IF I SHOULD DIE. 
     RONDEAU.

     If I should die, how kind you all would grow! 
     In that strange hour I would not have one foe. 
          There are no words too beautiful to say
          Of one who goes forevermore away
     Across that ebbing tide which has no flow.

     With what new lustre my good deeds would glow! 
     If faults were mine, no one would call them so,
          Or speak of me in aught but praise that day,
               If I should die.

     Ah, friends! before my listening ear lies low,
     While I can hear and understand, bestow
          That gentle treatment and fond love, I pray,
          The lustre of whose late though radiant way
     Would gild my grave with mocking light, I know,
               If I should die.

     MESALLIANCE.

     I am troubled to-night with a curious pain;
     It is not of the flesh, it is not of the brain,
       Nor yet of a heart that is breaking: 
     But down still deeper, and out of sight—­
     In the place where the soul and the body unite—­
       There lies the scat of the aching.

     They have been lovers in days gone by;
     But the soul is fickle, and longs to fly
       From the fettering mesalliance: 
     And she tears at the bonds which are binding her so,
     And pleads with the body to let her go,
       But he will not yield compliance.

     For the body loves, as he loved in the past,
     When he wedded the soul; and he holds her fast,
       And swears that he will not loose her;
     That he will keep her and hide her away
     For ever and ever and for a day
       From the arms of Death, the seducer.

     Ah! this is the strife that is wearying me—­
     The strife ’twixt a soul that would be free
       And a body that will not let her. 
     And I say to my soul, “Be calm, and wait;
     For I tell ye truly that soon or late
       Ye surely shall drop each fetter.”

     And I say to the body, “Be kind, I pray;
     For the soul is not of thy mortal clay,
       But is formed in spirit fashion.” 
     And still through the hours of the solemn night
     I can hear my sad soul’s plea for flight,
       And my body’s reply of passion.

     [Illustration:]

     [Illustration:  DAY DREAMS]

     RESPONSE.

     I said this morning, as I leaned and threw
       My shutters open to the Spring’s surprise,
     “Tell me, O Earth, how is it that in you
       Year after year the same fresh feelings rise? 
     How do you keep your young exultant glee? 
     No more those sweet emotions come to me.

     “I note through all your fissures how the tide
       Of healthful life goes leaping as of old;
     Your royal dawns retain their pomp and pride;
       Your sunsets lose no atom of their gold. 
     How can this wonder be?” My soul’s fine ear
     Leaned, listening, till a small voice answered near: