murmured, not above My breath, but all apart,— “Ah! you can love, true girl, And is your love for me?”

WILLIAM BELL SCOTT.

1812-1890.

PARTING AND MEETING AGAIN. L ast time I parted from my Dear The linnet sang from the briar-bush, The throstle from the dell; The stream too carolled full and clear, It was the spring-time of the year, And both the linnet and the thrush I love them well Since last I parted from my Dear. But when he came again to me The barley rustled high and low, Linnet and thrush were still; Yellowed the apple on the tree, ’T was autumn merry as it could be, What time the white ships come and go Under the hill; They brought him back again to me, Brought him safely o’er the sea.