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Now stars are rising one by one, Through the dim evening air;
With thankful, true content, I know
OTHING is our own: we hold our
They are ours, and hold in faithful keeping
Justice pales; truth fades; stars fall from Heaven;
How the Children leave us: and no traces
Yet we have some little ones, still ours;
When our Joy is lost—and life will take it—
Death, more tender-hearted, leaves to sorrow
Is Love ours, and do we dream we know it,
Only the dead Hearts forsake us never;
So when Fate would fain besiege our city, Dim our gold, or make our flowers fall, Death, the Angel, comes in love and pity, And to save our treasures, claims them all. A WOMAN'S ANSWER.
WILL not let you say a Woman's part Must be to give exclusive love alone; Dearest, although I love you so, my heart Answers a thousand claims besides your own.
I love—what do I not love? earth and air
Find space within my heart, and myriad things
You would not deign to heed, are cherished there, And vibrate on its very inmost strings.
I love the summer with her ebb and flow
Of light, and warmth, and music that have nurst
Her tender buds to blossoms . . . and you know
I love the winter dearly too, .... but then
Bleak, cold, and stormy, you returned again,