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In that state I came； return。
Henry Vaughan ＇1622…1695＇
A SUPERSCRIPTION
Look in my face； my name is Might…have…been；
I am also called No…more； Too…late； Farewell；
Unto thine ear I hold the dead…sea shell
Cast up thy Life's foam…fretted feet between；
Unto thine eyes the glass where that is seen
Which had Life's form and Love's； but by my spell
Is now a shaken shadow intolerable；
Of ultimate things unuttered the frail screen。
Mark me； how still I am！ But should there dart
One moment through thy soul the soft surprise
Of that winged Peace which lulls the breath of sighs； …
Then shalt thou see me smile； and turn apart
Thy visage to mine ambush at thy heart
Sleepless with cold commemorative eyes。
Dante Gabriel Rossetti ＇1828…1882＇
THE CHILD IN THE GARDEN
When to the garden of untroubled thought
I came of late； and saw the open door；
And wished again to enter； and explore
The sweet； wild ways with stainless bloom inwrought；
And bowers of innocence with beauty fraught；
It seemed some purer voice must speak before
I dared to tread that garden loved of yore；
That Eden lost unknown and found unsought。
Then just within the gate I saw a child； …
A stranger…child； yet to my heart most dear； …
Who held his hands to me and softly smiled
With eyes that knew no shade of sin or fear；
〃Come in；〃 he said； 〃and play awhile with me；
I am the little child you used to be。〃
Henry Van Dyke ＇1852…1933＇
CASTLES IN THE AIR
My thoughts by night are often filled
With visions false as fair：
For in the Past alone I build
My castles in the air。
I dwell not now on what may be；
Night shadows o'er the scene；
But still my fancy wanders free
Through that which might have been。
Thomas Love Peacock ＇1785…1866＇
SOMETIMES
Across the fields of yesterday
He sometimes comes to me；
A little lad just back from play …
The lad I used to be。
And yet he smiles so wistfully
Once he has crept within；
I wonder if he hopes to see
The man I might have been。
Thomas S。 Jones； Jr。 ＇1882…1932＇
THE LITTLE GHOSTS
Where are they gone； and do you know
If they come back at fall o' dew；
The little ghosts of long ago；
That long ago were you？
And all the songs that ne'er were sung。
And all the dreams that ne'er came true；
Like little children dying young …
Do they come back to you？
Thomas S。 Jones； Jr。 ＇1882…1932＇
MY OTHER ME
Children； do you ever；
In walks by land or sea；
Meet a little maiden
Long time lost to me？
She is gay and gladsome；
Has a laughing face；
And a heart as sunny；
And her name is Grace。
Naught she knows of sorrow；
Naught of doubt or blight；
Heaven is just above her …
All her thoughts are white。
Long time since I lost her；
That other Me of mine；
She crossed； into Time's shadow
Out of Youth's sunshine。
Now the darkness keeps her；
And； call her as I will；
The years that lie between us
Hide her from me still。
I am dull and pain…worn；
And lonely as can be …
Oh； children； if you meet her；
Send back my other Me！
Grace Denio Litchfield ＇1849…
A SHADOW BOAT
Under my keel another boat
Sails as I sail； floats as I float；
Silent and dim and mystic still；
It steals through that weird nether…world；
Mocking my power； though at my will
The foam before its prow is curled；
Or calm it lies； with canvas furled。
Vainly I peer； and fain would see
What phantom in that boat may be；
Yet half I dread； lest I with ruth
Some ghost of my dead past divine；
Some gracious shape of my lost youth；
Whose deathless eyes once fixed on mine
Would draw me downward through the brine！
Arlo Bates ＇1850…1918＇
A LAD THAT IS GONE
Sing me a song of a lad that is gone；
Say； could that lad be I？
Merry of soul he sailed on a day
Over the sea to Skye。
Mull was astern； Rum on the port；
Eigg on the starboard bow；
Glory of youth glowed in his soul：
Where is that glory now？
Sing me a song of a lad that is gone；
Say； could that lad be I？
Merry of soul he sailed on a day
Over the sea to Skye。
Give me again all that was there；
Give me the sun that shone！
Give me the eyes； give me the soul；
Give me the lad that's gone！
Sing me a song of a lad that is gone；
Say； could that lad be I？
Merry of soul he sailed on a day
Over the sea to Skye。
Billow and breeze； islands and seas；
Mountains of rain and sun；
All that was good； all that was fair；
All that was me is gone。
Robert Louis Stevenson ＇1850…1894＇
CARCASSONNE
〃I'm growing old； I've sixty years；
I've labored all my life in vain。
In all that time of hopes and fears；
I've failed my dearest wish to gain。
I see full well that here below
Bliss unalloyed there is for none；
My prayer would else fulfilment know …
Never have I seen Carcassonne！
〃You see the city from the hill；
It lies beyond the mountains blue；
And yet to reach it one must still
Five long and weary leagues pursue；
And； to return； as many more。
Had but the vintage plenteous grown …
But； ah！ the grape withheld its store。
I shall not look on Carcassonne！
〃They tell me every day is there
Not more or less than Sunday gay；
In shining robes and garments fair
The people walk upon their way。
One gazes there on castle walls
As grand as those of Babylon；
A bishop and two generals！
What joy to dwell in Carcassonne！
〃The vicar's right： he says that we
Are ever wayward； weak； and blind；
He tells us in his homily
Ambition ruins all mankind；
Yet could I there two days have spent；
While still the autumn sweetly shone；
Ah； me！ I might have died content
When I had looked on Carcassonne。
〃Thy pardon； Father； I beseech；
In this my prayer if I offend；
One something sees beyond his reach
From childhood to his journey's end。
My wife； our little boy； Aignan；
Have travelled even to Narbonne；
My grandchild has seen Perpignan；
And I … have not seen Carcassonne！〃
So crooned； one day； close by Limoux；
A peasant； double…bent with age。
〃Rise up； my friend；〃 said I； 〃with you
I'll go upon this pilgrimage。〃
We left； next morning； his abode；
But （Heaven forgive him！） half…way on
The old man died upon the road。
He never gazed on Carcassonne。
Translated by John R。 Thompson from the French of
Gustave Nadaud ＇1820… ？ ＇
CHILDHOOD
Old Sorrow I shall meet again；
And Joy； perchance … but never； never；
Happy Childhood； shall we twain
See each other's face forever！
And yet I would not call thee back；
Dear Childhood； lest the sight of me；
Thine old companion； on the rack
Of Age； should sadden even thee。
John Banister Tabb ＇1845…1909＇
THE WASTREL
Once； when I was little； as the summer night was falling；
Among the purple upland fields I lost my ba