176 MYSTERIES :
BESIDE THE RIVER.
AIN, rain in May. The river sadly flows,
A sullen silver crossed with sable bars,
Damp, gloomy, shivering, while reluctant stars,
Between swart masses of thick clouds that close,
Drive with drooped plumes their wingéd cars
Toward sleep, the scythe of woes.
Woes, woes in Spring. Ere summer deepeneth
The pink of roses to a purpler tint;
Ere ripening corn shafts back the sudden glint
Of sunshine that brings healing with the breath
Of western winds that sigh, and hint
_ Of sleep, twin soul with death.
Death, death ere dawn. The night is over dark,
Trees are grown terrible, the shadows wan
Make shudder all the tense desires of man ;
No gleam of moonlight bears the golden mark
Of sunny lips, nor shines upon
Our sleep—Love’s birchen bark.