One in the tree, 'Hush now! Let be: The song at ending Left my long tending Over alsò. Let be, let us go Across the wan sea. The little ones care not, And I fare not Amiss with thee. Thou hast sung all, This hast thou had. Love, be not sad; It shall befall Assuredly, When the bush buddeth And the bank studdeth-- Where grass is sweet And damps do fleet, Her delicate beds With daisy heads That the Stars Seven Leaned down from heaven Shall sparkling mark In the warm dark Thy most dear strain Which ringeth aye true-- Piercing vale, croft Lifted aloft Dropt even as dew With a sweet quest To her on the nest When damps we love Fall from above. "Art thou asleep? Answer me, answer me, Night is so deep Thy right fair form I cannot see; Answer me, answer me, Are the eggs warm? Is't well with thee?" Ay, this shall be Assuredly. Ay, thou full fain In the soft rain Shalt sing again.' III. A fair wife making her moan, despised, forsaken, Her good days o'er; 'Seven sweet years of my life did I live belovèd, Seven--no more.' Then Echo woke--and spoke 'No more--no more,' And a wave broke On the sad shore When Echo said 'No more,' Nought else made reply, Nor land, nor loch, nor sky Did any comfort try, But the wave spread Echo's faint tone Alone, All down the desolate shore, 'No more--no more.' 'IF I FORGET THEE, O JERUSALEM.' Out of the melancholy that is made Of ebbing sorrow that too slowly ebbs, Comes back a sighing whisper of the reed, A note in new love-pipings on the bough, Grieving with grief till all the full-fed air And shaken milky corn doth wot of it, The pity of it trembling in the talk Of the beforetime merrymaking brook-- Out of that melancholy will the soul, In proof that life is not forsaken quite Of the old trick and glamour which made glad; Be cheated some good day and not perceive How sorrow ebbing out is gone from view, How tired trouble fall'n for once on sleep, How keen self-mockery that youth's eager dream Interpreted to mean so much is found To mean and give so little--frets no more, Floating apart as on a cloud--O then Not e'en so much as murmuring 'Let this end,' She will, no longer weighted, find escape, Lift up herself as if on wings and flit Back to the morning time. 'O once with me It was all one, such joy I had at heart, As I heard sing the morning star, or God Did hold me with an Everlasting Hand, And dip me in the day. O once with me,' Reflecting ''twas enough to live, to look Wonder and love. Now let that come again. Rise!' And ariseth first a tanglement Of flowering bushes, peonies pale that drop Upon a mossy lawn, rich iris spikes, Bee-borage, mealy-stemmed auricula, Brown wallflower, and the sweetbriar ever sweet, Her pink buds pouting from their green. To these