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Memories

And yet the house is full of her;

She goes and comes again;

And longings thrill, and memories stir,
Like lilacs in the rain.

Out in their yards the neighbors walk,
Among the blossoms tall;

Of Anne, of Phyllis do they talk,

Of Lydia not at all.

Lizelle Woodworth Reese [1856

AFTER

Он, the littles that remain!

Scent of mint out in the lane;

Flare of window, sound of bees;—
These, but these.

Three times sitting down to bread;
One time climbing up to bed;
Table-setting o'er and o'er;
Drying herbs for winter's store;
This thing; that thing;-nothing more.

But just now out in the lane,

Oh, the scent of mint was plain!

Lizette Woodworth Reese [1856

MEMORIES

Of my ould loves, of their ould ways,
I sit an' think, these bitther days.

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(I've kissed-'gainst rason an' 'gainst rhymeMore mouths than one in my mad time!)

Of their soft ways an' words I dream,
But far off now, in faith, they seem.

Wid betther lives, wid betther men,
They've all long taken up again!

For me an' mine they're past an' done-
Aye, all but one-yes, all but one!

Since I kissed her 'neath Tullagh Hill
That one gerrl stays close wid me still.

Och! up to mine her face still lifts,
An' round us still the white May drifts;

An' her soft arm, in some ould way,
Is here beside me, night an' day;

But, faith, 'twas her they buried deep,
Wid all that love she couldn't keep,

Aye, deep an' cold, in Killinkere,
This many a year-this many a year!

Arthur Stringer [1874

TO DIANE

THE ruddy poppies bend and bow,
Diane! do you remember?

The sun you knew shines proudly now,
The lake still lists the breezes vow,
Your towers are fairer for their stains,
Each stone you smiled upon remains.
Sing low-where is Diane?

Diane! do you remember?

I come to find you through the years,
Diane! do you remember?

For none may rule my love's soft fears.
The ladies now are not your peers,

I seek you through your tarnished halls,
Pale sorrow on my spirit falls,
High, low-where is Diane?

Diane! do you remember?

I crush the poppies where I tread,

Diane! do you remember?

Your flower of life, so bright, so red

She does not hear-Diane is dead.

Her Dwelling-Place

I

pace the sunny bowers alone

ΙΙΟΙ

Where naught of her remains but stone.

Sing low-where is Diane?

Diane does not remember.

Helen Hay Whitney [18

ASLEEP

--

He knelt beside her pillow in the dead watch of the night, And he heard her gentle breathing, but her face was still and

white,

And on her poor, wan cheek a tear told how the heart can

weep,

And he said, "My love was weary-God bless her! she's asleep."

He knelt beside her grave-stone in the shuddering autumn

night,

And he heard the dry grass rustle, and his face was thin and

white,

And through his heart the tremor ran of grief that cannot

weep,

And he said, "My love was weary-God bless her! she's asleep."

William Winter [1836

HER DWELLING-PLACE

AMID the fairest things that grow
My lady hath her dwelling-place;
Where runneis flow, and frail buds blow
As shy and pallid as her face.

The wild, bright creatures of the wood
About her fearless flit and spring;

To light her dusky solitude

Comes April's carliest offering.

The calm Night from her urn of rest

Pours downward an unbroken stream;

All day upon her mother's breast

My lady lieth in a dream.

Love could not chill her low, soft bed
With any sad memorial stone;
He put a red rose at her head-
A flame as fragrant as his own.
Ada Foster Murray [18

THE WIFE FROM FAIRYLAND

HER talk was all of woodland things,
Of little lives that pass

Away in one green afternoon,
Deep in the haunted grass;

For she had come from fairyland,

The morning of a day

When the world that still was April

Was turning into May.

Green leaves and silence and two eyes

'Twas so she seemed to me,

A silver shadow of the woods,
Whisper and mystery.

I looked into her woodland eyes,
And all my heart was hers,
And then I led her by the hand
Home up my marble stairs;

And all my granite and my gold
Was hers for her green eyes,
And all my sinful heart was hers
From sunset to sunrise;

I gave her all delight and ease
That God had given to me,
I listened to fulfil her dreams,
Rapt with expectancy.
But all I gave, and all I did,
Brought but a weary smile
Of gratitude upon her face;
As though a little while,

In the Fall o' Year

She loitered in magnificence

Of marble and of gold,
And waited to be home again
When the dull tale was told.

Sometimes, in the chill galleries,
Unseen, she deemed, unheard,
I found her dancing like a leaf
And singing like a bird.

So lone a thing I never saw
In lonely earth or sky,
So merry and so sad a thing,
One sad, one laughing, eye.

There came a day when on her heart
A wildwood blossom lay,
And the world that still was April
Was turning into May.

In the green eyes I saw a smile

That turned my heart to stone:
My wife that came from fairyland
No longer was alone.

For there had come a little hand
To show the green way home,

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Home through the leaves, home through the dew, Home through the greenwood-home.

Richard Le Gallienne [1866

IN THE FALL O' YEAR

I WENT back an old-time lane

In the fall o' year,

There was wind and bitter rain

And the leaves were sere.

Once the birds were lilting high

In a far-off May

I remember, you and I

Were as glad as they.

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