Second Book of Verse. Field Eugene

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      OUT of the house where the slumberer lay

      Grandfather came one summer day,

      And under the pleasant orchard trees

      He spake this wise to the murmuring bees:

      "The clover-bloom that kissed her feet

      And the posie-bed where she used to play

      Have honey store, but none so sweet

      As ere our little one went away.

      O bees, sing soft, and, bees, sing low;

      For she is gone who loved you so."

      A wonder fell on the listening bees

      Under those pleasant orchard trees,

      And in their toil that summer day

      Ever their murmuring seemed to say:

      "Child, O child, the grass is cool,

      And the posies are waking to hear the song

      Of the bird that swings by the shaded pool,

      Waiting for one that tarrieth long."

      'Twas so they called to the little one then,

      As if to call her back again.

      O gentle bees, I have come to say

      That grandfather fell asleep to-day,

      And we know by the smile on grandfather's face

      He has found his dear one's biding-place.

      So, bees, sing soft, and, bees, sing low,

      As over the honey-fields you sweep, —

      To the trees abloom and the flowers ablow

      Sing of grandfather fast asleep;

      And ever beneath these orchard trees

      Find cheer and shelter, gentle bees.

      MY lady has a tea-gown

      That is wondrous fair to see, —

      It is flounced and ruffed and plaited and puffed,

      As a tea-gown ought to be;

      And I thought she must be jesting

      Last night at supper when

      She remarked, by chance, that it came from France,

      And had cost but two pounds ten.

      Had she told me fifty shillings,

      I might (and wouldn't you?)

      Have referred to that dress in a way folks express

      By an eloquent dash or two;

      But the guileful little creature

      Knew well her tactics when

      She casually said that that dream in red

      Had cost but two pounds ten.

      Yet our home is all the brighter

      For that dainty, sensient thing,

      That floats away where it properly may,