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WONDERFUL

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THE GRAVE AND THE ROSE

The Grave said to the Rose,

'What of the dews of dawn,

Love's flower, what end is theirs?'

'And what of spirits flown,

The souls whereon doth close

The tomb's mouth unawares?'

The Rose said to the Grave.

The Rose said, 'In the shade

From the dawn's tears is made

A perfume faint and strange,

Amber and honey sweet.'

'And all the spirits fleet

Do suffer a sky-change,

More strangely than the dew,

To God's own angels new,'

The Grave said to the Rose.

VICTOR HUGO.

SMART KIDS!!

THE BIRTH OF LOVE

WHEN Love was born of heavenly line, 

What dire intrigues disturbed Cythera's joy!

 
Till Venus cried, "A mother's heart is mine; 

None but myself shall nurse my boy," 

But, infant as he was, the child 

In that divine embrace enchanted lay; 

And, by the beauty of the vase beguiled, 

Forgot the beverage--and pined away. 

"And must my offspring languish in my sight?" 

(Alive to all a mother's pain, 

The Queen of Beauty thus her court addressed) 

"No: Let the most discreet of all my train 

Receive him to her breast: 

Think all, he is the God of young delight." 

Then TENDERNESS with CANDOUR joined, 

And GAIETY the charming office sought; 

Nor even DELICACY stayed behind: 

But none of those fair Graces brought 

Wherewith to nurse the child--and still he pined. 

Some fond hearts to COMPLIANCE seemed inclined; 

But she had surely spoiled the boy: 

And sad experience forbade a thought 

On the wild Goddess of VOLUPTUOUS JOY. 

Long undecided lay th' important choice, 

Till of the beauteous court, at length, a voice 

Pronounced the name of HOPE:--The conscious child 

Stretched forth his little arms, and smiled. 

'Tis said ENJOYMENT (who averred

 
The charge belonged to her alone)

 
Jealous that HOPE had been preferred 

Laid snares to make the babe her own. 

Of INNOCENCE the garb she took, 

The blushing mien and downcast look; 

And came her services to proffer: 

And HOPE (what has not Hope believed!)

 
By that seducing air deceived, 

Accepted of the offer. 

It happened that, to sleep inclined, 

Deluded HOPE: for one short hour 

To that false INNOCENCE'S power 

Her little charge consigned. 

The Goddess then her lap with sweetmeats filled

 
And gave, in handfuls gave, the treacherous store: 

A wild delirium first the infant thrilled; 

But soon upon her breast he sunk--to wake no more. 

William Wordsworth