"Ah!" begged each silly, pouting leaf, "Let us a little longer May; Dear Father Tree, behold our grief, 'Tis such a very pleasant day We do not want to go away." So, just for one more merry day To the great Tree the leaflets clung, Frolicked and danced and had their way, Upon the autumn breezes swung, Whispering all their sports among, "Perhaps the great Tree will forget And let us stay until the spring If we all beg and coax and fret." But the great Tree did no such thing; He smiled to hear their whispering. "Come, children all, to bed," he cried; And ere the leaves could urge their prayer He shook his head, and far and wide, Fluttering and rustling everywhere, Down sped the leaflets through the air. I saw them; on the ground they lay, Golden and red, a huddled swarm, Waiting till one from far away, White bed-clothes heaped upon her arm, Should come to wrap them safe and warm. The great bare Tree looked down and smiled. "Good-night, dear little leaves" he said; And from below each sleepy child Replied "Good-night," and murmured, "It is so nice to go to bed." BARCAROLES. I. Over the lapsing lagune all the day Urging my gondola with oar-strokes light, Always beside one shadowy waterway I pause and peer, with eager, jealous sight, Toward the Piazza where Pepita stands, Wooing the hungry pigeons from their flight. Dark the canal; but she shines like the sun, With yellow hair and dreaming, wine-brown eyes. Thick crowd the doves for food. She gives ME none. She sees and will not see. Vain are my sighs. One slow, reluctant stroke. Aha! she turns, Gestures and smiles, with coy and feigned surprise. Shifting and baffling is our Lido track, Blind and bewildering all the currents flow. Me they perplex not. In the midnight black I hold my way secure and fearless row, But ah! what chart have I to her, my Sea, Whose fair, mysterious depths I long to know? Subtle as sad mirage; true and untrue She seems, and, pressing ever on in vain, I yearn across the mocking, tempting blue. Never she draws more near, never I gain A furlong's space toward where she sits and a miles; Smiles and cares nothing for my love and pain. How shall I win her? What may strong arm do Against such gentle distance? I can say No more than this, that when she stands to woo The doves beside the shadowy waterway, And when I look and long, sometimes--she smiles Perhaps she will do more than smile one day! II. Light and darkness, brown and fair, Ha! they think I do not see,-- I behind them, swiftly rowing. Rowing? Yes, but eyes are free, Eyes and fancies:-- Now what fire in looks and glances! Now the dark head bends, grown bolder. Ringlets mingle--silence--broken (All unconscious of beholder) By a kiss!