never told,

Let Wisdom smile not on her conquered field

No rapture dawns, no treasure is revealed!

elate,

fate;

But, sad as angels for the good man's sin,

Weep to record, and blush to give it in!

ASK ME NO MORE.

Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose,
For in your beauty's orient deep
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep,

Ask me no more whither do stray
The golden atoms of the day,
For, in pure love, heaven did prepare
Those powders to enrich your hair.

Ask me no more whither doth haste
The nightingale when May is past,
For in your sweet dividing throat
She winters and keeps warm her note.

Ask me no more where those stars light
That downwards fall in dead of night,
For in your eyes they sit, and there
Fixed become as in their sphere.

Ask me no more if east or west
The phoenix builds her spicy nest,
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies.

SOLITUDE! Life is inviolate solitude;

Eye looks in eye with a question

ing wonder,

Why are we thus in our meeting asunder?

dreaming

dull?

To timid and troubled and tearful concession,

And downward and down into parley with sin.

Purposeless! Life is so wayward and purposeless.

Always before us the object is shifting,

Deep in the hills, and out of silence vast,

LIFE'S MYSTERY.

LIFE'S sadly solemn mystery, Hangs o'er me like a weight; The glorious longing to be free, The gloomy bars of fate.

Alternately the good and ill,

The light and dark, are strung; Fountains of love within my heart, And hate upon my tongue.

Beneath my feet the unstable ground,
Above my head the skies;
Immortal longings in my soul,
And death before my eyes.

No purely pure, and perfect good,
No high, unhindered power;
A beauteous promise in the bud,
And mildew on the flower.

tune;

spring;

The summer, soft and warm; The faded autumn's fluttering gold, The whirlwind and the storm.

To find some sure interpreter
My spirit vainly tries;
I only know that God is love,
And know that love is wise.

NO RING.

WHAT is it that doth spoil the fair adorning

With which her body she would dignify,

When from her bed she rises in the morning

To comb, and plait, and tie Her hair with ribbons, colored like the sky?

What is it that her pleasure discomposes

When she would sit and sing the sun away [roses, Making her see dead roses in red And in the downfall gray A blight that seems the world to overlay ?