And the aching trees bowed branch and twig

And a shrivelled leaf made cry,

"If you are cold, and your heart be old,

For certain, Love must die."

Over the hill, where the white road sweeps,

And the dead fern holds the snow,

Sweet Love fled; and a spirit dead

Spectres the slopes below.

[Pg 34]

[Pg 34]

The Hour of Happiness

The world is fair! The circling swell

Of fresh tumultuous sea

Holds life within its rhythmic rise

And bursts of harmony;

And storm-clouds chasing down the sky

Empty their hearts as they sweep by.

The world is gay!—Such lilt and song,

Such mellowness of tune,

Such drifting airs from wave and shore,

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