POETRY.
Nature should hush by one wide law The patter of four fitful feet, The scrape of a persistent paw.
And yet the house is changed and still, Waiting to echo as before Hot bursts of purpose hard to chill And indignations at the door.
No friendly task he left unplied To speed the hour or while the days, The grief that mourned him when be died Spelt out his little meed of praise.
They say he only thought in dreams.
What matter ! Lay the silken head Throbbing with half a world of schemes Under the silent flowers instead.
The spring winds in the lilacs play Beside the old wall where he lies: The ivies murmur night and day Their tiny lisping lullabies.
Then ask not if he wakes again : He meddled not in things too deep ; And Nature after joy or pain Gives nothing half so kind as sleep.
G. W. F. G.
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