First of the three, my darling, Is sacred unto pain; We have hurt each other often: We shall again, Buried, forgiven, before it comes, For our love's sake! The second kiss, my darling, Is full of joy's sweet thrill; We shall reach till we feel each other, In every place; The earth is full of messengers Which love sends to and fro; I kiss thee, darling, for all joy Which we shall know! My love I cannot see Through my tears, as I remember What it may be. When we pine because we miss each We may die and never see each other, Die with no time to give Any sign that our hearts are faithful To die, as live. Token of what they will not see Who see our parting breath, This one last kiss, my darling, seals The seal of death! A FAMILY PORTRAIT. GRANDMOTHER's mother: her age I guess, Thirteen summers, or something less; Lips that lover has never kissed; On her hand a parrot green Dark with a century's fringe of dust, That was a Red-Coat's rapier-thrust! Such is the tale the lady old, Dorothy's daughter's daughter told. Who the painter was none may tell,One whose best was not over well; Hard and dry, it must be confessed, Flat as a rose that has long been pressed: Yet in her cheek the hues are bright, And in her slender shape are seen Look not on her with eyes of scorn,- came, England's annals have known her name; And still to the three-hilled rebel town Dear is that ancient name's renown, For many a civic wreath they won, The youthful sire and the gray-haired son. O Damsel Dorothy! Dorothy Q.! All my tenure of heart and hand, |