"Delicta juventutis et ignorantius ejus,
                  quoesumus ne memineris, Domine."

          I left, to earth, a little maiden fair,
           With locks of gold, and eyes that shamed the light;
          I prayed that God might have her in His care
                      And sight.

          Earth's love was false; her voice, a siren's song;
           (Sweet mother-earth was but a lying name)
          The path she showed was but the path of wrong
                      And shame.

          "Cast her not out!" I cry.  God's kind words come —
           "Her future is with Me, as was her past;
          It shall be My good will to bring her home
                      At last."

          My lover died a century ago,
          Her dear heart stricken by my sland'rous breath,
          Wherefore the Gods forbade that I should know
                      The peace of death.

          Men pass my grave, and say, "'Twere well to sleep,
          Like such an one, amid the uncaring dead!"
          How should they know the vigils that I keep,
                      The tears I shed?

          Upon the grave, I count with lifeless breath,
          Each night, each year, the flowers that bloom and die,
          Deeming the leaves, that fall to dreamless death,
                      More blest than I.

          'Twas just last year — I heard two lovers pass
          So near, I caught the tender words he said:
          To-night the rain-drenched breezes sway the grass
                      Above his head.

          That night full envious of his life was I,
          That youth and love should stand at his behest;
          To-night, I envy him, that he should lie
                      At utter rest.

            I

          Sleep, little eyes
          That brim with childish tears amid thy play,
          Be comforted!  No grief of night can weigh
          Against the joys that throng thy coming day.

          Sleep, little heart!
          There is no place in Slumberland for tears:
          Life soon enough will bring its chilling fears
          And sorrows that will dim the after years.
          Sleep, little heart!

            II

          Ah, little eyes
          Dead blossoms of a springtime long ago,
          That life's storm crushed and left to lie below
          The benediction of the falling