ONE night in a garden quaint and old

We wandered, she and I,

'Mid violets modest and tulips bold,

And honeysuckles with cups of gold;

'Mid hyacinths bathed in the moonbeams cold,

And many a rose thereby.

But the flower most fair that blossomed there

We wondered at, - she and I;

A rose it was, and its fragrance rare

Was borne to us on the weary air;

And I plucked it, and soft in my darling's hair

I twined it to bloom and die.

In the fair moonlight again by night

We wander there, - she and I;

For the spirit who dwelt in that garden bright

Smiled with a smile of wondrous might,

And its fairest flower, its pride and light,

I've twined in my heart for eye.

W. W. M.