There shall remain no trace Of what so closely tied us, And blank as ere love eyed us Will be our meeting-place. The flowers and thymy air, Will they now miss our coming? The dumbles thin their humming To find we haunt not there? Though fervent was our vow, Though ruddily ran our pleasure, Bliss has fulfilled its measure, And sees its sentence now. Ache deep; but make no moans: Smile out; but stilly suffer: The paths of love are rougher Than thoroughfares of stones. THE SIGH LITTLE head against my shoulder, Shy at first, then somewhat bolder, And up-eyed; Till she, with a timid quaver, Yielded to the kiss I gave her; But, she sighed. That there mingled with her feeling Some sad thought she was concealing It implied. —Not that she had ceased to love me, None on earth she set above me; But she sighed. She could not disguise a passion, Dread, or doubt, in weakest fashion If she tried: Nothing seemed to hold us sundered, Hearts were victors; so I wondered Why she sighed. Afterwards I knew her throughly, And she loved me staunchly, truly, Till she died; But she never made confession Why, at that first sweet concession, She had sighed. It was in our May, remember; And though now I near November, And abide Till my appointed change, unfretting, Sometimes I sit half regretting That she sighed. “IN THE NIGHT SHE CAME” I TOLD her when I left one day That whatsoever weight of care Might strain our love, Time’s mere assault Would work no changes there. And in the night she came to me, Toothless, and wan, and old, With leaden concaves round her eyes, And wrinkles manifold. I tremblingly exclaimed to her, “O wherefore do you ghost me thus! I have said that dull defacing Time Will bring no dreads to us.” “And is that true of _you_?” she cried In voice of troubled tune. I faltered: “Well . . . I did not think You would test me quite so soon!” She vanished with a curious smile, Which told me, plainlier than by word, That my staunch pledge could scarce beguile The fear she had averred. Her doubts then wrought their shape in me, And when next day I paid My due caress, we seemed to be Divided by some shade. THE CONFORMERS YES; we’ll wed, my little fay, And you shall write you mine, And in a villa chastely gray We’ll house, and sleep, and dine. But those night-screened, divine, Stolen trysts of heretofore, We of choice ecstasies and fine Shall know no more.