Sweet, slumberous, attenuate and afar;

Sad sunglows in the border mountains poise,

There where he knows to-night, mid cloud and star,

Silence shall yearn o'er folk worn out with strife,

Lost in blank sleep to hope, regret, death, life.]

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

I.

What though my voice cease like a moan o' the wind?

Not the less shall I

Cast on this life a kindly eye,

Glad if through its mystery

Faint gleams of love and truth glance o'er my mind.

What though I end like a spring leaf shed on the wind?

Restrained by pure-eyed Sorrow's hand,

Lithe Joy through this wondrous land

Leads me; nothing have I scanned

Unmixed with good. Fate's sharpest stroke is kind.

To me, thoughts lived of old anew are born

From glances at the unsullied sea,

Or breath of morning purity,

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