A POET.
| From wells where Truth in secret lay He saw the midnight stars by day. “O marvellous gift!” the many cried, “O cruel gift!” his voice replied. The stars were far, and cold, and high, That glimmered in the noonday sky; He yearned toward the sun in vain, That warmed the lives of other men. |
CONVENTION.
| He falters on the threshold, She lingers on the stair: Can it be that was his footstep? Can it be that she is there? Without is tender yearning, And tender love is within; They can hear each other’s heart-beats, But a wooden door is between. |