The Columbian

LAURA. MY DARLING.

BY EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN.

LAURA, my darling, the roses have blushed
At the kiss of the dew, and our chamber is
hushed;
Our murmuring babe to your bosom has clung.
And hears in his slumber the song that you sung;
I watch you asleep, with your arms round him
thrown,
Your links of dark tresses wound in with his own.
And the wife is as dear as the gentle young bride
Of the hour when you first, darling, came to my
side.

LAURA, my darling, our sail down the stream
Of Youth's Summers and Winters has been like a
dream;
Years have but rounded your womanly grace,
And added their spell to the light of your face:
Your soul is the same as though part were not
given
To the two, like yourself, sent to bless me from
Heaven—
Dear life, springing forth from the life of my life.
To draw you more near, darling, mother, and wife

LAURA, my darling, there's hazel-eyed Fred,
Asleep in his own tiny cot by the bed,
And little King Arthur, whose curls have the art
Of winding their tendrils so close round my heart—
Yet fairer than either, and dearer than both,
Is the true one who gave me in girlhood her troth:
For we, when we mated for evil and good—
What were we, darling, but babes in the wood?

LAURA, my darling, the years which have flown
Brought few of the prizes I pledged to my own.
I said that no sorrow should roughen her way—
Her life should be cloudless, a long Summer's day.
Shadow and sunshine, thistles and flowers,
Which of the two, darling, most have been ours?
Yet to-night, by the smile on your lips, I can see
You are dreaming of me, darling, dreaming of me.

LAURA, my darling, the stars that we knew
In our youth are still shining as tender and true:
The midnight is sounding its slumberous bell,
And I come to the one who has loved me so well
Wake, darling, wake, for my vigil is done:
What shall dissever our lives which are one?
Say, while the rose listens under her breath,
"Naught until death, darling, naught until death!"

—Galaxy.