[Illustration]




[Illustration]

THE PLAINT HUMAN


Season of snows, and season of flowers,
Seasons of loss and gain!--
Since grief and joy must alike be ours,
Why do we still complain?

Ever our failing, from sun to sun,
O my intolerant brother--
We want just a little too little of one,
And much too much of the other.




THE QUEST


I am looking for Love. Has he passed this way,
With eyes as blue as the skies of May,
And a face as fair as the summer dawn?--