My Lost Love. ‘ He ran and shouted Lost ! Lost ! Lost !’ When I awake from heavy-lidded sleep, And through the sternest labour of the day, And when I watch the dying sun’s last ray, And while my soul in fancy’s dreams I steep— For ever ringing through my work or play, Those words, like a perpetual moan, Make to my life a constant undertone. What have I lost, That such a murmur ever haunteth me ? What sad enchantment hath my life so crost, And taught me such a minor melody ? I will look back into the past and see If I can find why I so haunted be. This do I find : That I have lost a love—a love that seemed With such a passion to my own resigned, That I had deemed That love for ever mine ; but Love hath wings, And goon departs, as do all happy things. And yet I had not sought This love; it came unasked, a shivering bird, Half frighted lest in seeking me it erred ; But I received that love with sorrow fraught, And my whole heart opened to give it room, And find for it a warm and friendly home. It was a frail and weakly thing, That little Love—and I did strive Most anxiously to keep the thing alive ; And so it lived all through the early spring. I did not know that when its wings were strong, My bird would fly and leave me. O Love ! my love ! whom I have loved so long, How couldest thou so grieve me ? Martin Daniell.