IMITATED FROM THE JAPANESE.

The morning flies, the evening dies;

The heat of noon, the chills of night,

Are but the dull varieties

Of Phoebus’ and of Phoebe's flight —

Are but the dull varieties

Of ruined night and ruined day;

They bring no pleasure to mine eyes,

For I have sent my soul away.

I am the man who cannot love,

Yet once my heart was bright as thine,

The suns that rove, the moons that move,

No longer make its chambers shine;

No more they light the spirit face

That lit my night and made my day;

No maiden feet with mine keep pace

For I have sent my soul away.

O, lost! I think I see thee stand,

By Mary's ivied chapel door,

Where once thou stood'st, and with thy hand

Wring pious pain, as once before.

Impatient, crude philosopher,

I scorned thy gentle wisdom's ray.

All vain thy moistened eyelids were;

I sent my soul and thee away.

A causeless wrath, a mood of pride,

Some tears of thine, and all was done;

On alien plains I travelled wide

And thou wert soon a veiléd nun.

Not long a veiléd nun, but soon

Unveiled of linen and of clay;

But I am March while thou art June,

For I have sent my soul away.

And now when I would love thee well,

There sits alone within my breast

Calm guilt that dare not from its hell

Look up and wish the thing thou art.

I see a dreadful gulf of fright

Beneath my falling life; and gray,

Thy light becomes the ghost of light

Above it as it falls away.

I have a life, a voice, a form,

A skilful hand to lift and turn,

I have emotions like a storm,

A brain to throb, a heart to burn;

But that which Jesus’ blood can save,

Which looks toward eternal day,

Is gone before me to the grave.—

It was my soul I sent away.

The past is past, and o'er its woe

It is no comfort to repine;

But I would wage my life to know

Thy feet in heaven keep pace with mine.

I have no hope, I will not weep,

The only wish that wish I may

Is this, that I may find asleep

The soul I thought I sent away.