And I believe, in the fullest measure That ever a strong man's heart could hold, In all the tales of heavenly pleasure By poets sung or by prophets told; For in the joy of your shy, sweet kisses, Your pulsing touch and your languid sigh I am filled and thrilled with better blisses Than ever were claimed for souls on high. And now I have faith in all the stories Told of the beauties of unseen lands; Of royal splendors and marvellous glories Of the golden city not made with hands For the silken beauty of falling tresses, Of lips all dewy and cheeks aglow, With--what the mind in a half trance guesses Of the twin perfection of drifts of snow; Of limbs like marble, of thigh and shoulder Carved like a statue in high relief-- These, as the eyes and the thoughts grow bolder, Leave no room for an unbelief. So my lady, my queen most royal, My skepticism has passed away; If you are true to me, true and loyal, I will believe till the Judgment-day. [Illustration:] [Illustration:] LOVE'S COMING. She had looked for his coming as warriors come, With the clash of arms and the bugle's call: But he came instead with a stealthy tread, Which she did not hear at all. She had thought how his armor would blaze in the sun, As he rode like a prince to claim his bride: In the sweet dim light of the falling night She found him at her side. She had dreamed how the gaze of his strange, bold eye Would wake her heart to a sudden glow: She found in his face the familiar grace Of a friend she used to know. She had dreamed how his coming would stir her soul, As the ocean is stirred by the wild storm's strife: He brought her the balm of a heavenly calm, And a peace which crowned her life. OLD AND NEW. Long have the poets vaunted, in their lays, Old times, old loves, old friendship, and old wine. Why should the old monopolize all praise? Then let the new claim mine. Give me strong new friends when the old prove weak Or fail me in my darkest hour of need; Why perish with the ship that springs a leak Or lean upon a reed? Give me new love, warm, palpitating, sweet, When all the grace and beauty leave the old; When like a rose it withers at my feet, Or like a hearth grows cold. Give me new times, bright with a prosperous cheer, In place of old, tear-blotted, burdened days; I hold a sunlit present far more dear, And worthy of my praise. When the old deeds are threadbare and worn through, And all too narrow for the broadening soul, Give me the fine, firm texture of the new, Fair, beautiful, and whole! PERFECTNESS.