We, deeming day-light fair, and loving well Its forms and dyes, and all the motley play Of lives that win their colour from the day, Are fain some wonder of it all to tell To you that in that elder kingdom dwell Of Ancient Night, and thus we make assay Day to translate to Darkness, so to say, To talk Cimmerian for a little spell. Yet, as we write, may we not doubt lest ye Should smile on us, as once our fathers smiled, When we made vaunt of joys they knew no more; Knowing great dreams young eyes can never see, Dwelling in peace unguessed of any child-- Will ye smile thus upon our daylight lore? OLD LOVE-LETTERS You ask and I send. It is well, yea! best: A lily hangs dead on its stalk, ah me! A dream hangs dead on a life it blest. Shall it flaunt its death where sad eyes may see In the cold dank wind of our memory? Shall we watch it rot like an empty nest? Love's ghost, poor pitiful mockery-- Bury these shreds and behold it shall rest. And shall life fail if one dream be sped? For loss of one bloom shall the lily pass? Nay, bury these deep round the roots, for so In soil of old dreams do the new dreams grow, New 'Hail' is begot of the old 'Alas.' See, here are our letters, so sweet--so dead. DEATH IN A LONDON LODGING 'Yes, Sir, she's gone at last--'twas only five minutes ago We heard her sigh from her corner,--she sat in the kitchen, you know: We were all just busy on breakfast, John cleaning the boots, and I Had just gone into the larder--but you could have heard that sigh Right up in the garret, sir, for it seemed to pass one by Like a puff of wind--may be 'twas her soul, who knows-- And we all looked up and ran to her--just in time to see her head Was sinking down on her bosom and "she's gone at last," I said.' So Mrs. Pownceby, meeting on the stairs Her second-floor lodger, me, bound citywards, Told of her sister's death, doing her best To match her face's colour with the news: While I in listening made a running gloss Beneath her speech of all she left unsaid. As--'in the kitchen,' _rather in the way,_ _Poor thing_; 'busy on breakfast,' _awkward time_, _Indeed, for one must live and lodgers' meals_, _You know, must be attended to what comes_-- (Or goes, I added for her) _yes! indeed_. '"She's gone at last," I said,' _and better perhaps_, _For what had life for her but suffering?_ _And then, we're only poor, sir, John and I_, _And she indeed was somewhat of a strain_: _O! yes, it's for the best for all of us_. And still beneath all else methought I read '_What will the lodgers think, having the dead_ _Within the house! how inconvenient!_'