Dream-Time

Throughout these mellow autumn days, All sweet and dim, and soft with haze, I argue with my unwise heart, That fain would choose the idler's part.

My heart says, "Let us lie and dream Under the sunshine's softened beam, This is the dream-time of the year, When Heaven itself seems bending near.

"See how the calm still waters lie And dream beneath the arching sky. The sun draws on a veil of haze, And dreams away these golden days.

"Put by the pen--lay thought aside, And cease to battle with the tide. Let us, like Nature, rest and dream And float with the current of the stream."

So pleads my heart. I answer "Nay, Work waits for you and me to-day. Behind these autumn hours of gold. The winter lingers, bleak and cold.

"And those who dream too long or much, Must waken, shivering, at his touch, With naught to show for vanished hours, But dust of dreams and withered flowers.

"So now, while days are soft and warm, We must make ready for the storm." Thus, through the golden, hazy weather, My heart and I converse together.

And yet, I dare not turn my eyes To pebbly shores or tender skies, Because I am so fain to do E'en as my heart pleads with me to.

SING TO ME.

Sing to me! something of sunlight and bloom, I am so compassed with sorrow and gloom, I am so sick with the world's noise and strife,-- Sing of the beauty and brightness of life-- Sing to me, sing to me!

Sing to me! something that's jubilant, glad! I am so weary, my soul is so sad. All my earth riches are covered with rust, All my bright dreams are but ashes and dust. Sing to me, sing to me!

Sing of the blossoms that open in spring, How the sweet flowers blow, and the long lichens cling, Say, though the winter is round about me, There are bright summers and springs yet to be. Sing to me, sing to me!

Sing me a song full of hope and of truth, Brimming with all the sweet fancies of youth! Say, though my sorrow I may not forget, I have not quite done with happiness yet. Sing to me, sing to me!

Lay your soft fingers just here, on my cheek; Turn the light lower--there--no, do not speak, But sing! My heart thrills at your beautiful voice; Sing till I turn from my grief and rejoice. Sing to me, sing to me!

SUMMER SONG.

The meadow lark's trill and the brown thrush's whistle From morning to evening fill all the sweet air, And my heart is as light as the down of a thistle-- The world is so bright and the earth is so fair. There is life in the wood, there is bloom on the meadow; The air drips with songs that the merry birds sing. The sunshine has won, in the battle with shadow, And she's dressed the glad earth with robes of the spring.

The bee leaves his hive for the field of red clover And the vale where the daisies bloom white as the snow, And a mantle of warm yellow sunshine hangs over The calm little pond, where the pale lilies grow. In the woodland beyond it, a thousand gay voices Are singing in chorus some jubilant air. The bird and the bee, and all nature rejoices, The world is so bright, and the earth is so fair.

I am glad as a child, in this beautiful weather; I have tossed all my burdens and trials away; My heart is as light-yes, as light as a feather; I am care-free, and careless, and happy to-day. Can it be there approaches a dark, drear to-morrow? Can shadows e'er fall on this beautiful earth! Ah! to-day is my own! no forebodings of sorrow Shall darken my skies, or shall dampen my mirth.