The Sun burns fiercely down the s… The sea is full of flashing eyes; The waves glide shoreward serpentw… And fawn with foamy tongues on sta… Gray rocks, each sharp-toothed as…

GOOD fellows are laughing and dr… (To-night no heart should grieve), But I am of old days thinking, Alone, on Christmas Eve. Old memories fast are springing

What! Don’t you our Mæcenas kno… The man who started, years ago, Our Wild Australian Author show? You don’t? Your ignorance sublim… Exceeds– to use a Boston rhyme –

By a black wharf I stood lately, When the night was at its noon; Keen, malicious stars were shining… And a wicked, white-faced moon. And I saw a stately vessel,

At Dawn and Dusk Love-Laurel IN MEMORY OF HENRY KEND… AH! that God once would touch my… To pierce, as prayer doth heaven,…

WHEN the moon a golden-pale Lustre on my casement flings, An enchanted nightingale In the haunted silence sings. Strange the song—its wondrous word…

OVER a slow-dying fire, Dreaming old dreams, I am sitting… The flames leap up and expire; A woman sits opposite knitting. I’ve taken a Fate to wife;

There is a town in Ireland, A little town I know; Its girls have tender Irish eyes Beneath their brows of snow; And in the field around it

The pale discrowned stacks of maiz…    Like spectres in the sun, Stand shivering nigh Avonaise,    Where all is dead and gone. The sere leaves make a music vain,

Ah! that God once would touch my… To pierce, as prayer doth heaven,… So that with sweet mouth I might… O sweet dead singer buried by the… A song, to woo thee, as a wooing s…

BY his side, whose days are past, Lay bow and quiver! And his eyes that stare aghast Close, with a shiver. God nor man from Death, at last,

These broken lines for pardon crav… I cannot end the song with art: My grief is gray and old—her grave Is dug so deep within my heart. IT was a day of sombre heat:

IT MAY have been a fragment of t… Truth dreams, at times, disclose; It may have been to Fond Illusion… But thus the story goes: A fierce sun glared upon a gaunt l…

ONCE from the world of living me… I passed, by a strange fancy led, To a still City of the Dead, To call upon a citizen. He had been famous in his day;

On a golden dawn in the dawn subli… Of years ere the stars had ceased… Beautiful out of the sea-deeps col… Aphrodite arose—the Flower of Tim… That, dear till the day of her blo…