Barks that were launched on the other side,

And slipped from heaven on an ebbWhat does he think of his mother's ing tide! eyes?

What does he think of his mother's hair?

What of the cradle-roof that flies Forward and backward through the air?

What does he think of his mother's breast,

Bare and beautiful, smooth and white, Seeking it ever with fresh delight,

Cup of his life and couch of his rest? What does he think when her quick embrace

Presses his hand and buries his face Deep where the heart-throbs sink and swell

With a tenderness she can never tell, Though she murmur the words

Of all the birds,

Words she has learned to murmur well?

Now he thinks he'll go to sleep!
I can see the shadow creep
Over his eyes in soft eclipse,
Over his brow, and over his lips.
Out to his little finger-tips;
Softly sinking, down he goes!
Down he goes! Down he goes!
See! He is hushed in sweet re
pose!

[From the Marble Prophecy.]

THE TYPE OF STRUGGLING
HUMANITY.

LAOCOON! thou great embodiment
Of human life and human history!
Thou record of the past, thou proph-
ecy

Of the sad future, thou majestic voice, Pealing along the ages from old time! Thou wail of agonized humanity! There lives no thought in marble like to thee!

Thou hast no kindred in the Vatican, But standest separate among the dreams

Of old mythologies - alone - alone!
The beautiful Apollo at thy side
Is but a marble dream, and dreams

are all

The gods and goddesses and fauns

and fates

That populate these wondrous halls; but thou,

Standing among them, liftest up thyself

In majesty of meaning, till they sink Far from the sight, no more signifi

cant

Than the poor toys of children. For thou art

A voice from out the world's experi

ence,

Speaking of all the generations past To all the generations yet to come Of the long struggle, the sublime despair,

The wild and weary agony of man!

ON THE RIGHI.

ON the Righi Kulm we stood,
Lovely Floribel and I,
While the morning's crimson flood
Streamed along the eastern sky.
Reddened every mountain-peak

Into rose from twilight dun;

THREE KISSES OF FAREWELL.

THREE, only three, my darling,

Separate, solemn, slow; Not like the swift and joyous ones,

We used to know When we kissed because we loved

each other

Simply to taste love's sweet, And lavished our kisses as the sum

mer

Lavishes heat;

But as they kiss whose hearts are wrung,

When hope and fear are spent, And nothing is left to give except A sacrament!

First of the three, my darling, Is sacred unto pain;

We have hurt each other often: We shall again,

The last kiss, oh, my darling,
My love-I cannot see

Through my tears, as I remember
What it may be.