O world, that I am leaving,
O heaven, where I am going,
Is there no finding and knowing,
Around, within, or above?

O soul of my soul's seeing,
O heart of my heart's being,
O love of dreaming and waking
And living and dying for-
Out of my soul's last aching,
Out of my heart just breaking-
Doubting, falling, forsaking,

I call on you this once more.

Are you too high or too lowly
To come at length unto me?
Are you too sweet or too holy

For me to have and to see?
Wherever you are, I call you,
Ere the falseness of life enthral you,
Ere the hollow of death appal you,
While yet your spirit is free.

Have you not seen, in sleeping,
A lover that might not stay,

And remembered again with weeping,

And thought of him through the day?—

Ah! thought of him long and dearly,

Till you seemed to behold him clearly,

And could follow the dull time merely
With heart and love far away?

Have you not known him kneeling
To a deathless vision of you,

Whom only an earth was concealing,

Whom all that was heaven proved true? Oh surely some wind gave motion To his words like a wave of the ocean; Ay! so that you felt his devotion,

And smiled, and wondered, and knew. And what are you thinking and saying, In the land where you are delaying? Have you a chain to sever?

Have you a prison to break?

O love! there is one love for ever,
And never another love-never;

And hath it not reached you, my praying
And singing these years for your sake?
We two, made one, should have power
To grow to a beautiful flower,

A tree for men to sit under

Beside life's flowerless stream;
But I without you am only
A dreamer fruitless and lonely;
And you without me, a wonder
In my most beautiful dream.

ARTHUR O'SHAUGHNESSY.

IF

OF he would come to-day, to-day, to-day,
Oh, what a day to-day would be!
But now he's away, miles and miles away
From me across the sea.

O little bird, flying, flying, flying,
To your nest in the warm west,
Tell him as you pass that I am dying,
As you pass home to your nest.

I have a sister, I have a brother,

A faithful hound, a tame white dove; But I had another, once I had another, And I miss him, my love, my love!

In this weary world it is so cold, so cold,
While I sit here all alone;

I would not like to wait and to grow old,

But just to be dead and gone.

Make me fair when I lie dead on my bed,
Fair where I am lying;

Perhaps he may come and look upon me dead-
He for whom I am dying.

Dig my grave for two, with a stone to show it, And on the stone write my name;

If he never comes, I shall never know it,

But sleep on all the same.

CHRISTINA ROSSETTI.

XX

A SMILE AND A SIGH.

SMILE because the nights are short!

And every morning brings such pleasure Of sweet love-making, harmless sport : Love that makes and finds its treasure, Love, treasure without measure.

A sigh because the days are long!

Long, long these days that pass in sighing,

A burden saddens every song :

While time lags which should be flying,
We live who would be dying.

CHRISTINA ROSSETTI.