Ah, rushing hours beneath the sun! Ah, fevered crying haste, have done! Yet let your coursing swifter run! Now let the still night fall. I hear the water lapping ’gainst the wall, I open wide my door unto the sea Whence Death, thy keeper, brings thee back to me. So mild he waits without, yet laughs at Life, That cannot give her hirelings such a wife. Day, have I not paid the toll? My body given the whole That will let pass my soul? The roses of the morn lie thick on my Love’s bier, And she is risen; she is no longer here. A star upon the stern she beckons me. Sweet Death, one dawn, let me go back with thee, Sweet Death, take me from out the noisy light Into thy night, thy comforting still night. Yea, soon, for my Love’s sake, Sweet Death my hand will take, And I shall not awake Till past the blooming isle. Then shall my eyelids quiver ’neath her smile, And I shall gaze, and from my Love’s clear eyes Shall learn her slow wide learning, and be wise, Shall learn the speech they speak across the sea: ’Tis a large language my Love speaks to me. Then far beyond to sail, And further further coasts to hail, And ventures shall not fail. And missionary dreams my Love and I We’ll hover mid the world’s troubled sky, And sleeping men to discontent shall tease, To venture further skies and wider seas. Have I not guessed the meaning of the dark? Thy hand, O Death! To-night let me embark. “To Every Man a Damsel or Two” By C. S. HE wandered up the carpeted steps, rather afraid all the while of the two tall men in uniform who opened the great doors wide to let him into the soft warm light and babble of voices within. At the top he paused, and slowly unbuttoned his overcoat, not knowing which way to turn; but the crowd swept him up, and carried him round, until he found himself leaning against a padded wall of plush, looking over a sea of heads at the stage far beneath. He turned round, and stood watching the happy crowd, which laughed, and talked, and nodded ceaselessly to itself. Near him, on a sofa, with a table before her, was a woman spreading herself out like some great beautiful butterfly on a bed of velvet pansies. He stood admiring her half unconsciously for some time, and at last, remembering that he was tired and sleepy, and seeing that there was still plenty of room, he threaded his way across and sat down.