I know the way she went
  Home with her maiden posy,
For her feet have touch’d the meadows
  And left the daisies rosy.

Tennyson.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

IX.

A golden radiance shines,
  And day declines;
Red in the dying sun,
  Day’s course is run;
And weary labourers have homeward gone,
  Their day’s work done.

The cornfield now is still,
  To-morrow will
Bring back the men who reap: 
  But now asleep
The woods and fields and meadows seem to lie—­
  Restful as I.

E.  Nesbit.

[Illustration]

X.

As a twig trembles which a bird
  Lights on to sing, then leaves unbent,
So is my memory thrilled and stirred;
  I only know she came and went.

As clasps some lake, by gusts unriven,
  The blue dome’s measureless content,
So my soul held that moment’s heaven;—­
  I only know she came and went.

As at one bound, our swift Spring heaps
  The orchard full of bloom and scent,
So clove her May my wintry sleeps;—­
  I only know she came and went.

An angel stood and met my gaze
  Through the low doorway of my tent;
The tent is struck, the vision stays;—­
  I only know she came and went.

[Illustration]

Oh, when the room grows slowly dim,
  And life’s last oil is nearly spent,
One gush of light these eyes will brim,
  Only to think she came and went.

J.R.  Lowell.

[Illustration]

XI.

EVENING SONG.

Waking, I dream of thy life that shall be
  Never by sorrow made weary;
Earth shall be soft with love for thee,
  Down-lined the nest of my dearie. 
Millions of flowers to gladden thy way,
Springing from seeds that my heart sets to-day. 
            Sleep, darling baby, baby!

Sleeping, dream thou of the Spirit of Spring—­
  Of sweets and of scents she is bringing;
Just for the flowers’ sake thrushes will sing,
  Flowers blow for love of the singing. 
In the world’s harmony take thou thy part,
So shall the springtide bloom in thy heart! 
            Sleep, darling baby, baby!

E.  Nesbit.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

XII.

Now comes the first chill whisper of the end,
  While yet the woods are green and skies are blue;
While under loads of corn great waggons bend,
  And sunshine makes us glad the whole day through. 
The trees are full of leaf and of delight,
  Yet through them sighs the forecast of the time
When the lean branches shall be wondrous, white
  With winter’s lovely radiant frost and rime.

The fallen leaves as yet are hardly missed,
  The rest will fade—­until the woods are bare,
And the dim glades where summer lovers kissed,
  Forget how leafy and divine they were. 
And in our souls come whispers of despair,
  “Failure again—­failure for evermore! 
Leaves only for one summer’s space are fair,
  No flower can live to see the fruit it bore.”