I

DIFFERENCE

With heart elate we front the morning sun,
The leagues are short, our steps are swift and strong:
How fast the unfruitful years grow, one by one,
And each new mile, how weary and how long!

II

LOSS

Within my path an angel cried,
" Three gifts I bring, Love, Wealth, and Fame —
Choose " — but he parted from my side
Ere I my gift could name.

III

A MISER

Lean and unkempt and clothed in rags,
With eyes that burn, and hands so cold
They scarce can grasp his money-bags,
Sits Midas, shivering by his gold.