How roses and syringas bloom,
How sweet acacias blow,
With memories of childish hours
In garden pathways sweet—
Who sends the south wind to my door,
With soft, unshodden feet?
Nay, these are gifts one cannot buy,
Nor pay in market gold;
One debt uncancelled evermore
When cycles shall have rolled.
So, lifting up a thankful heart
To God, who gives, I cry,
"Thou knowest, Lord, I cannot pay
For all these things; not I."
THREE SCENES IN ONE WOMAN'S LIFE.
THE gay sun looked on a goodly show
As the hunt swept by royal Fontainebleau;
The song was hushed which the wild bird sang,
While the sylvan sounds through the alleys rang.
There were statesmen grave, there were ladies fair,
There were knightly names such as heroes wear,
While the hand which held loyal France in check
Rested prone and gloved on a horse's neck.
But the sunshine glanced from the regal crest
To a curl wind-blown on a woman's breast,