SONG.

I PLUCKED for thee the wildling rose
And wore it on my breast,

And there, till daylight's dusky close,
Its silken cheek was pressed;
Its desert breath was sweeter far
Than palace-rose could be,
Sweeter than all Earth's blossoms are,
But that thou gav'st to me.

I kissed its leaves, in fond despite
Of lips that failed my own,
And Love recalled that sacred night
His blushing flower was blown.

I vowed no rose should rival mine,

Though withered now, and pale,

Till those are plucked, whose white buds twine Above thy bridal veil.

-Bayard Taylor.

THE TOKEN.

Thou hast given me many roses,
But never one, like this,
O'erfloods both sense and spirit
With such a deep, wild bliss;
We must have instincts that glean up
Sparse drops of this life in the cup,
Whose taste shall give us all that we

Can prove of immortality.

Earth's stablest things are shadows,
And, in the life to come,
Haply some chance-saved trifle

May tell of this old home:

As now sometimes we seem to find,

In a dark crevice of the mind,

Some relic, which, long pondered o'er,

Hints faintly at a life before.

-James Russell Lowell.

A WILD ROSE IN SEPTEMBER.

O WILD red rose, what spell has stayed
Till now thy summer of delights?
Where hid the south wind when he laid
His heart on thine, these autumn nights?

O wild red rose! Two faces glow

At sight of thee, and two hearts share
All thou and thy south wind can know
Of sunshine in this autumn air.

O sweet wild rose! O strong south wind!
The sunny roadside asks no reasons
Why we such secret summer find,
Forgetting calendars and seasons!

Alas! red rose, thy petals wilt;

Our loving hands tend thee in vain :
Our thoughtless touch seems like a guilt;
Ah, could we make thee live again!

Yet joy, wild rose! Be glad, south wind!
Immortal wind! immortal rose !

Ye shall live on, in two hearts shrined,

With secrets which no words disclose.

-H. H.