CONTRASTS.

No eve of summer ever can attain

The gladness of that eve of late July,

When‘ mid the roses, filled with musk and rain,

Against the wondrous topaz of the sky,

I met you, leaning on the pasture bars,—

While heaven and earth grew conscious of the stars.

No night of blackest winter can repeat

The bitterness of that December night,

When at your gate, gray-glittering with sleet,

Within the glimmering square of window-light,

We parted,— long you clung unto my arm,—

While heaven and earth surrendered to the storm.