* * * * * DO I LOVE THEE? BY RICHARD COE, JR. Do I love thee? Ask the flower If it love the pearly tear That, at evening’s quiet hour, Falleth soft and clear, Its gentle form to bless? If, perchance, it answer “yes!” Answer thee sincerely— Then I love with earnestness, Then I love thee dearly! Do I love thee? Ask the child, If it love its mother dear? If it love her accents mild? Love her fond, sincere, Tender and warm caress? If, perchance, it answer “yes!” Answer thee sincerely— Then I love with earnestness, Then I love thee dearly! Do I love thee? Ay! I love thee Better far than words can tell; All around and all above me Lives a charméd spell, My spirit sad to bless! Then I fondly answer “yes!” Answer thee sincerely— That I love with earnestness, That I love thee dearly! * * * * * ODE TO SHELLEY. BY J. BAYARD TAYLOR. Why art thou dead? Upon the hills once more The golden mist of waning Autumn lies; The slow-pulsed billows wash along the shore, And phantom isles are floating in the skies. They wait for thee: a spirit in the sand Hushes, expectant, for thy lingering tread; The light wind pants to lift thy trembling hair; Inward, the silent land Lies with its mournful woods—why art thou dead, When Earth demands that thou shalt call her fair? Why art thou dead? O, glorious Child of Song, Whose brother-spirit ever dwells with mine, Feeling, twin-doomed, the burning hate of Wrong, And Beauty’s worship, deathless and divine! Thou art afar—wilt thou not soon return, To tell me that which thou hast never told? To grasp my throbbing hand, and by the shore Or dewy mountain-fern, Pour out thy heart as to a friend of old, Tearful with twilight sorrow? Nevermore.