My other self, why bound by death
The compass of our friendship's reaching?
Why doubt the promptings of our hearts,
Or falsify our spirits' teaching?
Must not the friends beneath the sod
Still walk amid the trees of God?
1903.
_Literary Monthly_, 1909
[Footnote 1: Died 1908.]
LORRAINE--1870
ANON.
I
Sweetly the June-time twilights wane
Over the hills of fair Lorraine,
Sweetly the mellow moonbeams fall
O'er rose-wreathed cottage and ivied wall.
But never dawned a brighter eve,
Than the holy night of St. Genevieve.
And never moonlight fairer fell,
Over the banks of the blue Moselle.
Richly the silver splendor shines,
Spangles with sheen the clustered vines,
And rests, in benediction fair,
On midnight tresses and golden hair.
Golden hair and midnight tress,
Mingle in tender lovingness,
While the evening breezes breathe upon
Marie and Jean,--and their hearts are one!
"The spell of silence lifts at last,
Marie, the saint's sweet day is past!
"Her vesper chimes have died away,
Where shall we be on Christmas day?"
With answering throb heart thrilled to heart,
Hand met hand with sudden start.
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