SELECTION

Yes, hold me closer, closer in thy arms,

And closer to thy beating heart, that I,

Secure in all that crowns a woman's lot,

May now, with thee, the bitter past defy!

Yet would I not call down an envious doom

On any of the future's sunny days;

‘ Twere ill in me to tempt the Fates, I trow;

But, rather, as one pleading, kneels and prays:—

“Stay but thy hand, O Time! and pitying grant

Us of thy sunny sheaves of Harvest Day;

Hours brimmed with sweetness and all glad with love,—

That, passing on, we scarce may heed the way

“That erst was strewn with sharpest stones and weeds;

So lead us gently, Time, we may not miss

Aught of Life's joy or of its brilliant light,

Or, missing, crave a fuller cup than this!”

Yes, hold me closer, closer; let me rest

My head, content, above thy throbbing heart.

Struggle and bay of laurel are the world's;

But this, my own dear Love, the better part!

Fame and Ambition — lo! do not they burn

With all the lurid light and gleam of earth?

Love, silent and benign, an influence sheds,

And heralds forth in life a higher birth!

Vain is ambition, yea, or conquered goal,

To bind my heart or satisfy me here.

Then hold me closer, closer to thee, Love;

For this I give it all — hold thou me near!