As Faith declines, with grosser flame Earth's passion thus our being fills; And Heaven becomes a fading name, A glimmer o'er death's shadowy hills. THE UNDERGROWTH. In yonder grove the woodman's bill The pillared trees by scores hath laid, But Nature every gap will fill, The springing undergrowth will spread, And we shall half forget the ill, So rich the greenery overhead. Thus Death, the hewer, down may smite Into the depths where all must blend, The dearest from our daily sight, Yet love shall never lack a friend; Still proffer us the young and bright Such kindly escort to the end. [Illustration] WINTER IN MAY. Winter! black-browed and bearded with the snows, We thought thee vexed with April's wanton ways Brooding afar amid the Arctic floes, Or with new icebergs fringing dreary bays. Loyal we honoured thy appointed time, And crowned thee January's lawful king; Why falls thy crushing sceptre edged with rime Upon the verdant loveliness of spring? We think of Holbein's pencil, quaint and coarse, And that weird skeleton in ghastly pride Haling to doom with such superfluous force All in her flowery youth the virgin bride. THE SOLITARY. Aweary of his worldly life, The tempter to elude, The hermit flies from work and strife To desert solitude. But there, alas! finds no repose From Fancy's Comus crew, Since dream he must, where'er he goes, With nothing else to do. Would'st drive such imps from heart and brain, Take, then, the ancient way, Prescribed in many a holy strain, And work as well as pray. THE GOLDEN MEAN. All inaccessible a Tree arose Amid the shining mountains of Cathay, Its head was capp'd with numbing mists and snows, Around its root a fiery whirlpool lay; But midway 'twixt the furnace and the cloud Bright fruits were by the keen-eyed watchers seen; "There," cried the sage to the excited crowd, "Behold the treasures of the Golden Mean." Then girt he some with wings, and won to skill Through many a fall between the earth and sun, The wings bore names--th' indomitable Will, And Faith--by these the glorious prize they won. [Illustration] AUTUMN. He sat among the yellowing trees, Low winds to beech and oak did call, Murmuring of Nature's old decrees And yearly tribute to the Fall. Now is there silence all around, And you may hear the branches cast Their offerings on the fragrant ground, 'Tis here an acorn, there a mast. And thus in life's autumnal grove, At intervals, with bated breath, We hear the ripe ones whom we love Drop to the quiet home of death. JUSTISSIMA TELLUS. Dear mother Earth, no usurer thou, Since all who heed thy liberal law, For every dint of spade or plough On vale or heath or mountain brow, A full and punctual interest draw.