TO A DEAD WOMAN.

to a Dead Woman."

OT a kiss in life; but one kiss, at life's end,

NOT

I have set on the face of Death in trust for

thee.

Through long years keep it fresh on thy lips, O

friend!

At the gate of Silence give it back to me.

H. C. BUNner.

1 From "The Poems of H. C. Bunner," copyright, 1884, 1892, 1896,

by Charles Scribner's Sons.

Destiny.

THREE roses, wan as moonlight, and weighed

down

Each with its loveliness as with a crown,

Drooped in a florist's window in a town.

The first a lover bought. It lay at rest,

Like flower on flower, that night, on Beauty's breast,

The second rose, as virginal and fair,

Shrunk in the tangles of a harlot's hair.

The third, a widow, with new grief made wild,
Shut in the icy palm of her dead child.

T. B. ALDRICH.

THE KINGS.

A

The Rings.

MAN said unto his angel:

"My spirits are fallen thro', And I cannot carry this battle; O brother! what shall I do?

"The terrible Kings are on me,
With spears that are deadly bright,
Against me so from the cradle
Do fate and my fathers fight."

Then said to the man his angel:
"Thou wavering, foolish soul,
Back to the ranks! What matter
To win or to lose the whole,

"As judged by the little judges
Who hearken not well, nor see?
Not thus, by the outer issue,
The Wise shall interpret thee.

"Thy will is the very, the only,
The solemn event of things;
The weakest of hearts defying
Is stronger than all these Kings.

"Tho' out of the past they gather, Mind's Doubt and bodily Pain, And pallid Thirst of the Spirit

That is kin to the other twain,

"And Grief, in a cloud of banners,
And ringletted Vain Desires,
And Vice with the spoils upon him
Of thee and thy beaten sires,

"While Kings of eternal evil
Yet darken the hills about,
Thy part is with broken sabre
To rise on the last redoubt;

"To fear not sensible failure,
Nor covet the game at all,
But fighting, fighting, fighting,
Die, driven against the wall!"

L. I. GUINEY.

And the winter's dawn is gray,

And said, "However you cheat your mind,
The hours are flying away."

A ghost of a dawn, and pale, and weak, -
"Has the sun a heart," I said,

"To throw a morning flush on the cheek
Whence a fairer flush has filed?"

As a gray rose-leaf that is fading white
Was the cheek where I set my kiss;
And on that side of the bed all night
Death had watched, and I on this.

I kissed her lips, they were half apart,
Yet they made no answering sign;
Death's hand was on her failing heart,
And his eyes said, "She is mine."

I From "The Poems of H. C. Bunner," copyright, 1884, 1892, 1896, by Charles Scribner's Sons.