Underneath that calm white forehead, are ye ever burning torrid

O'er the desolate sand-desert of my heart and life undone ?'

With a murmurous stir uncertain, in the air, the purple curtain

Swelleth in and swelleth out around her motionless pale brows,

While the gliding of the river sends a rippling noise for ever

Through the open casement whitened by the moonlight's slant repose.

Said he 'Vision of a lady! stand there silent, stand there steady!

Now I see it plainly, plainly; now I cannot hope or doubt

There, the brows of mild repression-there, the lips of silent passion,

Curved like an archer's bow to send the bitter arrows out.'

Ever, evermore the while in a slow silence she kept smiling,

And approached him slowly, slowly, in a gliding measured pace;

With her two white hands extended, as if praying one offended,

And a look of supplication, gazing earnest in his face.

Said he- Wake me by no gesture,―sound of breath, or stir of vesture?

Let the blessed apparition melt not yet to its divine !

No approaching-hush, no breathing! or my heart must swoon to death in

The too utter life thou bringest-0 thou dream of Geraldine!'

Ever, evermore the while in a slow silence she kept smiling

But the tears ran over lightly from her eyes, and tenderly.

'Dost thou, Bertram, truly love me? Is no woman far above me

Found more worthy of thy poet-heart than such a one as I?'

Said he 'I would dream so ever, like the flowing of that river,

Flowing ever in a shadow greenly onward to the sea! So, thou vision of all sweetness-princely to a full completeness,

Would my heart and life flow onward-deathward— through this dream of THEE!'

Ever, evermore the while in a slow silence she kept smiling,

While the silver tears ran faster down the blushing of her cheeks;

Then with both her hands enfolding both of his, she softly told him,

'Bertram, if I say I love thee, . . . 'tis the vision only speaks.'

Softened, quickened to adore her, on his knee he fell before her

And she whispered low in triumph, 'It shall be as I have sworn!

Very rich he is in virtues,-very noble-noble eertes; And I shall not blush in knowing that men call him lowly born.'

QUESTION AND ANSWER.

I.

LOVE you seek for, presupposes
Summer heat and sunny glow.
Tell me, do you find moss roses
Budding, blooming in the snow?
Snow might kill the rose-tree's root-
Shake it quickly from your foot,
Lest it harm you as you go.

II.

From the ivy where it dapples
A grey ruin, stone by stone,-
Do you look for grapes or apples,
Or for sad green leaves alone?
Pluck the leaves off, two or three-
Keep them for morality

When shall be safe and gone.

you