Pale in her fading bowers the Summer stands, Like a new Niobe with clasped hands, Silent above the flowers, her children lost, Slain by the arrows of the early Frost.

Silence is the speech of love, The music of the spheres above.

There are gains for all our losses, There are balms for all our pain: But when youth, the dream, departs, It takes something from our hearts, And it never come…

We have two lives about us, Two worlds in which we dwell, Within us and without us, Alternate Heaven and Hell:- Without, the somber Real, Within, our hearts of…