Cool grows the sick and feverish calm, The pine-tree dreameth of the palm, As soon shall nature interlace As these young lovers face to face ΙΟ 15 Lord Houghton. CCLXVI A SUMMER REMINISCENCE. I hear no more the locust beat His shrill loud drum through all the day; Of clover and of scented hay. No more I hear the smothered song From hedges guarded thick with thorn: The days grow brief, the nights are long, I sit before my fire alone, And idly dream of all the past: I think of moments that are flown 5 ΙΟ I feel the soft winds fan my cheek, I hear them murmur through the rye, 20 The stile beside the spreading pine, The path along the windy beach, I view them all, I tread once more 25 30 Oh, happy hours of pure delight! 35 And broke in ripples on her neck, 45. She standing rapt in sweet surprise, 50 Her novel, as I raised my eyes, Dropped down amid the tall green fern. This day and that-the one so bright, For when the mellow autumn flushed Who sat with her below the pine, She sang to him the song I loved. Nathaniel G. Shepherd. 55 60 CCLXVII SONG. Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea; The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape, Ask me no more: what answer should I give? Ask me no more: thy fate and mine are sealed: 5 ΙΟ 15 Alfred Tennyson. CCLXVIII THE VIOLET. Oh faint, delicious, spring-time violet, Turns noiselessly in memory's wards to let A thought of sorrow free. The breath of distant fields upon my brow Blows through that open door, The sound of wind-borne bells, more sweet and low And sadder than of yore. It comes afar, from that beloved place, And that beloved hour, When life hung ripening in love's golden grace, A spring goes singing through its reedy grass, Drowned in the sky-O pass, ye visions, pass, I would that I were dead! Why hast thou opened that forbidden door From which I ever flee? O vanished Joy! O Love that art no more, Let my vexed spirit be! O violet! thy odour through my brain This sunny day, as if a curse did stain 5 ΙΟ 15 20 William W. Story. Sweet order hath its draught of bliss Ten times ecstatic in that 'tis Considerate and innocent. In vain disorder grasps the cup; The pleasure 's not enjoyed, but spilt; It only tastes of earth and guilt; CCLXX Coventry Patmore. THE HAPPY HUSBAND. He safely walks in darkest ways, Who is the happy husband? He, CCLXXI THEN. Coventry Patmore. I give thee treasures hour by hour, I give thee love as God gives light, I give thee prayers, like jewels strung And tenderer thoughts than ever hung 5 ΙΟ 5 |