AD FINEM.

     On the white throat of the’ useless passion
       That scorched my soul with its burning breath
     I clutched my fingers in murderous fashion,
       And gathered them close in a grip of death;
     For why should I fan, or feed with fuel,
       A love that showed me but blank despair? 
     So my hold was firm, and my grasp was cruel—­
       I meant to strangle it then and there!

     I thought it was dead.  But with no warning,
       It rose from its grave last night, and came
     And stood by my bed till the early morning,
       And over and over it spoke your name. 
     Its throat was red where my hands had held it;
       It burned my brow with its scorching breath;
     And I said, the moment my eyes beheld it,
       “A love like this can know no death.”

     For just one kiss that your lips have given
       In the lost and beautiful past to me
     I would gladly barter my hopes of Heaven
       And all the bliss of Eternity. 
     For never a joy are the angels keeping,
       To lay at my feet in Paradise,
     Like that of into your strong arms creeping,
       And looking into your love-lit eyes.

     I know, in the way that sins are reckoned,
       This thought is a sin of the deepest dye;
     But I know, too, if an angel beckoned,
       Standing close by the Throne on High,
     And you, adown by the gates infernal,
       Should open your loving arms and smile,
     I would turn my back on things supernal,
       To lie on your breast a little while.

     To know for an hour you were mine completely—­
       Mine in body and soul, my own—­
     I would bear unending tortures sweetly,
       With not a murmur and not a moan. 
     A lighter sin or a lesser error
       Might change through hope or fear divine;
     But there is no fear, and hell has no terror,
       To change or alter a love like mine.

     [Illustration:]

     [Illustration:]

     BLEAK WEATHER.

     Dear Love, where the red lilies blossomed and grew
       The white snows are falling;
     And all through the woods where I wandered with you
       The loud winds are calling;
     And the robin that piped to us tune upon tune,
       Neath the oak, you remember,
     O’er hill-top and forest has followed the June
       And left us December.

     He has left like a friend who is true in the sun
       And false in the shadows;
     He has found new delights in the land where he’s gone,
       Greener woodlands and meadows. 
     Let him go! what care we? let the snow shroud the lea,
       Let it drift on the heather;
     We can sing through it all:  I have you, you have me. 
       And we’ll laugh at the weather.