Fond dreams of unfound harmony 'Twixt heart and heart. Poor Dorothy! L'ENVOI. These last I spoke. Then Florence said, Below me,-"Dreams? Delusions, Fred!" Next, with a pause,-she bent the while Over a rose, with roguish smile"But how disgusted, Sir, you'll be To hear I scrawled that 'Dorothy." 1873. AVICE "On serait tenté de lui dire, Bonjour, Mademoiselle la Bergeronnette."-VICTOR HUGO. TH HOUGH the voice of modern schools By the dreamy Asian creed 'Tis averred, That the souls of men, released Sometimes enter in a beast,- I have watched you long, Avice, Watched you so, I have found your secret out; And I know That the restless ribboned things, Where your slope of shoulder springs, Are but undeveloped wings That will grow. When you enter in a room, It is stirred With the wayward, flashing flight Of a bird; And you speak—and bring with you When you called to me my name, When I heard your single cry In the lane, All the sound was as the 'sweet" When you sang the Schwalbenlied, 'Twas absurd,— But it seemed no human note That I heard ; For your strain had all the trills, All the little shakes and stills, Of the over-song that rills From a bird. You have just their eager, quick "Airs de tête," All their flush and fever-heat When elate; Every bird-like nod and beck, To her mate. When you left me, only now, In that furred, Puffed, and feathered Polish dress, I was spurred Just to catch you, O my Sweet, By the bodice trim and neat,— Yet, alas! Love's light you deign But to wear As the dew upon your plumes, And you care Not a whit for rest or hush; But the leaves, the lyric gush, And the wing-power, and the rush Of the air. |