W. T GREEN

TO HELEN.

I saw thee once-once only-years ago :
I must not say how many-but not many.

It was a July midnight; and from out

A full-orbed moon, that, like thine own soul, soaring,

Sought a precipitate pathway up through heaven,
There fell a silvery-silken veil of light,

With quietude, and sultriness, and slumber,

Upon the upturn'd faces of a thousand

Roses that grew in an enchanted garden,

Where no wind dared to stir, unless on tiptoe-

Fell on the upturn'd faces of these roses,
That gave out, in return for the love-light,

Their odorous souls in an ecstatic death

Fell on the upturn'd faces of these roses
That smiled and died in this parterre, enchanted
By thee, and by the poetry of thy presence.

LAD all in white, upon a violet bank

I saw thee half reclining; while the moon
Fell on the upturn'd faces of the roses,
And on thine own, upturn'd-alas, in sorrow!

Was it not Fate, that, on this July midnight—
Was it not Fate (whose name is also Sorrow)
That bade me pause before that garden-gate,
To breathe the incense of those slumbering roses ?
No footstep stirred: the hated world all slept,
Save only thee and me. (Oh, Heaven!-oh, God!
How

my heart beats in coupling those two words!) Save only thee and me. I paused-I lookedAnd in an instant all things disappeared.

(Ah, bear in mind this garden was enchanted!)

The pearly lustre of the moon went out : The mossy banks and the meandering paths,

The happy flowers and the repining trees,

Were seen no more: the very roses' odours Died in the arms of the adoring airs.