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Nor where more fit alike show tender ruth,
And anger for the right, and hopes aglow,
And joys and sighs of April-hearted youth.

But some day I, so wont to praise thee so,
With unabashed warm words for all to hear,
Shall scarcely name another, speaking low.

Some day, methinks, and who can tell how near. I may, to thee unchanged, be praising thee With one not worthier but a world more dear;

With one I know not yet, who shall, may be,

Be not so fair, be not in aught thy peer; Who shall be all that thou art not to me.

AUGUSTA WEBSTER.

SOMEWHERE OR OTHER.

OMEWHERE or other there must surely be
The face not seen, the voice not heard,
The heart that not yet-never yet—ah mẻ !
Made answer to my word.

Somewhere or other, may be near or far;
Past land and sea, clean out of sight;
Beyond the wandering moon, beyond the star
That tracks her night by night.

Somewhere or other, may be far or near;
With just a wall, a hedge between ;
With just the last leaves of the dying year

Fallen on a turf grown green.

CHRISTINA ROSSETTI.

OUTCRY.

N all my singing and speaking,
I send my soul forth seeking;
O soul of my soul's dreaming;
When wilt thou hear and speak?

Lovely and lonely seeming,
Thou art there in my dreaming,
Hast thou no sorrow for speaking?
Hast thou no dream to seek?

In all my thinking and sighing,
In all my desolate crying,
I send my heart forth yearning,
O heart that may'st be nigh!
Like a bird weary of flying,
My heavy heart, returning,
Bringeth me no replying,

Of word, or thought, or sigh.

In all my joying and grieving,
Living, hoping, believing,
I send my love forth flowing,
To find my unknown love.

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.

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