a secret hidden away,
Of sorrow to come with a coming day?
Folded under a folded leaf,
Lies there trouble and bitter grief?

The shadow of death, and tears, and gloom
Coming to me when roses bloom?
Will the beautiful days I long for so
Hold like your song a strain of woe?

What is the secret you hide from me
O herald of days that are to be?
And why was that desolate minor moan
Lurking under your gladdest tone?

WORTH LIVING

I know not what the future may hold,
   Or how to others it seems,
But I know my skies have held more gold
   Than I used to find in my dreams.

Though the whole world sings of hopes death chilled,
   In grateful truth I say,
That my best hopes have been fulfilled,
   And more than fulfilled to-day.

Though oft my arrow I aim at the sun
   To see it fall into the sand,
Yet just as often some work I have done
   Is better than I have planned.

I do not always grasp the pleasure
   For which I reach, maybe;
But quite as frequently over-measure
   Is given by joy to me.

To-morrow may bring a grief behind it
   That will thoroughly change my mood;
But we only can speak of a thing as we find it—
   And I have found life good.

MORE FORTUNATE

I hold that life more fortunate by far
   That sits with its sweet memories alone
   And cherishes a joy for ever flown
Beyond the reach of accident to mar.
(Some joy that was extinguished like a star)
   Than that which makes the prize so much its own
   That its poor commonplacenesses are shown;
(Which in all things, when viewed too closely, are.)

Better to mourn a blossom snatched away
   Before it reached perfection, than behold
With dry, unhappy eyes, day after day,
The fresh bloom fade, and the fair leaf decay.
   Better to lose the dream, with all its gold,
Than keep it till it changes to dull grey.

HE WILL NOT COME

Take out the blossom in your hair abloom,
   No more it seemeth beautiful, or bright,
And sickening is its subtly sweet perfume—
      He will not come to-night.

Take off the necklace with its sparkling gem,
   And rings that glow and glitter in the light,
And fling them in the case that waits for them—
      He will not come to-night.

Take off the robe a little while ago
   You chose, to make you fairer in his sight;
’Tis ten o’clock.  So late you can but know
      He will not come to-night.

He will not come.  God grant you strength and grace,
   For never more upon your mortal sight
Shall dawn a glimpse of that beloved face
      That did not come to-night.

He will not come.  And through the shadowed years,
   The perfume of that blossom that you wore
Shall stir the fount of salt and bitter tears—
      For one who comes no more.

WORN OUT

I saw a young heart in the grasp of pain;
   With bruiséd breast, and broken, bleeding wing
Shipwrecked on hopeless love’s tempestuous main,
   Lay the poor tortured thing.

It pulsed with all the anguish of despair;
   It ached with all a fond heart’s awful power;
Yet I, who stood unhurt above it there,
   Envied its lot that hour.

I, who have wasted all the sacred, deep
   Emotions of my soul in spendthrift fashion,
Until no sorrow now can make me weep—
   No joy stir me with passion.

I, who have scattered here and there the gold
   Of my heart’s store, until I spent the whole;
Yet unto each so little gave to hold,
   That I enriched no soul.

I, who have sold the birthright of sweet tears,
   And no more feel a thrill in pulse or brain,
Would gladly have exchanged my tasteless years
   For one salt hour of pain.

Weep on, ye mourners.  Glory in the cross
   Of some great grief.  Thank God you do not know
The greater grief that comes but with the loss
   Of power to suffer woe.

RONDEAU

As you forgot I may forget,
When summer dews cease to be wet.
   When whippoorwills disdain the night,
   When sun and moon are no more bright,
And all the stars at midnight set.

When jay birds sing, and thrushes fret,
When snowfalls come in flakes of jet,
   When hearts that shelter love are light,
      I may forget.

When mortal life no cares beset,
When April brings no violet,
   When wrong no longer wars with right,
   When all hope’s ships shall heave in sight,
And memory holds no least regret,
      I may forget.

TRIFLES

Only a spar from a broken ship
   Washed in by a careless wave;
But it brought back the smile of a vanished lip,
   And his past peered out of the grave.

Only a leaf that an idle breeze
   Tossed at her passing feet;
But she seemed to stand under the dear old trees,
   And life again was sweet.

Only the bar of a tender strain
   They sang in days gone by;
But the old love woke in her heart again,
   The love they had sworn should die.

Only the breath of a faint perfume
   That floated up from a rose;
But the bolts slid back from a marble tomb,
   And I looked on a dear dead face.

Who vaunts the might of a human will,
   When a perfume or a sound
Can wake a Past that we bade lie still,
   And open a long closed wound?

COURAGE

Whether the way be dark or light
   My soul shall sing as I journey on,
As sweetly sing in the deeps of night
   As it sang in the burst of the golden dawn.

Nothing can crush me, or silence me long,
   Though the heart be bowed, yet the soul will rise,
Higher and higher on wings of song,
   Till it swims like the lark in a sea of skies.

Though youth may fade, and love grow cold,
   And friends prove false, and best hopes blight,
Yet the sun will wade in waves of gold,
   And the stars in glory will shine at night.

Though all earth’s joys from my life are missed,
   And I of the whole world stand bereft,
Yet dawns will be purple and amethyst,
   And I cannot be sad while the seas are left.

For I am a part of the mighty whole;
   I belong to the system of life and death.
I am under the law of a Great Central,
   And strong with the courage of love and faith.

THE OTHER

All alone with my heart to-night
   I sit, and wonder, and sigh.
What is she like, is she dark, or light,
This other woman who has the right
   To love him better than I?

We never have spoken her name, we two;
   There was no need somehow,
But she lives, and loves, and her heart is true;
From the very first this much I knew,
   So why should it hurt me now.

I fancy her tall, and I think her fair,
   Oh! fairer than I by half.
With sweet, calm eyes, and a wealth of hair,
And a heart as perfectly free from care
   As is her silvery laugh.

She loves rich jewels that flash in the light,
   And revels in costly lace,
And first in the morning, and last at night
She kisses one ring on her finger white;
   (How came those tears on my face?)

She has all best things to make life sweet:
   Youth, and beauty, and gold,
And a love that renders it quite complete.
(I wonder why from my head to my feet
   I feel so deathly cold?)

Yet in all the store of her great delight
   (And she has so much, so much)
She cannot be gladder