Few as, in April hours, the wooing calls

Of orioles, or when the twilight falls

First o'er the forest ere the approach of night

[Pg 16]

The eyes of evening;—and Love's song is sung

But once, Dear Heart, but once, and we are young.

Over the seas together, you and I,

'Neath blue Italian skies, or on the hills

Of storied Greece,—where the warm sunlight fills

Spain's mellow vineyards,—wandering reverently

O'er the green plains of Palestine,—our days

A golden holiday in Old World ways.

Yet would we linger not by southern shores;

The bracing breath of Scandinavian snows

Would draw us from our dreams. The North wind blows

Upon thy cheek, my Norseman, and the roars

Of the wild Baltic sound within my ears

When to my dreams thy stalwart form appears.

[Pg 17]

This will the future bring. See! Thou hast given

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