By EDNA MEAD.
Look, Love! I lay my wistful hands in thine
A little while before you seek the dark,
Untraversed ways of War and its Reward,
I cannot bear to lift my gaze and mark
The gloried light of hopeful, high emprise
That, like a bird already poised for flight,
Has waked within your eyes.
For me no proud illusions point the road,
No fancied flowers strew the paths of strife: