Wanting is—what? Summer redundant, Blueness abundant, —Where is the spot? Beamy the world, yet a blank all the same, —Framework which waits for a picture to frame: What of the leafage, what of the flower? Roses embowering with nought they embower! Come then, complete incompletion, O comer, Pant through the blueness, perfect the Summer! Breathe but one breath Rose-beauty above, And all that was death Grows life, grows love, Grows love! This is still the love of earth; but dealt with so grandly, that it is no wonder that some have understood it of the higher love, and to the question of the first line would give the answer, “God.” Nor can it be said that the thought is alien—rather is it close akin; for is not the earthly love, when pure and true, an image of the heavenly? It would be well, indeed, if love songs were oftener written in such a way as to suggest thoughts of the love of Heaven. The Bible is especially fearless in its use of the one to illustrate the other. With the higher thought in view, we are reminded of the closing lines of “The Rhyme of the Duchess May,” by Mrs. Browning— “And I smiled to think God’s greatness flowed around our incompleteness— Round our restlessness, His rest.” Compare “By the Fireside,” especially stanza 39. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ EVELYN HOPE. I. Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead! Sit and watch by her side an hour. That is her book-shelf, this her bed; She plucked that piece of geranium-flower, Beginning to die too, in the glass; Little has yet been changed, I think: The shutters are shut, no light may pass Save two long rays through the hinge’s chink. II. Sixteen years old when she died! Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name; It was not her time to love; beside, Her life had many a hope and aim, Duties enough and little cares, And now was quiet, now astir, Till God’s hand beckoned unawares,— And the sweet white brow is all of her. III. Is it too late then, Evelyn Hope? What, your soul was pure and true, The good stars met in your horoscope, Made you of spirit, fire and dew— And, just because I was thrice as old, And our paths in the world diverged so wide. Each was nought to each, must I be told? We were fellow mortals, nought beside? IV. No, indeed! for God above Is great to grant, as mighty to make, And creates the love to reward the love: I claim you still, for my own love’s sake! Delayed it may be for more lives yet, Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few: Much is to learn, much to forget Ere the time be come for taking you. V.