POETRY.
OLD DREAMS.
WIIERE are thy footsteps I was wont to hear, 0 Spring I in pauses of the blackbird's song P I hear them not : the world has held mine ear With its insistent sounds, too long, too long !
The footfall and thesweeping robes of Spriag, How, once, I hailed them as life's full delight I Now, little moved I hear the blackbird sing, As blind men wake not at the sudden light.
Nay, not unmoved ! But yestereve I stood Beneath thee, throned, queen songstress, in the beech ; And for one moment Heaven was that green wood, And the old dreams went by, too deep for speech.
One moment,—it was passed; the gusty breeze Brought laughter and rough voices from the lane ; Night, like a mist, clothed rouud the darkening trees, And I was with the world that mocks again.
So near is Eden, yet so far ; it lies No angel-guarded gate, too far for sight ; We breathe, we touch it, yet our blinded eyes Still seek it every way except the right. F. W. B.
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