Blind—blind! Alas! he is bereft of light Who gave such pleasure to the sense of sight. His eyes, that, like the sun, had power to vest All forms with color, are with darkness prest: Sealed with a gloom chaotic like the deep; Shut in by shadows like the realm of sleep. Yet ’tis not meet to mourn a loss so brief— A pain, to which time cannot yield relief— But which Eternity must banish soon, With beams more lustrous than the blaze of noon; Yet softer than the evening is or morn, When he to light immortal shall be born; And with a vision purified behold More than the prophets, priests and bards have told. * * * * * SONNETS. BY MARY SPENSER PEASE. LOVE’S SUNSET. As shadows lengthen with the day’s declining, Like troops of dusky spectres onward creeping, Weaving swart stripes amid the golden shining Where meadow, brook and moss-grown hill lie sleeping; With murky fingers Nature’s sweet book closing— Each bell and blossom and each three-leaved clover, With stealthy march the sun’s glad sway deposing, Till, widening, deepening, darkness shrouds earth over: So, thy declining love casts o’er my spirit Chill shadows, freezing all my soul’s warm giving, Chill shadows, deadening all my soul’s best merit, And making blackest night my brightest living: A long, long, fearful night—that knows no morning, Save in wild, glowing dreams, that speak thy love’s returning. LOVE’S SUNRISE. As shadows vanish with the dawn’s advancing, Like things of evil fleeing from Truth’s whiteness, The mem’ry of their dark spell but enhancing The warmth and light of morning’s dewy brightness; Their chill power over—with a glad awaking Starts to new life each sleeping leaf and flower, Each bird and insect into wild song breaking— All Nature’s heart-pulse thrilleth to the hour: Thus, my life’s sun—its glory all pervading— Fuses my soul with daylight warm and tender; Thus, all strange fears, my spirit darkly shading— All doubtings flee from its excess of splendor: Thus, through my inmost heart—like joy-bells ringing— The birds and honey-bees of thy dear love come singing. * * * * * DOCTRINE OF FORM. There is a connection natural and necessary between the forms and essences of things; some law which compels figure and faculty into correspondence; some tie which binds nature, function, and end to shape, volume, and intrinsic arrangement.