On a gala night at his mansion

We should learn to be friends at last.

XXII. HELIOTROPE.

Let my soul and thine commune,

Heliotrope.

O'er the way I hear the swoon

Of the music; and the moon,

Like a moth above a bloom,

Shines upon the world below.

In God's hand the world we know,

Is but as a flower in mine.

Let me see thy heart divine

Heliotrope.

Thy rare odor is thy soul,

Heliotrope.

Could I save the golden bowl,

And yet change my soul to yours,

[Pg 26]

I would do so for a day,

Just to hear my neighbors say:

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