To-Day

What dost thou bring to me, O fair To-day, That comest o’er the mountains with swift feet? All the young birds make haste thy steps to greet, And all the dewy roses of the May Turn red and white with joy. The breezes play On their soft harps a welcome low and sweet; All nature hails thee, glad thy face to meet, And owns thy presence in a brighter ray. But my poor soul distrusts thee! One as fair As thou art, O To-day, drew near to me, Serene and smiling, yet she bade me wear The sudden sackcloth of a great despair! O, pitiless! that through the wandering air Sent no kind warning of the ill to be!

F. A. F.

When upon eyes long dim, to whom the light Of sun and stars had unfamiliar grown— Eyes that so long in deepening shades had known The mystic visions of the inner sight— Day broke, at last, after the weary night, I cannot think its sudden glory shone In pitiless brightness, dazzling, clear, and white— A piercing splendor on the darkness thrown! Softly as moonlight steals upon the skies, Slowly as shadows creep at set of sun, Gently as falls a mother’s tender kiss, So softly stole the light upon his eyes; So slowly passed the shadows one by one; So gently dawned the morning of his bliss!