light.

But Philip came to the open door: Like the heart of a wild-rose glowed her cheek, And they wandered off through the garden paths

So blest that they did not care to speak.

I wonder how it seems to be loved: To know you are fair in some one's eyes;

That upon some one your beauty dawns

Every day as a new surprise; To know, that, whether you weep or smile,

Whether your mood be grave or gay,

Somebody thinks you, all the while, Sweeter than any flower of May.

I wonder what it would be to love: That, I think, would be sweeter far,

To know that one out of all the world Was lord of your life, your king, your star.

They talk of love's sweet tumult and

pain:

I am not sure that I understand, Though,- -a thrill ran down to my finger-tips

Once when,—somebody,― touched my hand!

I wonder what it would be to dream Of a child that might one day be your own; [part, Of the hidden springs of your life a Flesh of your flesh, and bone of your bone.

Marion stooped one day to kiss

A beggar's babe with a tender grace;

While some sweet thought, like a prophecy,

Looked from her pure Madonna face.

I wonder what it must be to think To-morrow will be your weddingday,

And you, in the radiant sunset glow Down fragrant flowery paths will stray,

As Marion does this blessed night, With Philip, lost in a blissful dream.

Can she feel his heart through the silence beat?

Does he see her eyes in the starlight gleam?

Questioning thus, my days go on;

But never an answer comes to me: All love's mysteries, sweet as strange, Sealed away from my life must be. Yet still I dream, O heart of mine!

Of a beautiful city that lies afar; And there, some time, I shall drop the mask,

And be shapely and fair as others

are.

AT THE LAST.

WILL the day ever come, I wonder, When I shall be glad to know That my hands will be folded under

The next white fall of the snow? To know that when next the clover Wooeth the wandering bee, Its crimson tide will drift over All that is left of me?

Shall I ever be tired of living,

And be glad to go to my rest, With a cool and fragrant lily Asleep on my silent breast?

"All the seasons must come and go Over the hill with footsteps slow,Autumn and winter, summer and spring;

Oh, for a bridge of gold to fling
Over the chasm deep and wide,
That I might cross to the other side,
Where she is waiting,- my love, my
bride!"

"Ten years may be long," he said, Slow raising his stately head, "But there's much to win, there is much to lose;

A man must labor, a man must choose,

And he must be strong to wait! The years may be long, but who would wear

The crown of honor, must do and dare!

No time has he to toy with fate Who would climb to manhood's high estate!"