Primavera | Page 4

grief is easier borne.
Persephone, Persephone!
Still in dreams thou com'st to me;
Every
night art at my side,
Half my bride, and half Death's bride!
Golden
blossoms at thy breast;
Golden hair that shames the West;
Golden
sunlight circling thee!
Half of gold the lone years flee:
Night is glad,

though day is sad,
Till I go where thou art gone.
ARTHUR S. CRIPPS.
TO A LOST LOVE
I cannot look upon thy grave,
Though there the rose is sweet:
Better
to hear the long wave wash
These wastes about my feet!
Shall I take comfort? Dost thou live
A spirit, though afar,
With a
deep hush about thee, like
The stillness round a star?
Oh, thou art cold! In that high sphere
Thou art a thing apart,
Losing
in saner happiness
This madness of the heart.
And yet, at times, thou still shalt feel
A passing breath, a pain;

Disturb'd, as though a door in heaven
Had oped and closed again.
And thou shalt shiver, while the hymns,
The solemn hymns, shall
cease;
A moment half remember me:
Then turn away to peace.
But oh, for evermore thy look,
Thy laugh, thy charm, thy tone,
Thy
sweet and wayward earthliness,
Dear trivial things, are gone!
Therefore I look not on thy grave,
Though there the rose is sweet;

But rather hear the loud wave wash
These wastes about my feet.
STEPHEN PHILLIPS.
RAYMOND AND IDA
_Raymond._
Dearest, that sit'st in dreams,
Through the window look, this way.

How changed and desolate seems
The world, Ida, to-day!
Heavy
and low the sky is glooming:
Winter is coming!

_Ida._
My dreaming heart is stirr'd:
Sadly the winter comes!
The wind is
loud: how weird,
Heard in these darken'd rooms!
Speak to me,
Raymond; ease this dread:
I am afraid, afraid.
_Raymond._
Love, what is this? Like snow
Thy cheeks feel, snow they wear.

What ails my darling so?
What is it thou dost hear?
Close, close,
thy soft arms cling to mine:
Tears on thy lashes shine.
_Ida._
Hark! love, the wind wails by
The wet October trees,
Swaying them
mournfully:
The wet leaves shower and cease.
And hark! how
blows the weary rain,
Against the shaken pane.
_Raymond._
Ah, yes, the world is drear
Outside; there is no rest.
But what can
Ida fear,
Shelter'd upon my breast?
Heed not the storm-blast,
beating wild,
I love thee, love thee, child.
_Ida._
Thy breath is in my hair,
Thy kisses on my cheek;
Yet I scarce feel
them there:
Faintly I hear thee speak.
My heart is dreaming far
away,
In some sad, future day.
_Raymond._
The future? In the mist
Of years what dost thou see?
O let that dark
land rest:
Come back, come back to me!
Look up! How fix'd and
vacant seem
Thine eyes; so deep they dream.

_Ida._
To leave the blessed light:
Cold in the grave to lie!
No voice, no
human sight:
Darkness and apathy!
To die! 'tis hard, ere youth is
o'er;
But ah, to love no more!
_Raymond._
What dream is this, alas!
O, if but for my sake,
Wake, darling; let
this pass:
Ida, dear Ida, wake!
I cannot bear to see those tears:

Thy sad tones hurt my ears.
_Ida._
Will he forget me, then,
When I am gone away?
'Twere best: to
give him pain,
Let not my memory stay.
But O, even there, in
Hades dim,
I would remember him.
_Raymond._
Thou griev'st thyself in vain:
Sweet love, be comforted.
Come,
leave this world of rain;
To the bright hearth turn thy head.
We
have our fireside still, the same:
How cheerful is the flame!
Though darkness round us press;
Though wild, without, it blows;

Here sit thee, while thy face
In the happy firelight glows:
Clasp'd in
my arms, lie tranquil here;
And listen, Ida dear.
As, from that outlook chill,
The glad hearth meets our sight,
A
charm for every ill
We bear, a charm of might.
Ah, 'gainst its power
not death shall stay!
Know'st thou it, darling, say?
Thou smilest! Joy, I see,
Dawns in thine eyes again:
Those cheeks
of ivory
Their own sweet bloom regain.
Thou know'st that heavenly
charm; how well,
Thy happy kisses tell!

MANMOHAN GHOSE.
PSYCHE
She is not fair, as some are fair,
Cold as the snow, as sunshine gay:

On her clear brow, come grief what may,
She suffers not too stern an
air;
But, grave in silence, sweet in speech,
Loves neither mockery
nor disdain;
Gentle to all, to all doth teach
The charm of deeming
nothing vain.
She join'd me: and we wander'd on;
And I rejoiced, I cared not why,

Deeming it immortality
To walk with such a soul alone.

Primroses pale grew all around,
Violets, and moss, and ivy wild;

Yet, drinking sweetness from the ground,
I was but conscious that she
smiled.
The wind blew all her shining hair
From her sweet brows; and she,
the while,
Put back her lovely head, to smile
On my enchanted
spirit there.
Jonquils and pansies round her head
Gleam'd softly; but
a heavenlier hue
Upon her perfect cheek was shed,
And in her eyes
a purer blue.
There came an end to break the spell;
She murmur'd something in my
ear;
The words fell vague, I did not hear,
And ere I knew, I said
farewell;
And homeward went, with happy heart
And spirit
dwelling in a gleam,
Rapt to a Paradise apart,
With all the world
become a dream.
Yet now, too soon, the world's strong strife
Breaks on me pitiless
again;
The pride of passion, hopes