AN AFTERTHOUGHT.

Vine leaves rustled, moonbeams shone,

Summer breezes softly sighed;

You and I were all alone

In a kingdom fair and wide

You, a Queen, in all your pride,

I, a vassal, by your side.

Fairy voices in the leaves

Ceaselessly were whispering:

“‘ Tis the time to garner sheaves —

Let your heart its longing sing;

Place upon her hand a ring;

Then our Queen shall know her King.”

E'en the moonbeams seemed to learn

Speech when they had kissed your face,

Passing fair — my lips did yearn

To be moonbeams for a space —

“Lo,‘ tis fitting time and place!

Speak, and courage will find grace.”

But the night wind murmured low,

Softly brushing back your hair,

“Look into her face, and know

That she is a jewel rare,

Worthy of a monarch's heir;

Who are you that you should dare!”

Hope died like a frost-touched flower;

But through all the coming years,

In that quiet evening hour,

When the flowers are all in tears,

When the heart hath hopes and fears,

When the day-world disappears.

If the vine leaves rustle low,

If the moon shine on the sea,

If the night wind softly blow,—

Dreaming of what may not be,—

Well I know that I shall see

Your sweet eyes look down on me.