"Good-bye, Walter. I can guess which thornless rose you covet; Long may it bloom and prolong its sunny morn: Yet as for my one thorny rose, I do not cease to love it, And if it is no more a flower I love it as a thorn." A LIFE'S PARALLELS. Never on this side of the grave again, On this side of the river, On this side of the garner of the grain, Never,-- Ever while time flows on and on and on, That narrow noiseless river, Ever while corn bows heavy-headed, wan, Ever,-- Never despairing, often fainting, ruing, But looking back, ah never! Faint yet pursuing, faint yet still pursuing Ever. AT LAST. Many have sung of love a root of bane: While to my mind a root of balm it is, For love at length breeds love; sufficient bliss For life and death and rising up again. Surely when light of Heaven makes all things plain, Love will grow plain with all its mysteries; Nor shall we need to fetch from over seas Wisdom or wealth or pleasure safe from pain. Love in our borders, love within our heart, Love all in all, we then shall bide at rest, Ended for ever life's unending quest, Ended for ever effort, change and fear: Love all in all;--no more that better part Purchased, but at the cost of all things here. GOLDEN SILENCES. There is silence that saith, "Ah me!" There is silence that nothing saith; One the silence of life forlorn, One the silence of death; One is, and the other shall be. One we know and have known for long, One we know not, but we shall know, All we who have ever been born; Even so, be it so,-- There is silence, despite a song. Sowing day is a silent day, Resting night is a silent night; But whoso reaps the ripened corn Shall shout in his delight, While silences vanish away. IN THE WILLOW SHADE. I sat beneath a willow tree, Where water falls and calls; While fancies upon fancies solaced me, Some true, and some were false. Who set their heart upon a hope That never comes to pass, Droop in the end like fading heliotrope, The sun's wan looking-glass. Who set their will upon a whim Clung to through good and ill, Are wrecked alike whether they sink or swim, Or hit or miss their will. All things are vain that wax and wane, For which we waste our breath; Love only doth not wane and is not vain, Love only outlives death. A singing lark rose toward the sky, Circling he sang amain; He sang, a speck scarce visible sky-high, And then he sank again. A second like a sunlit spark Flashed singing up his track; But never overtook that foremost lark, And songless fluttered back.