MAIA

ILLUSION works impenetrable,
Weaving webs innumerable,
Her gay pictures never fail,
Crowds each on other, veil on veil,
Charmer who will be believed

By man who thirsts to be deceived.

ILLUSIONS like the tints of pearl,
Or changing colors of the sky,
Or ribbons of a dancing girl

That mend her beauty to the eye.

THE cold gray down upon the quinces lieth And the poor spinners weave their webs thereon To share the sunshine that so spicy is.

SAMSON stark, at Dagon's knee,
Gropes for columns strong as he ;
When his ringlets grew and curled,
Groped for axle of the world.

BUT Nature whistled with all her winds,
Did as she pleased and went her way.'

LIFE

A TRAIN of gay and clouded days
Dappled with joy and grief and praise,
Beauty to fire us, saints to save,
Escort us to a little grave.

No fate, save by the victim's fault, is low, For God hath writ all dooms magnificent, So guilt not traverses his tender will.

AROUND the man who seeks a noble end,

Not angels but divinities attend.'

FROM high to higher forces
The scale of power uprears,
The heroes on their horses,

The gods upon their spheres.

THIS shining moment is an edifice Which the Omnipotent cannot rebuild.

ROOMY Eternity

Casts her schemes rarely,

And an æon allows

For each quality and part

Of the multitudinous

And many-chambered heart.

THE beggar begs by God's command,
And gifts awake when givers sleep,
Swords cannot cut the giving hand
Nor stab the love that orphans keep.

In the chamber, on the stairs,
Lurking dumb,

Go and come
Lemurs and Lars.1

SUCH another peerless queen
Only could her mirror show.

EASY to match what others do,

Perform the feat as well as they ;
Hard to out-do the brave, the true,
And find a loftier way:

The school decays, the learning spoils

Because of the sons of wine;

How snatch the stripling from their toils? —

Yet can one ray of truth divine

The blaze of revellers' feasts outshine.

-

Of all wit's uses the main one
Is to live well with who has none.

THE tongue is prone to lose the way,
Not so the pen, for in a letter
We have not better things to say,
But surely say them better.'

SHE walked in flowers around my field
As June herself around the sphere.

FRIENDS to me are frozen wine;

I wait the sun on them should shine.'

You shall not love me for what daily spends;
You shall not know me in the noisy street,
Where I, as others, follow petty ends;
Nor when in fair saloons we chance to meet;
Nor when I'm jaded, sick, anxious or mean.
But love me then and only, when you know
Me for the channel of the rivers of God
From deep ideal fontal heavens that flow.

To and fro the Genius flies,

A light which plays and hovers
Over the maiden's head

And dips sometimes as low as to her eyes.
Of her faults I take no note,

Fault and folly are not mine;
Comes the Genius, - all's forgot,
Replunged again into that upper sphere

He scatters wide and wild its lustres here.'