And one bright moment, ere it hurries by,

Throngs all the mind with colour, light and mirth,

Like summertimes returning through the earth.

[46]

[46]

AN OLD LOVER

Whenever he would talk to us of ships,

Old schooners lost, or tall ships under weigh,

The god of speech was neighbour to his lips,

A lover's grace on words he loved to say.

He called them by their names, and you could see

Spars in the sun, keels, and their curling foam;

And all his mind was like a morning quay

Of ships gone out, and ships come gladly home.

He filled the bay with sails we had not seen:

The Marguerita L., "a maid for shape,"

The slender Kay, the worthy Island Queen,—

That was his own, he lost her off the Cape,

"She was a ship"—and then he looked away,

And talked to us no more of ships that day.

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