[24]

[24]

FOUR DUCKS ON A POND

Four ducks on a pond,

A grass-bank beyond,

A blue sky of spring,

White clouds on the wing;

What a little thing

To remember for years—

To remember with tears!

ÆOLIAN HARP

What is it that is gone, we fancied ours?

Oh what is lost that never may be told?—

We stray all afternoon, and we may grieve

Until the perfect closing of the night.

Listen to us, thou gray Autumnal Eve,

Whose part is silence. At thy verge the clouds

Are broken into melancholy gold;

The waifs of Autumn and the feeble flow'rs

Glimmer along our woodlands in wet light;

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