Elizabeth.

May 1, 1891.         I.         Elizabeth!    Elizabeth!         The first May-morning whispereth         Thy gentle name in every breeze         That lispeth through the young-leaved trees,         New raimented in white and green         Of bloom and leaf to crown thee queen; -         And, as in odorous chorus, all         The orchard-blossoms sweetly call         Even as a singing voice that saith                 Elizabeth!    Elizabeth!         II.         Elizabeth!    Lo, lily-fair,         In deep, cool shadows of thy hair,         Thy face maintaineth its repose. -         Is it, O sister of the rose,         So better, sweeter, blooming thus         Than in this briery world with us? -             Where frost o'ertaketh, and the breath             Of biting winter harrieth         With sleeted rains and blighting snows                 All fairest blooms - Elizabeth!         III.         Nay, then! - So reign, Elizabeth,         Crowned, in thy May-day realm of death!         Put forth the scepter of thy love         In every star-tipped blossom of         The grassy dais of thy throne!         Sadder are we, thus left alone,         But gladder they that thrill to see         Thy mother's rapture, greeting thee.             Bereaved are we by life - not death -                 Elizabeth!    Elizabeth!