. . .THE WILLOW BOUGHS ARE YELLOW NOW."

The willow boughs are yellow now,
For spring has come again;
The peach-tree buds begin to swell,
Dripping with April rain.

The gray-eyed twilight lingers long,
To meet the starry night;
I walk the darkening lanes alone,
And love the sombre light.

The dream of other days returns,
When comes the blossomed spring;
But when the full leaved summer comes
My dream has taken wing;

The twittering swallows in the lane
Were there a year ago;
The old nests in the tangled vines
Their next year's brood will know.

A little brood of children fair,
Under the mother's wing,
Is in the dream of other days,
That flies when flies the spring!




"IN THE STILL, STAR-LIT NIGHT."

In the still, star-lit night,
By the full fountain and the willow-tree,
I walked, and not alone—
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