In the Dark.

HERE in the dark I lie, and watch the stars That through the soft gloom shine like tear-bright eyes Behind a mourner's veil. The darkness seems Almost a vapor, palpable and dense,

In which my room's familiar outlines melt, And all seems one black pall that folds me round. Only a mirror glimmers through the dusk, And on the wall a dim, uncertain square

Shows where a portrait hangs. Ah, even so Beloved faces fade into the past And naught remains except a space of light To show us where they were.

How still it seems! The busy clock, whose tell-tale talk was drowned By Day's uproarious voices, calls aloud, Undaunted by the dark, the flight of time,

And through the halls its tones ring drearily. The breeze on tiptoe seems to tread, as though It were afraid to rouse the drowsy leaves. The long, dim street is quiet. Nothing breaks

The dream of Night, asleep on Nature's breast. Hark! Some one passes. On the pavement stones Each stealthy step gives back a muffled sound, Till the last foot-fall seems in distance drowned.

So Death might pass, bent on his mission dread, Adown the silent street, and none might know What hour he passed or what he bore away. Ah, sadder thought! So Life goes, unawares,

Noiseless and swift and resolutely on, While the dumb world lies folded in the gloom, Unconscious and uncaring in its sleep. And towards the west, the stars, all silently

Like golden sands in God's great hour-glass, glide And fall into the nether crystal globe.