Through the night I heard it fall Tenderly and musical; And this morning not a sigh Of wind uplifts the briony leaves, But the ashen-tinted sky Still for earthly turmoil grieves, While the melody of the rain, Dropping on the window-pane, On the lilac and the rose, Round us all its pleasance throws, Till our souls are yielded wholly To its constant melancholy, And, like the burden of its song, Passionate moments glide along. Pinks and hyacinths perfume All our garden-fronted room; Hither, close beside me, Love! Do not whisper, do not move. Here we two will softly stay, Side by side, the livelong day. Lean thy head upon my breast: Ever shall it give thee rest, Ever would I gaze to meet Eyes of thine up-glancing, Sweet! What enchanted dreams are ours! While the murmur of the showers Dropping on the tranquil ground, Dropping on the leaves and flowers, Wraps our yearning souls around In the drapery of its sound. Still the plenteous streamlets fall: Here two hearts are all in all To each other; and they beat With no evanescent heat, Put softly, steadily, hour by hour, With the calm, melodious power Of the gentle summer rain, That in Heaven so long hath lain, And from out that shoreless sea Pours its blessings tenderly. Freer yet its currents swell! Here are streams that flow as well, Rivulets of the constant heart; But a little space apart Glide they now, and soon shall run, Love-united, into one. It shall chance, in future days, That again the lurid rays Of that hidden sun shall shine On the floweret and the vine, And again the meadow-springs Fly away on misty wings: But no glare of Fate adverse Shall on us achieve its curse, Never any baneful gleam Waste our clear, perennial stream; For its fountains lie below That malign and ominous glow,— Lie in shadowy grottoes cool, Where all kindly spirits rule; Calmly ever shall it flow Toward the waters of the sea,— That serene Eternity! TOO LATE. Crouch no more by the ivied walls, Weep no longer over her grave, Strew no flowers when evening falls: Idly you lost what angels gave! Sunbeams cover that silent mound With a warmer hue than your roses’ red; To-morrow’s rain will bedew the ground With a purer stream than the tears you shed. But neither the sweets of the scattered flowers, Nor the morning sunlight’s soft command, Nor all the songs of the summer showers, Can charm her back from that distant land. Tenderest vows are ever too late! She, who has gone, can only know The cruel sorrow that was her fate, And the words that were a mortal woe. Earth to earth, and a vain despair; For the gentle spirit has flown away, And you can never her wrongs repair, Till ye meet again at the Judgment Day. VOICE OF THE WESTERN WIND.