“Page,” I prompted.
“My ‘Mr. Page,’” she repeated, softly, and, at the sound of returning footsteps, slipped from me into the dimness of the hall, and was gone.
THE GIFTS OF GOLD
Desire of joy—how keen, how keen it is!
(Oh, the young heart—the young heart in its Spring!)
There waits adventure on the road of bliss—
A challenge in each note the free birds fling;
The spur of pride to dare us climb and kiss—
Desire of joy—how keen, how keen it is!