One by one from the windows The lights have all been sped. Never a blind looks conscious— The street is asleep in bed! But I come where a living casement Laughs luminous and wide; I hear the song of a piano Break in a sparkling tide; And I feel, in the waltz that frolics And warbles swift and clear, A sudden sense of shelter And friendliness and cheer . . . A sense of tinkling glasses, Of love and laughter and light— The piano stops, and the window Stares blank out into the night. The blind goes out, and I wander To the old, unfriendly sea, The lonelier for the memory That walks like a ghost with me. XXVII SHE sauntered by the swinging seas, A jewel glittered at her ear, And, teasing her along, the breeze Brought many a rounded grace more near. So passing, one with wave and beam, She left for memory to caress A laughing thought, a golden gleam, A hint of hidden loveliness. 1876 XXVIII _To_ S. C. BLITHE dreams arise to greet us, And life feels clean and new, For the old love comes to meet us In the dawning and the dew. O’erblown with sunny shadows, O’ersped with winds at play, The woodlands and the meadows Are keeping holiday. Wild foals are scampering, neighing, Brave merles their hautboys blow: Come! let us go a-maying As in the Long-Ago. Here we but peak and dwindle: The clank of chain and crane, The whir of crank and spindle Bewilder heart and brain; The ends of our endeavour Are merely wealth and fame, Yet in the still Forever We’re one and all the same; Delaying, still delaying, We watch the fading west: Come! let us go a-maying, Nor fear to take the best. Yet beautiful and spacious The wise, old world appears. Yet frank and fair and gracious Outlaugh the jocund years. Our arguments disputing, The universal Pan Still wanders fluting—fluting— Fluting to maid and man. Our weary well-a-waying His music cannot still: Come! let us go a-maying, And pipe with him our fill. When wanton winds are flowing Among the gladdening glass; Where hawthorn brakes are blowing, And meadow perfumes pass; Where morning’s grace is greenest, And fullest noon’s of pride; Where sunset spreads serenest, And sacred night’s most wide; Where nests are swaying, swaying, And spring’s fresh voices call, Come! let us go a-maying, And bless the God of all! 1878 XXIX _To_ R. L. S. A CHILD, Curious and innocent, Slips from his Nurse, and rejoicing Loses himself in the Fair.