XXXIX

By Helen Hay Whitney

Heart, here are roses burning with the South —

( “Fairer was her false mouth” ) —

Close your tired eyes, the twilight gives you rest —

( “Cool was her snowy breast” ).

Take of the sunshine, nor remember rain —

( “Love is a cruel pain” ) —

Hush! you shall sleep forgetting love's alarms —

( “Sleep died in her false arms” ).