O, blessed words! That very day we knelt before the priest, My love and I, were wed, and life began. Child of my child, child of Antonio's child, Bend down and let me kiss your wondering face. 'Tis a strange tale to tell a rose like you. But time is brief, and, had I told you not, Haply the story would have met your ears From them, the Amieri, my own blood, Now turned to gall, whose foul and bitter lips Will wag with lies when once my lips are dumb. (Pardon me, Virgin. I was gentle once, And thou hast seen my wrongs. Thou wilt forgive.) Now go, my dearest. When they wake thee up, To tell thee I am dead, be not too sad. I, who have died once, do not fear to die. Sweet was that waking, sweeter will be this. Close to Heaven's gate my own Antonio sits Waiting, and, spite of all the Frati say, I know I shall not stand long at that gate, Or knock and be refused an entrance there, For he will start up when lie hears my voice, The saints will smile, and he will open quick. Only a night to part me from that joy. Jesu Maria! let the dawning come. EASTER LILIES. Darlings of June and brides of summer sun, Chill pipes the stormy wind, the skies are drear; Dull and despoiled the gardens every one: What do you here? We looked to see your gracious blooms arise Mid soft and wooing airs in gardens green, Where venturesome brown bees and butterflies Should hail you queen. Here is no bee nor glancing butterfly; They fled on rapid wings before the snow: Your sister lilies laid them down to die, Long, long ago. And here, amid the slowly dropping rain, We keep our Easter feast, with hearts whose care Mars the high cadence of each lofty strain, Each thankful prayer. But not a shadow dims your joyance sweet, No baffled hope or memory darkly clad; You lay your whiteness at the Lord's dear feet, And are all glad. O coward soul! arouse thee and draw near, Led by these fragrant acolytes to-day! Let their sweet confidence rebuke thy fear, Thy cold delay. Come with thy darkness to the healing light, Come with thy bitter, which shall be made sweet, And lay thy soil beside the lilies white, At His dear feet! EBB-TIDE. Long reaches of wet grasses sway Where ran the sea but yesterday, And white-winged boats at sunset drew To anchor in the crimsoning blue. The boats lie on the grassy plain, Nor tug nor fret at anchor chain; Their errand done, their impulse spent, Chained by an alien element, With sails unset they idly lie, Though morning beckons brave and nigh; Like wounded birds, their flight denied, They lie, and long and wait the tide.