Only her beauty dawned on me
  When silent woods were left behind,
  “Never mind that now!” said she
  And now I shall always mind.

REGRETS.

(AFTER CHARLES ROUSSEAU.)

  Let me cherish in my sadness
  Those fair days of youth and gladness! 
  Moments of delightful madness
  Gone, alas, for evermore! 
  Vain regrets for misspent powers,
  Wasted chances, faded flowers,
  Vex my lonely spirit sore. 
  Had I only known before! 
  Let me cherish in my sadness
  Those fair days of youth and gladness! 
  Moments of delightful madness
  Gone, alas, for evermore!

TOO LATE.

(PEINE D’AMOUR.)

(AFTER ARMAND SILVESTRE.)

  When your hand was laid upon mine
  ’Twas in painful dread that I grasped it,
  For some hesitation malign,
  Made tremble the fingers that clasped it.

  When you turned your forehead so near,
  ’Twas in painful dread that I kissed it,
  For some cruel prompting of fear
  Made me timidly seek to resist it.

  Ah!—­and my life thenceforward approved
  Sorrow’s bitterness had o’ercome me,
  I only knew how I loved
  The day that had taken you from me.

IF THERE BE A GARDEN GAY.

(S’IL EST UN CHARMANT GAZON.)

(AFTER VICTOR HUGO.)

  If there be a garden gay
  Man has not molested,
  Where blaze through the summer day
  Flowers golden crested,
  Where tallest lilies grow,
  And honeysuckles blow
  There, oh there I fain would go
  Where thy foot, thy foot has rested!

  If there be a rosy dream
  By true love invested,
  Where all things delightful seem
  Close together nested
  Where soul to soul may tell
  The joy they know so well
  ’Tis there, oh there I fain would dwell
  Where thy heart, thy heart has rested.

THE MESSAGE OF THE ROSES.

(ENVOI DE ROSES.)

(AFTER VICOMTE DE BORELLI.)

  Oh, if the fairest of these roses
  With its red lips to thee shall tell
  Such things as language knows not of,
  As in thy bosom it reposes,
  Then keep it well
  It is my love!

  But if the sweetest of the roses
  With its red lips shall silent be,
  And only seek instead the bliss
  Which thy delightful mouth discloses,
  Return it me
  It is my kiss!

LOVE WENT OUT WHEN MONEY WAS INVENTED.

“You’re a very foolish man, John,” said my sister Ruth.  “You’re worse than foolish.  A man never gets any happiness by marrying out of his station.”

“You may be right,” I answered, “but after all I have something to offer.  I am rich, and Marie is poor.  I admit that she is a patrician and that I am a plebeian.  But money, after all, counts for something, especially in these days.  I don’t see how Marie can spend a very happy existence now, but I am determined to make her life a dream of happiness.  You will see, my dear Ruth, that my marriage will be a success.”