We shake off the miles like water, We might carry a royal ransom; And I think of her waiting, waiting, And long for a common hansom. 1876 XXII THE West a glimmering lake of light, A dream of pearly weather, The first of stars is burning white— The star we watch together. Is April dead? The unresting year Will shape us our September, And April’s work is done, my dear— Do you not remember? O gracious eve! O happy star, Still-flashing, glowing, sinking!— Who lives of lovers near or far So glad as I in thinking? The gallant world is warm and green, For May fulfils November. When lights and leaves and loves have been, Sweet, will you remember? O star benignant and serene, I take the good to-morrow, That fills from verge to verge my dream, With all its joy and sorrow! The old, sweet spell is unforgot That turns to June December; And, tho’ the world remembered not, Love, we would remember. 1876 XXIII THE skies are strown with stars, The streets are fresh with dew A thin moon drifts to westward, The night is hushed and cheerful. My thought is quick with you. Near windows gleam and laugh, And far away a train Clanks glowing through the stillness: A great content’s in all things, And life is not in vain. 1877 XXIV THE full sea rolls and thunders In glory and in glee. O, bury me not in the senseless earth But in the living sea! Ay, bury me where it surges A thousand miles from shore, And in its brotherly unrest I’ll range for evermore. 1876 XXV IN the year that’s come and gone, love, his flying feather Stooping slowly, gave us heart, and bade us walk together. In the year that’s coming on, though many a troth be broken, We at least will not forget aught that love hath spoken. In the year that’s come and gone, dear, we wove a tether All of gracious words and thoughts, binding two together. In the year that’s coming on with its wealth of roses We shall weave it stronger, yet, ere the circle closes. In the year that’s come and gone, in the golden weather, Sweet, my sweet, we swore to keep the watch of life together. In the year that’s coming on, rich in joy and sorrow, We shall light our lamp, and wait life’s mysterious morrow. 1877 XXVI IN the placid summer midnight, Under the drowsy sky, I seem to hear in the stillness The moths go glimmering by.