Year: 1879

On love. dear love, you still are free,
And still the gate is open wide"
And song and bloom and beauty call,


''Come back, come back! all pleasure
Here in the light" above it all


She only beard her own hearts Cries


She only Saw his pleading eyes
With qnick firm hand she closed the ga. G


The shadows have no dread for her.
And once more Love is conquerer.
The droller phase of her fancy ar,
expressed in a poem. called with
Clearer Vision" 1t is an experience
which many women have felt, but few
OF them have possessed thepower OF ex
pressing their experiences so cleverly
SO clearly or 50 frankly:
saw, to night, the man loved


Three little years ago
l did not think SO short time


Could change NOR al so!
There were none like him in those days


SO strong, so true, so wise;
lie had lofty, marble brow,


Aud tender, soulful eyes,





The ravens wing would seem
But pale indeed Il face and form


10 haunt sculptor's dream.
But when l looked at him, Tonight,


saw no single trace
OF the old glory; only just


A very common face
No marble brow, no soul lit orbs:


w nd oil
That Ouce to my love-hauuted eyes


Was SO intensely Greek
| know full we'll he has not changed


Soivery much All, me!
But was blind in those dear days,


And now, aIns! see.
'Tis very dreadful to be blind,


Ot course, aud yet to night
| should be- happier, far, If


Had not received my Sight.
One Ii tie thought will trouble me


1 only wish knew
v beiher he still is blind, or if


His eyes are open, too.
Embodyi all that is sweteset and
best IN religious flth, Miss Perry
writes as if from the depths of her own
experiences in doubt and disaster, and
also in confident aud abiding love:
| sometimes tbiuk Gods tender heart N must
ache,
Listening to all the sad and bitter cries
Tha from our wean complaining souls arise,
Because we do not See that, for our sake,
DE answers not, OF answers otherwise
Than seems he best TO our tear blinded eyes.
This is loves hl.rde4% task, to do hard
things
For loves own sake, then bear the murmur-
ings
OF Ignorance, too dull to Judge Alright
The love that rises to his wondrous height.
he knows that we have not yet attained;
and so
He weares not, but bears complaint and
And shields each willing heart against his
OWn,
Knowing that some glad day we, too, shall
know.


This sonnet suggests the earlier writ
ings of Mrs. Browning in its deep sub
missiveness t. the inevitable but again
in proof of the many-sided soul of the
poet, and its real experiences through
the potency of the imagination, pray
read.


THE DEARER DEAD
You mourn tor your dead; you go,
Clad in your robes of woe,
To the spot where they sleep;
And you weep


Such bitter tears. and there
You strew flower fresh and fair.
You place white stone at the head,
Where, carven with sculptor's art,
We read your sorrow of heart,
And the dear name of your dead.
But there are dearer dead; you know
Not the bitterest woe
Till you close the eager eyes
Of sweet young Hope, till mournful wise
You cross the hands of Love,
And sorrowing bend above
The ashes and dust
Of Honor and Truth and Trust;
For these are the dearest dead.
Oh, these other dead! who dare
Robes of mourning tor dead hopes wear?
Who bids stone arise
To tell W here dead Love lies?
When did ever mourner say,
Help me bury these dead away?
These funeral trains men do not see;
They move silently
Down to the heart where the grave is made
Where the dead is laid.
No flowers are strewn there;
Hear we no moan there;
No ritual is said


Over their bed.


Hidden from the human sight,
The grave lies low;


But the solemn silent night
That doth know;


And 1t alone seeth the VIII ite
Face of our woe.


You are happy who mourn for your dead
By the side of graves kept green
By the tears you shed;
Who can lean


Lovingly where they sleep.
Pray for those who in secret weep
The dearer dead.


Whatever time might be able to do
for those with lesser poetic power
than that which Miss Perry possesses,
circumstances may hereafter take con-
troll of them and either develop or bury