heart in the world? A lag in the body's urge or a flag of the spirit's wings? Did a man's heart ever break For a lost hope's sake? For here there is lilt in the quiet and calm in the quiver of things. Ay, this old oak, gray-grown and knurled, Solemn and sturdy and big, Is as young of heart, as alert and elate in his rest, As the nuthatch there that clings to the tip of the twig And scolds at the wind that it buffets too rudely its nest. Oh, what is it breathes in the air? Oh, what is it touches my cheek? There's a sense of a presence that lurks in the branches. But where? Is it far, is it far to seek? 

A ROVER'S SONG.

 Snowdrift of the mountains, Spindrift of the sea, We who down the border Rove from gloom to glee,—  Snowdrift of the mountains, Spindrift of the sea, There be no such gypsies Over earth as we. Snowdrift of the mountains, Spindrift of the sea, Let us part the treasure Of the world in three. Snowdrift of the mountains, Spindrift of the sea, You shall keep your kingdoms; Joscelyn for me! 

DOWN THE SONGO.

 I. Floating! Floating—and all the stillness waits And listens at the ivory gates, Full of a dim uncertain presage Of some strange, undelivered message. There is no sound save from the bush The alto of the shy wood-thrush, And ever and anon the dip Of a lazy oar. The rhythmic drowsiness keeps time To hazy subtleties of rhyme That seem to slip Through the lulled soul to seek the sleepy shore. The idle clouds go floating by; Above us sky, beneath us sky; The sun shines on us as we lie Floating. It is a dream. It is a dream, my love; see how The ripples quiver at the prow, And all the long reflections shake Unsteadily beneath the lake. The mists about the uplands show Dim violet towers that come and go. Phantasmagoric palaces Rise trembling there, As though one breath of waking weather Would crash their airy walls together With sudden stress, While silent detonations shook the air— Vast fabrics toppling to the ground And vanishing without a sound. Ah, love, these are not what we deem; It is a dream. II. Let us dream on, then,——dream and die Ere the dream pass. Let us for once, like idle flowers, Let slip the unregarded hours, Like the wise flowers that lie Unfretted by a feeble thought, Future and past alike forgot, Drinking the dew contentedly In the cool grass. III. Look yonder where the clouds float; could we glide As they, across the sky's blue shoreless tide, What better were it than to dream Across yon lake and into this still stream? IV. Trees and a glimpse of sky! And the slow river, quiet as a pool! And thou and I—and thou and I— Kiss me! How soft the 

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