Faint day and the fainter life awoke,
    And the night was overpast;
  And I said, “Though never in life you spoke
    Oh, speak with a look at last!”

  For the space of a heart-beat fluttered her breath,
    As a bird’s wing spread to flee;
  She turned her weary arms to Death,
    And the light of her eyes to me.

H.C.  BUNNER.

[8] From “The Poems of H.C.  Bunner,” copyright, 1884, 1892, 1896, by Charles Scribner’s Sons.

Evening Song.[9]

  Look off, dear Love, across the sallow sands,
    And mark yon meeting of the sun and sea,
  How long they kiss in sight of all the lands. 
    Ah! longer, longer, we.

  Now in the sea’s red vintage melts the sun,
    As Egypt’s pearl dissolved in rosy wine,
  And Cleopatra night drinks all.  ’Tis done,
    Love, lay thine hand in mine.

  Come forth, sweet stars, and comfort heaven’s heart;
    Glimmer, ye waves, round else unlighted sands. 
  O night! divorce our sun and sky apart,
    Never our lips, our hands.

S. LANIER.

[9] From “Poems of Sidney Lanier,” copyright, 1884, 1891, by Mary D. Lanier, published by Charles Scribner’s Sons.

“The Woods That Bring the Sunset Near.”

  The wind from out the west is blowing,
  The homeward-wandering cows are lowing,
  Dark grow the pine-woods, dark and drear,—­
  The woods that bring the sunset near.

  When o’er wide seas the sun declines,
  Far off its fading glory shines,
  Far off, sublime, and full of fear,—­
  The pine-woods bring the sunset near.

  This house that looks to east, to west,
  This, dear one, is our home, our rest;
  Yonder the stormy sea, and here
  The woods that bring the sunset near.

R.W.  GILDER.

At Night.

  The sky is dark, and dark the bay below
  Save where the midnight city’s pallid glow
        Lies like a lily white
        On the black pool of night.

  O rushing steamer, hurry on thy way
  Across the swirling Kills and gusty bay,
        To where the eddying tide
        Strikes hard the city’s side!

  For there, between the river and the sea,
  Beneath that glow,—­the lily’s heart to me,—­
        A sleeping mother mild,
        And by her breast a child.

R.W.  GILDER.

“Still in Thy Love I Trust.”

  Still in thy love I trust,
  Supreme o’er death, since deathless is thy essence;
  For, putting off the dust,
  Thou hast but blest me with a nearer presence.

  And so, for this, for all,
  I breathe no selfish plaint, no faithless chiding;
  On me the snowflakes fall,
  But thou hast gained a summer all-abiding.

  Striking a plaintive string,
  Like some poor harper at a palace portal,
  I wait without and sing,
  While those I love glide in and dwell immortal.