C. L'E.

By Anne Whitney

I dwelt content with God and loving all,
In those first years; but ere long, something strove
Within --and, Fame, I thought, is larger love;
And love of fame, in every noble soul,
Is love of love; -- and, though I missed the goal,
I could but see how, quite beyond our wills,
Some pure and deep Intelligence fulfils
Our longings in its own deep way. -- My shoal
God centred in a starred, unfathomed well;
The world might roar at will; 'twas charity
Merely to let it go; around me fell
Surpassing sun and air; and for earth's free,
Broad paths were slight, restraining arms so pale,
And endless kisses by the yearning sea.