From a London Garden

shall destroy The heaven of our dreams, in vain Our hurrying manhood we employ To build the vanished bliss again ; We have no leisure to enjoy, " So few the years that yet remain, So much to do, and ah !" we say, " To-morrow's shorter than to-day." But when our hands are worn and weak, And still our labours seem unblest, And time goes past us like a bleak Last twilight waning to the west, " It is not here?the bliss we seek, Too brief is life for happy rest; What need of any haste ? " we say, " To-morrow's longer than to-day." THE CITY ASLEEP Darkly, under a drifting moon, The streets lie empty of sound and life ; Dawn of to-morrow come not soon ! Silent afar is yesterday's noon, And the city forgets its sorrow and strife: Oh, weary eyes and hearts that ache, Sleep !?it is better to sleep than wake. Here, where all day the air was loud With a rattle of carts and jingle of cars And the murmur and laughter and tread of the crowd, Are only the ruts that the wheels have ploughed, And rails that gleam with a glint of the stars', And dreaming streets that the crowd forsake : Sleep !?it is better to sleep than wake. Toil and care to the day belong ; To-morrow their tears shall fall again, But now for a little the weak are strong ; Sleep knows nothing of right or wrong, To-night feels naught of to-morrow's pain. Sleep has a cup all thirst to slake : Sleep !?it is better to sleep tha... --This text refers to an alternate Paperback edition.