O water wandering past,— Albeit to thee I speak this thing, O water, thou that wanderest whispering, Thou keep'st thy counsel to the last. What spell upon thy bosom should Love cast,

Its secret thence to wring?

Nay, must thou hear the tale Of the past days,-the heavy debt Of life that obdurate time withholds,ere yet

To win thine ear these prayers prevail, And by thy voice Love's self with high All-hail

Yield up the amulet?

How should all this be told?— All the sad sum of way worn days;Heart's anguish in the impenetrable

maze;

And on the waste uncolored wold The visible burthen of the sun grown cold

And the moon's laboring gaze?

Alas! shall hope be nurs'd On life's all-succoring breast in vain, And made so perfect only to be slain?

Or shall not rather the sweet thirst Even yet rejoice the heart with warmth dispers'd

And strength grown fair again?

Within the voice, within the heart,

Within the mind of Love-Lily, A spirit is born who lifts apart

His tremulous wings and looks at me ; Who on my mouth his finger lays,

And shows, while whispering lutes confer,

That Eden of Love's watered ways

Whose winds and spirits worship her.

Brows, hands, and lips, heart, mind, and voice,

Kisses and words of Love-Lily,Oh! bid me with your joy rejoice Till riotous longing rest in me! Ah! let not hope be still distraught, But find in her its gracious goal, Whose speech Truth knows not from her thought

Nor Love her body from her soul.

1870.