“For I was but a wayward boy
  When first you gladly welcomed me
And taught me work was truer joy
  Than rioting incessantly: 
    And thus the din that stormed within
    The old guitar and violin
    Has fallen in a fainter tone
    And sweeter, for your sake alone.

“Though in my absence I have stood
  In festal halls a favored guest,
I missed, in this old quietude,
  My worthy work and worthy rest—­
    By this I know that long ago
    You loved me first, and told me so
    In art’s mute eloquence of speech
    The voice of praise may never reach.

“For lips and eyes in truth’s disguise
  Confuse the faces of my friends,
Till old affection’s fondest ties
  I find unraveling at the ends;
    But as I turn to you, and learn
    To meet my griefs with less concern,
    Your love seems all I have to keep
    Me smiling lest I needs must weep.

“Yet I am happy, and would fain
  Forget the world and all its woes;
So set me to my tasks again,
  Old Room, and lull me to repose: 
    And as we glide adown the tide
    Of dreams, forever side by side,
    I’ll hold your hands as lovers do
    Their sweethearts’ and talk love to you.”

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

THE PLAINT HUMAN

Season of snows, and season of flowers,
  Seasons of loss and gain!—­
Since grief and joy must alike be ours,
  Why do we still complain?

Ever our failing, from sun to sun,
  O my intolerant brother—­
We want just a little too little of one,
  And much too much of the other.

THE QUEST

I am looking for Love.  Has he passed this way,
With eyes as blue as the skies of May,
And a face as fair as the summer dawn?—­
You answer back, but I wander on,—­
For you say:  “Oh, yes; but his eyes were gray,
And his face as dim as a rainy day.”

Good friends, I query, I search for Love;
His eyes are as blue as the skies above,
And his smile as bright as the midst of May
When the truce-bird pipes:  Has he passed this way? 
And one says:  “Ay; but his face, alack! 
Frowned as he passed, and his eyes were black.”

O who will tell me of Love?  I cry! 
His eyes are as blue as the mid-May sky,
And his face as bright as the morning sun;
And you answer and mock me, every one,
That his eyes were dark, and his face was wan,
And he passed you frowning and wandered on.

But stout of heart will I onward fare,
Knowing my Love is beyond—­somewhere,—­
The Love I seek, with the eyes of blue,
And the bright, sweet smile unknown of you;
And on from the hour his trail is found
I shall sing sonnets the whole year round.

[Illustration]