"A memory yet is in my mind, So keenly clear and sharp-defined, I picture every phase and line Of life and death, and neither mine,-- While some fair seraph, golden-haired, Bends over me,--with white arms bared, That strongly plait themselves about My drowning weight and lift me out-- With joy too great for words to state Or tongue to dare articulate! "And this seraphic ocean-child And heroine was Orlie Wilde: And thus it was I came to hear Her voice's music in my ear-- Ay, thus it was Fate paved the way That I walk desolate to-day!" . . . The artist paused and bowed his face Within his palms a little space, While reverently on his form I bent my gaze and marked a storm That shook his frame as wrathfully As some typhoon of agony, And fraught with sobs--the more profound For that peculiar laughing sound We hear when strong men weep. . . . I leant With warmest sympathy--I bent To stroke with soothing hand his brow, He murmuring--"Tis over now!-- And shall I tie the silken thread Of my frail romance?" "Yes," I said.-- He faintly smiled; and then, with brow In kneading palm, as one in dread-- His tasseled cap pushed from his head " 'Her voice's music,' I repeat," He said,--" 'twas sweet--O passing sweet!-- Though she herself, in uttering Its melody, proved not the thing Of loveliness my dreams made meet For me--there, yearning, at her feet-- Prone at her feet--a worshiper,-- For lo! she spake a tongue," moaned he, "Unknown to me;--unknown to me As mine to her--as mine to her." THAT OTHER MAUD MULLER Maud Muller worked at making hay, And cleared her forty cents a day. Her clothes were coarse, but her health was fine, And so she worked in the sweet sunshine Singing as glad as a bird in May "Barbara Allen" the livelong day. She often glanced at the far-off town, And wondered if eggs were up or down. And the sweet song died of a strange disease, Leaving a phantom taste of cheese, And an appetite and a nameless ache For soda-water and ginger cake. The judge rode slowly into view-- Stopped his horse in the shade and threw His fine-cut out, while the blushing Maud Marveled much at the kind he "chawed." "He was dry as a fish," he said with a wink, "And kind o' thought that a good square drink Would brace him up." So the cup was filled With the crystal wine that old spring spilled; And she gave it him with a sun-browned hand. "Thanks," said the judge in accents bland; "A thousand thanks! for a sweeter draught, From a fairer hand"--but there he laughed. And the sweet girl stood in the sun that day, And raked the judge instead of the hay. A MAN OF MANY PARTS It was a man of many parts, Who in his coffer mind Had stored the Classics and the Arts And Sciences combined; The purest gems of poesy Came flashing from his pen-- The wholesome truths of History He gave his fellow men.