BETWEEN us now and here— Two thrown together Who are not wont to wear Life’s flushest feather— Who see the scenes slide past, The daytimes dimming fast, Let there be truth at last, Even if despair. So thoroughly and long Have you now known me, So real in faith and strong Have I now shown me, That nothing needs disguise Further in any wise, Or asks or justifies A guarded tongue. Face unto face, then, say, Eyes mine own meeting, Is your heart far away, Or with mine beating? When false things are brought low, And swift things have grown slow, Feigning like froth shall go, Faith be for aye. “HOW GREAT MY GRIEF” (TRIOLET) HOW great my grief, my joys how few, Since first it was my fate to know thee! —Have the slow years not brought to view How great my grief, my joys how few, Nor memory shaped old times anew, Nor loving-kindness helped to show thee How great my grief, my joys how few, Since first it was my fate to know thee? “I NEED NOT GO” I NEED not go Through sleet and snow To where I know She waits for me; She will wait me there Till I find it fair, And have time to spare From company. When I’ve overgot The world somewhat, When things cost not Such stress and strain, Is soon enough By cypress sough To tell my Love I am come again. And if some day, When none cries nay, I still delay To seek her side, (Though ample measure Of fitting leisure Await my pleasure) She will riot chide. What—not upbraid me That I delayed me, Nor ask what stayed me So long? Ah, no!— New cares may claim me, New loves inflame me, She will not blame me, But suffer it so. THE COQUETTE, AND AFTER (TRIOLETS) I FOR long the cruel wish I knew That your free heart should ache for me While mine should bear no ache for you; For, long—the cruel wish!—I knew How men can feel, and craved to view My triumph—fated not to be For long! . . . The cruel wish I knew That your free heart should ache for me! II At last one pays the penalty— The woman—women always do. My farce, I found, was tragedy At last!—One pays the penalty With interest when one, fancy-free, Learns love, learns shame . . . Of sinners two At last _one_ pays the penalty— The woman—women always do! A SPOT IN years defaced and lost, Two sat here, transport-tossed, Lit by a living love The wilted world knew nothing of: Scared momently By gaingivings, Then hoping things That could not be.