Hollow-Sounding And Mysterious.

There's no replying To the Wind's sighing, Telling, foretelling, Dying, undying, Dwindling and swelling, Complaining, droning, Whistling and moaning, Ever beginning, Ending, repeating, Hinting and dinning, Lagging and fleeting-- We've no replying Living or dying To the Wind's sighing.

What are you telling, Variable Wind-tone? What would be teaching, O sinking, swelling, Desolate Wind-moan? Ever for ever Teaching and preaching, Never, ah never Making us wiser-- The earliest riser Catches no meaning, The last who hearkens Garners no gleaning Of wisdom's treasure, While the world darkens:-- Living or dying, In pain, in pleasure, We've no replying To wordless flying Wind's sighing.

MAIDEN MAY.

Maiden May sat in her bower, In her blush rose bower in flower, Sweet of scent; Sat and dreamed away an hour, Half content, half uncontent.

"Why should rose blossoms be born, Tender blossoms, on a thorn Though so sweet? Never a thorn besets the corn Scentless in its strength complete.

"Why are roses all so frail, At the mercy of the gale, Of a breath? Yet so sweet and perfect pale, Still so sweet in life and death."

Maiden May sat in her bower, In her blush rose bower in flower, Where a linnet Made one bristling branch the tower For her nest and young ones in it.

"Gay and clear the linnet trills; Yet the skylark only, thrills Heaven and earth When he breasts the height, and fills Height and depth with song and mirth.

"Nightingales which yield to night Solitary strange delight, Reign alone: But the lark for all his height Fills no solitary throne;

"While he sings, a hundred sing; Wing their flight below his wing Yet in flight; Each a lovely joyful thing To the measure of its delight.

"Why then should a lark be reckoned One alone, without a second Near his throne? He in skyward flight unslackened, In his music, not alone."

Maiden May sat in her bower; Her own face was like a flower Of the prime, Half in sunshine, half in shower, In the year's most tender time.

Her own thoughts in silent song Musically flowed along, Wise, unwise, Wistful, wondering, weak or strong: As brook shallows sink or rise.

Other thoughts another day, Maiden May, will surge and sway Round your heart; Wake, and plead, and turn at bay, Wisdom part, and folly part.

Time not far remote will borrow Other joys, another sorrow, All for you; Not to-day, and yet to-morrow Reasoning false and reasoning true.

Wherefore greatest? Wherefore least? Hearts that starve and hearts that feast? You and I? Stammering Oracles have ceased, And the whole earth stands at "why?"

Underneath all things that be Lies an unsolved mystery; Over all Spreads a veil impenetrably, Spreads a dense unlifted pall.

Mystery of mysteries: This creation hears and sees High and low-- Vanity of vanities: This we test and this we know.

Maiden May, the days of flowering Nurse you now in sweet embowering, Sunny days; Bright with rainbows all the showering, Bright with blossoms all the ways.

Close the inlet of your bower, Close it close with thorn and flower, Maiden May; Lengthen out the shortening hour,-- Morrows are not as to-day.

Stay to-day which wanes too soon, Stay the sun and stay the moon, Stay your youth; Bask you in the actual noon, Rest you in the present truth.

Let to-day suffice to-day: For itself to-morrow may Fetch its loss; Aim and stumble, say its say, Watch and pray and bear its cross.

TILL TO-MORROW.

Long have I longed, till I am tired Of longing and desire; Farewell my points in vain desired, My dying fire; Farewell all things that die and fail and tire.

Springtide and youth and useless pleasure And all my useless scheming, My hopes of unattainable treasure, Dreams not worth dreaming, Glow-worms that gleam but yield no warmth in gleaming,

Farewell all shows that fade in showing: My wish and joy stand over Until to-morrow; Heaven is glowing Through cloudy cover, Beyond all clouds loves me my Heavenly Lover.

DEATH-WATCHES.

The Spring spreads one green lap of flowers Which Autumn buries at the fall, No chilling showers of Autumn hours Can stay them or recall; Winds sing a dirge, while earth lays out of sight Her garment of delight.

The cloven East brings forth the sun, The cloven West doth bury him What time his gorgeous race is run And all the world grows dim; A funeral moon is lit in heaven's hollow, And pale the star-lights follow.