A MATCH WITH THE MOON.

DANTE G. ROSSETTI.

@EARY already, weary miles to-night

I walked for bed and so, to get some ease,
I dogged the flying moon with similes.

And like a wisp she doubled on my sight

In ponds; and caught in tree-tops like a kite;

And in a globe of film all vapourish

Swam full-faced like a silly silver fish ;—

Last, like a bubble shot the welkin's height,

Where my road turned, and got behind me, and sent

My wizened shadow craning round at me,

And jeered, "So, step the measure,-one, two, three !"

And if I faced on her, looked innocent.

But just at parting, half-way down a dell,

She kissed me for good-night. So you'll not tell.

AT THE OPERA “FAUST.”

[Extract.]

WILLIAM SAWYER.

T came with the curtain's rising,
That face of a faultless mould,
And the amber drapery glistened

With the lustre of woven gold.

I could hear a silken rustle,

And the air had fragrant grown,

But the scene from my sight had faded, And I looked on that face alone.

In the midst of the grand exotics

That blossom the season through,

It is there, a rose of the garden

Fresh from the winds and the dew ;

AT THE OPERA.

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Fresh as a face that follows

The hounds up a rimy hill,

With hair blown back by the breezes
That seem to live in it still.

So fresh and rosy and dimpled-
But, oh! what a soul there lies,
Melting to liquid agate

Those womanly tender eyes!
How it quickens under the music,
As if at a breath divine,

And the ripening lips disparted

Drink in the sound like wine!

Till the music surges and ceases,
As the sea when the wind is spent,
And the blue of heaven brightens

Through cloudy fissure and rent.

It ceases, and all is over,

The box is empty and cold, And the amber drapery deadens

To satin that has been gold.

ROSE SONG.

WILLIAM SAWYER.

UNNY breadth of roses,

Roses white and red,

Rosy bud and rose leaf

From the blossom shed!

Goes my darling flying

All the garden through;

Laughing she eludes me,

Laughing I pursue.

Now to pluck the rosebud,

Now to pluck the rose (Hand a sweeter blossom),

Stopping as she goes:

ROSE SONG.

What but this contents her,

Laughing in her flight, Pelting with the red rose,

Pelting with the white.

Roses round me flying,
Roses in my hair,

I to snatch them trying :
Darling, have a care!

Lips are so like flowers,

I might snatch at those, Redder than the rose leaves,

Sweeter than the rose.

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