. TO 'CORISANDE.
34Y the breath of summer fans
A. tired earth with quickening strength. Though you are far my longing spans The distance, reaching you at length.
You bid me wait–salt l no indeed, When youth is bere with silver wings, Can I woo Patience when I need, Hope, and a thousand other things?
Life lies—a garden, Corisande, With Patience sitting at the gates; Youth lifts the latch with eager hang, For his is not the mood that waits.
And where our love's own flower grows Far from a cold world's prying eye, There every kiss becomes a rose In this our hidden sanctuary.
When tired with work, the glare and heat, The disappointment of the fight, Wo both can enter our retreat, Our blessed garden of delight.
The sunsets quickly, Corisande ; Swiftly 'tie wreathed in clouds of pain. The gates may shut, youth drop his wand And lose it in the driving rain.
Poor empty garden choked with weeds That might have been a Paradise, So :very small are lovers' needs When looking in each other's eyes.
Age stammers only where youth sings, Ah let us love while yet we may; We know not what to-morrow brings; care not so you yield to-day.
SYBIL GRANT.
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