Ah! changed and cold, how changed and very cold, With stiffened smiling lips and cold calm eyes: Changed, yet the same; much knowing, little wise; _This_ was the promise of the days of old! Grown hard and stubborn in the ancient mould, Grown rigid in the sham of lifelong lies: We hoped for better things as years would rise, But it is over as a tale once told. All fallen the blossom that no fruitage bore, All lost the present and the future time, All lost, all lost, the lapse that went before: So lost till death shut-to the opened door, So lost from chime to everlasting chime, So cold and lost for ever evermore. BITTER FOR SWEET Summer is gone with all its roses, Its sun and perfumes and sweet flowers, Its warm air and refreshing showers: And even Autumn closes. Yea, Autumn's chilly self is going, And winter comes which is yet colder; Each day the hoar-frost waxes bolder, And the last buds cease blowing. SISTER MAUDE Who told my mother of my shame, Who told my father of my dear? Oh who but Maude, my sister Maude, Who lurked to spy and peer. Cold he lies, as cold as stone, With his clotted curls about his face: The comeliest corpse in all the world And worthy of a queen's embrace. You might have spared his soul, sister, Have spared my soul, your own soul too: 10 Though I had not been born at all, He'd never have looked at you. My father may sleep in Paradise, My mother at Heaven-gate: But sister Maude shall get no sleep Either early or late. My father may wear a golden gown, My mother a crown may win; If my dear and I knocked at Heaven-gate Perhaps they'd let us in: 20 But sister Maude, oh sister Maude, Bide _you_ with death and sin. REST Sonnet O Earth, lie heavily upon her eyes; Seal her sweet eyes weary of watching, Earth; Lie close around her; leave no room for mirth With its harsh laughter, nor for sound of sighs. She hath no questions, she hath no replies, Hushed in and curtained with a blessed dearth Of all that irked her from the hour of birth; With stillness that is almost Paradise. Darkness more clear than noon-day holdeth her, Silence more musical than any song; Even her very heart has ceased to stir: Until the morning of Eternity Her rest shall not begin nor end, but be; And when she wakes she will not think it long. THE FIRST SPRING DAY I wonder if the sap is stirring yet, If wintry birds are dreaming of a mate, If frozen snowdrops feel as yet the sun And crocus fires are kindling one by one: Sing, robin, sing; I still am sore in doubt concerning Spring. I wonder if the springtide of this year Will bring another Spring both lost and dear; If heart and spirit will find out their Spring, Or if the world alone will bud and sing: 10 Sing, hope, to me; Sweet notes, my hope, soft notes for memory.