Cloudless rise the azure heavens! 
Only vaporous wreaths of snowy white
Nestle in the grey hill’s rugged side;
And the golden woods are bathed in light,
Dying, if they must, with kingly pride: 
While the swallows in the blue air wheeling,
Circle now an eager fluttering band,
Ready to depart and leave us
For a brighter land!

But a voice is sounding sadly,
Telling of a glory that has been;
Of a day that faded all too fast—­
See afar through the blue air serene,
Where the swallows wing their way at last,
And our hearts perchance, as sadly wandering,
Vainly seeking for a long-lost day,
While we watch the far-off swallows,
Flee with them away!

VERSE:  THREE EVENINGS IN A LIFE

I.

Yes, it looked dark and dreary,
That long and narrow street: 
Only the sound of the rain,
And the tramp of passing feet,
The duller glow of the fire,
And gathering mists of night
To mark how slow and weary
The long day’s cheerless flight!

II.

Watching the sullen fire,
Hearing the dismal rain,
Drop after drop, run down
On the darkening window-pane: 
Chill was the heart of Alice,
Chill as that winter day,—­
For the star of her life had risen
Only to fade away.

III.

The voice that had been so strong
To bid the snare depart,
The true and earnest will,
The calm and steadfast heart,
Were now weighed down by sorrow,
Were quivering now with pain;
The clear path now seemed clouded,
And all her grief in vain.

IV.

Duty, Right, Truth, who promised
To help and save their own,
Seemed spreading wide their pinions
To leave her there alone. 
So, turning from the Present
To well-known days of yore,
She called on them to strengthen
And guard her soul once more.

V.

She thought how in her girlhood
Her life was given away,
The solemn promise spoken
She kept so well to-day;
How to her brother Herbert
She had been help and guide,
And how his artist nature
On her calm strength relied.

VI.

How through life’s fret and turmoil
The passion and fire of art
In him was soothed and quickened
By her true sister heart;
How future hopes had always
Been for his sake alone;
And now,—­what strange new feeling
Possessed her as its own?

VII.

Her home—­each flower that breathed there,
The wind’s sigh, soft and low,
Each trembling spray of ivy,
The river’s murmuring flow,
The shadow of the forest,
Sunset, or twilight dim—­
Dear as they were, were dearer
By leaving them for him.