OVERDUE.

The beads from the wine have all vanished, Which bubbled in brightness so late; The lights from the windows are banished, Close shut is the gate Which yesterday swung wide in joyance, And beckoned to fate. The goblet stands idle, untasted, Or, tasted, is tasteless to-night; The breath of the roses is wasted; In sackcloth bedight, The soul, in the dusk of her palace, Sits waiting the light. Ah! why do the ships waft no token Of grace to this sorrowful realm? Must suns shine in vain, while their broken Rays clouds overwhelm? Tender Breeze, if some sail bear a message, Rule thou at the helm! But if haply the ruler be coming, Drug the sea-sirens each with a kiss: Stroke the waves into calmest of humming Over ocean's abyss: Speed him soft from the shore of the stranger To the haven of this. And the soul-bells in joyous revival Shall peal all the carols of spring; The roses and ruby wine rival Each other to bring, In the crimson and fragrance of welcome, Delight to the king.