Year: 1877


some day she will come back, my poor lost
NV dove with the warm breast and eager eyes .
How did it fail toward her, my passionate love'
Where was the flaw? since fawed it must have


been,


Or surely she had staid with me, my queen.
Her hear was full Of inarticulate cries
Which my heart failed to ca CHI and yet she


rove


To cleave to me. All, how she must have


striyen,


Praying, perchance. Of times for strength from


heaven


But no strength came and so, one fatal day,
Despairing of all help, she went away.
And there her half completed portrait stands
The fresh, young face, and gray eyes brimmcd


with light.


I pain ed her with flowers in her hands,
Because she always seemed SO bright and good,
never thought the studios solitude
Would hurt her anyway. thought the sigh
Of painted forms and unfamiliar lands
Would be enough for her. She was too mild
Too patient with my painters life. Poor child !!
Had she complained at all, by look or tone,
Had she but said Il seem too much alone;
~ grow half fearful of these painted eyes
That never change but, full of sad reproof,
Haunt me and watch me and these southern


skies


Reelected in deep streams and that dark boat
From which a girl with bare sweet breast and


throat


Droops willow like, and dreams Of life and love;
And that youths dying face, which never dies :;
And then, again, that pic ure Of Christ there
Christ fallenin an agony of prayer,
And his disciples near him, stern and dumb, |
Like men who know the fated hour is come"
Had she said thus, and added: "Take me, dear,
Outside Of these sad faces; let me stand
Once more within lifes shadows, and there hear
Light laugh er Of the surf upon the beach,
For here tho very sea is without speech,
So still it is, and far away from land;
want life's little joys; this atmosphere
Oppresses me Icannot breathe il it;
The light that lights your life leaves mine
I should have answered tenderly, and sought
To carry ont in all her slightest thought.
She knew l loved her, through those winter
days; ....
Did it no comfort her at all, my love?
1t was such JOY to look upon her face,
1 sat for hours, content to be quite still,
Feeling her warm bright beauty fill
Ny soul and brain; fearful lest she should


move,


And speak or so t; but when she mo my gaze
,urned away, as if had done wrong
In looking on her loveliness so long.
I rarely kissed her, rarely look her hand;
And now. hink, she did not understand.
Perchance she thought my love was passionless,
Wanted what withheld yet longed to give; ,
She did not know my silence caress-
All passion was by reverence controlled
And so she deemed r,' w % Of love were cold.
All, me the lonely life she had to live!
And knew nothing Of its loneliness.
Hers was nature quick 20 give and take.
A nature to be broken and to break;
She loved con.iding valleys, sun Kissed riils,
But saddencd at the solemn peace Of hills.
All things had been so different had I known
Her nature then as now ; and yet, and yet,
If she came in, as I sit here alone,
The April twilight falling through the room,
And all the pictures lapsins into gloom
Came in, knelt down, and prayed me to forget,
Forgive her, and reclaim her for my own,
I should be glad; and draw her to my heart,
And kiss the rising tears away, and part
The sweet black hair, and fold her to my side,
Yet leave. perchance the want unsatisted.
But here she comes not. must wait and bear;
Live on and serve my art as best may.
If can catch the color OF her hair
And the neck's poise, and set beneath her name,
Shall not her lovehness have deathless fame?
Now lights shine ont along the London square.
Oh, dreary place! where no joy comes at all,
There I mus, turn the easel to the wall !!
cannot bear her ACE as yet-Oh love!
Oh, wounded of mr. hands my wounded dove


Ha,per's Magazine.