And from thy heart the fancy fled

Like the Rose-leaves on the river shed;
But to me that hour is sweeter far

Than the world and all its treasures are:
Still to sit on so close to thee,
Were happiness enough for me!
Still to sit on in a green nook,

Nor break the spell by word or look!
To reach out happy hands for ever,
To pluck the Rose-leaves, Charmian ! -
To watch them fade on the gleaming River,
And hear no sound from the world of man!

ROBERT BUCHANAN.

NOT LOVE.

HAVE not, yet I would have loved thee, sweet.
Nor know I wherefore, thou being all thou

art,

The engrafted thought in me throve incomplete,

And grew to summer strength in every part

Of root and leaf, but hath not borne the flower: Love hath refrained his fulness from my heart.

I know no better beauty, none with power

To hold mine eyes through change and change as

thine,

Like southern skies that alter with each hour

And yet are changeless, and their calm divine
From light to light hath motionlessly passed
With only different loveliness for sign.

I know no fairer nature, nor where, cast
On the clear mirror of thine own young truth,
The imaged things of heaven lie plainer glassed;

Nor where more fit alike show tender ruth,
And anger for the right, and hopes aglow,
And joys and sighs of April-hearted youth.

But some day I, so wont to praise thee so,
With unabashed warm words for all to hear,
Shall scarcely name another, speaking low.

Some day, methinks, and who can tell how near, I may, to thee unchanged, be praising thee With one not worthier but a world more dear;

With one I know not yet, who shall, may be,

Be not so fair, be not in aught thy peer; Who shall be all that thou art not to me.

AUGUSTA WEBSTER.

SOMEWHERE OR OTHER.

OMEWHERE or other there must surely be
The face not seen, the voice not heard,
The heart that not yet-never yet—ah me !
Made answer to my word.

Somewhere or other, may be near or far;
Past land and sea, clean out of sight;
Beyond the wandering moon, beyond the star
That tracks her night by night.

Somewhere or other, may be far or near;
With just a wall, a hedge between ;
With just the last leaves of the dying year

Fallen on a turf grown green.

CHRISTINA ROSSETTI.

OUTCRY.

N all my singing and speaking,
I send my soul forth seeking;
O soul of my soul's dreaming;
When wilt thou hear and speak?

Lovely and lonely seeming,
Thou art there in my dreaming,
Hast thou no sorrow for speaking?
Hast thou no dream to seek?

In all my thinking and sighing,
In all my desolate crying,
I send my heart forth yearning,
O heart that may'st be nigh!
Like a bird weary of flying,
My heavy heart, returning,
Bringeth me no replying,

Of word, or thought, or sigh.

In all my joying and grieving,
Living, hoping, believing,
I send my love forth flowing,
To find my unknown love.