Gather me back as thou dost pale and fade;
Yet in my heart I make
A chamber for thy sake,
And keep thy picture in warm color laid:—
Thy memory, happy day,
Thou can'st not take away.
HE AND SHE.
Under the pines sat a young man and maiden,
"Love," said he; "life is sweet, think'st thou not so?"
Sweet were her eyes, full of pictures of Aidenn,—
"Life?" said she; "love is sweet; no more I know."
Into the wide world the maid and her lover
Wandered by pathways that sundered them far;
From pine-groves to palm-groves, he flitted a rover,
She tended his roses, and watched for his star.
Oft he said softly, while melting eyes glistened,
"Sweet is my life, love, with you ever near:"
Morning and evening she waited and listened
For a voice and a foot-step that never came near.
Fainting at last, on her threshold she found him:
"Life is but ashes, and bitter," he sighed.
She, with her tender arms folded around him,
Whispered—"But love is still sweet;" and so died.
O WILD NOVEMBER WIND.
O wild November wind, blow back to me
The withered leaves, that drift adown the past;
Waft me some murmur of the summer sea,
