With klingle, klangle, klingle, With loo-oo and moo-oo and jingle The cows are coming home; And over there in Merlin hill, Hear the plaintive cry of the whip-poor-will; The dew drops lie on the tangled vines, And over the poplars Venus shines, And over the silent mill; Ko-ling, ko-lang, kolinglelingle With ting-a-ling and jingle The cows come slowly home; Let down the bars, let in the train Of long-gone songs, and flowers and rain, For dear old times come back again, When the cows come home. V DRAMATIC NOT IN THE DRAMA THE CONFESSIONAL ANONYMOUS 'Twas twilight, and the early lighted lamps Were flickering down into the Arno's tide While yet the daylight lingered in the skies, Silvering and paling, when I saw him first. I was returning from my work, and paused Upon the bridge of Santa Trinita To rest, and think how fair our Florence is. And I remember, o'er the hazy hills, Far, far away, how exquisitely fair The twilight seemed that night. My heart was soft With tender longings, misted with a dim, Sad pleasure as a mirror with the breath. Ah, never will those feelings come again! I was in a mood to take a stamp From any passing chance, even like those clouds That caught the tenderest thrill of dying day, When, by some inward sense, I know not what, I felt that I was gazed at, drawn away By eyes that had a strange magnetic will. And so I turned from those far hills to see-- A stranger? No; even then he did not seem A stranger, but as one I once had known, Not here in Florence, not in any place, But somewhere in my spirit known and seen. I felt his eyes were fixed upon me, And a sweet, serious smile was on his lips: Nor could I help but look and smile again. I know not what it was went to and fro Between us in that swift smile and glance. We neither spoke; But something went that thrilled me through and through. And that quick clash of souls Had struck a spark that set my soul on fire. And I was happy, oh, so happy then! It seemed as if this earth could never add One little drop more to the joy I owned, For all that passionate torrent pent within My heart had found its utterance and response. He was Venetian, and that radiant hair We black-haired girls so covet haloed round His sunny northern face and soft blue eyes. I know not why he loved me--me, so black, With this black skin that every Roman has, With this black hair, black eyes, that I so hate.