"Tis there, be sure. Though truth to speak,

(If truth may be permitted),

I doubt that young "gift-bearing Greek

Is scarce for fealty fitted;

For has he not (I grieve to say),

To two loves more, on this same day,

In just this same emblazoned way,

His transient vows transmitted?

""

He may be true. Yet, Daisy dear,
That even youth grows colder

You'll find is no new thing, I fear;

And when you're somewhat older,

You'll read of one Dardanian boy

Who "wooed with gifts" a maiden coy,—

Then took the morning train to Troy,

In spite of all he'd told her.

But wait. Your time will come.

And then,

Obliging Fates, please send her

The nicest thing you have in men,
Sound-hearted, strong, and tender ;-

The kind of man, dear Fates, you know,

That feels how shyly Daisies grow,

And what soft things they are, and so

Will spare to spoil or mend her.

A NIGHTINGALE IN KENSINGTON

GARDENS.

THEY paused,-the cripple in the chair.

More bent with pain than age;

The mother with her lines of care;

The many-buttoned page;

The noisy, red-checked nursery-maid,
With straggling train of three;

The Frenchman with his frogs and braid ;

All, curious, paused to see,

124 A Nightingale in Kensington Gardens.

If possible, the small, dusk bird

That from the almond bough,

Had poured the joyous chant they heard,

So suddenly, but now.

And one poor POET stopped and thought—

How many a lonely lay

That bird had sung ere fortune brought

But "Art for Art!" the Poet said,

"'Tis still the Nightingale,

That sings where no men's feet will tread,

And praise and audience fail."

THE PARADOX OF TIME.

(A VARIATION ON RONSARD.)

"Le temps s'en va, le temps s'en va, ma dame! Las! le temps non: mais Nous nous en allons!"

TIME goes, you say? Ah no!

Alas, Time stays, we go ;

Or else, were this not so,

What need to chain the hours,
For Youth were always ours?

Time goes, you say?—ah no!