And now I have faith in all the stories
       Told of the beauties of unseen lands;
     Of royal splendors and marvellous glories
       Of the golden city not made with hands
     For the silken beauty of falling tresses,
       Of lips all dewy and cheeks aglow,
     With—­what the mind in a half trance guesses
       Of the twin perfection of drifts of snow;

     Of limbs like marble, of thigh and shoulder
       Carved like a statue in high relief—­
     These, as the eyes and the thoughts grow bolder,
       Leave no room for an unbelief. 
     So my lady, my queen most royal,
       My skepticism has passed away;
     If you are true to me, true and loyal,
       I will believe till the Judgment-day.

     [Illustration:]

     [Illustration:]

     LOVE’S COMING.

     She had looked for his coming as warriors come,
       With the clash of arms and the bugle’s call: 
     But he came instead with a stealthy tread,
       Which she did not hear at all.

     She had thought how his armor would blaze in the sun,
       As he rode like a prince to claim his bride: 
     In the sweet dim light of the falling night
       She found him at her side.

     She had dreamed how the gaze of his strange, bold eye
       Would wake her heart to a sudden glow: 
     She found in his face the familiar grace
       Of a friend she used to know.

     She had dreamed how his coming would stir her soul,
       As the ocean is stirred by the wild storm’s strife: 
     He brought her the balm of a heavenly calm,
       And a peace which crowned her life.

     OLD AND NEW.

     Long have the poets vaunted, in their lays,
       Old times, old loves, old friendship, and old wine. 
     Why should the old monopolize all praise? 
       Then let the new claim mine.

     Give me strong new friends when the old prove weak
       Or fail me in my darkest hour of need;
     Why perish with the ship that springs a leak
       Or lean upon a reed?

     Give me new love, warm, palpitating, sweet,
       When all the grace and beauty leave the old;
     When like a rose it withers at my feet,
       Or like a hearth grows cold.

     Give me new times, bright with a prosperous cheer,
       In place of old, tear-blotted, burdened days;
     I hold a sunlit present far more dear,
       And worthy of my praise.

     When the old deeds are threadbare and worn through,
       And all too narrow for the broadening soul,
     Give me the fine, firm texture of the new,
       Fair, beautiful, and whole!

     PERFECTNESS.