O THE Queen may keep her golden
Crown and sceptre of command!
I would give them both twice over
To be King of Babyland.
...
In Youth, when through our veins runs fast
The bright red stream of life,
The Soul’s Voice is a trumpet-blast
That calls us to the strife.
...
GOOD fellows are laughing and drinking
(To-night no heart should grieve),
But I am of old days thinking,
Alone, on Christmas Eve.
...
SEE how it flashes,
This grape-blood fine!—
Our beards it splashes,
O comrade mine!—
...
A horseman on a hilltop green
Drew rein, and wound his horn;
So bright he looked he might have been
The Herald of the Morn.
...
It fell upon a summer night
The village folk were soundly sleeping,
Unconscious of the glamour white
In which the moon all things was steeping;
...
THE WATERS make a music low:
The river reeds
Are trembling to the tunes of long ago—
Dead days and deeds
...
Soul, dost thou shudder at the narrow tomb?
Heart, dost thou dread to moulder in the dust—
To meet the fate that all things mortal must,
Strength in its pride, and beauty in its bloom?
...
Choose who will the wiser part—
I have held her heart to heart;
And have felt her heart-strings stirred,
And her soul’s still singing heard
...