For me an' mine they're past an' done- Since I kissed her 'neath Tullagh Hill An' her soft arm, in some ould way, But, faith, 'twas her they buried deep, Aye, deep an' cold, in Killinkere, Arthur Stringer (1874 TO DIANE THE ruddy poppies bend and bow, The sun you knew shines proudly now, Your towers are fairer for their stains, Diane! do you remember? I come to find you through the years, For none may rule my love's soft fears. I seek you through your tarnished halls, High, low-where is Diane? די I crush the poppies where I tread, Diane! do you remember? Your flower of life, so bright, so red→→ She does not hear-Diane is dead. I Her Dwelling-Place pace the sunny bowers alone Where naught of her remains but stone. Sing low-where is Diane? Diane does not remember. Helen Hay Whitney [18 1129 "MUSIC I HEARD" MUSIC I heard with you was more than music, Your hands once touched this table and this silver, For it was in my heart you moved among them, They knew you once, O beautiful and wise! Conrad Aiken [1889 HER DWELLING-PLACE AMID the fairest things that grow My lady hath her dwelling-place; The wild, bright creatures of the wood About her fearless flit and spring; To light her dusky solitude Comes April's earliest offering. The calm Night from her urn of rest Pours downward an unbroken stream; All day upon her mother's breast My lady lieth in a dream. Love could not chill her low, soft bed He put a red rose at her head- Ada Foster Murray [18 THE WIFE FROM FAIRYLAND HER talk was all of woodland things, Away in one green afternoon, For she had come from fairyland, The morning of a day When the world that still was April Was turning into May. Green leaves and silence and two eyes 'Twas so she seemed to me, A silver shadow of the woods, I looked into her woodland eyes, And all my granite and my gold In the Fall o' Year She loitered in magnificence Of marble and of gold, Sometimes, in the chill galleries, So lone a thing I never saw There came a day when on her heart In the green eyes I saw a smile For there had come a little hand 1131 Home through the leaves, home through the dew, Home through the greenwood-home. Richard Le Gallienne [1866 IN THE FALL O' YEAR I WENT back an old-time lane In the fall o' year, There was wind and bitter rain And the leaves were sere. Once the birds were lilting high In a far-off May I remember, you and I Were as glad as they. But the branches now are bare And the lad you knew, Long ago was buried thereLong ago, with you! Thomas S. Jones, Jr. [1882 THE INVISIBLE BRIDE THE low-voiced girls that go In gardens of the Lord, In sisterly accord. Their whispering feet are white Along the leafy ways; They go in whirls of light Too beautiful for praise. And in their band forsooth She kindles the desire Whereby the gods survive The white ideal fire That keeps my soul alive. Now at the wondrous hour, She leaves her star supreme, Sibyl of mystery On roads beyond our ken, Softly she comes to me, And goes to God again. Edwin Markham [1852 |