PANSIES. 



But this one golden moment, — hold it fast ! 



The light grows long ; low in the west the sun. 

 Clear red and glorious, slowly sinks at last, 



And while I muse, the tranquil day is done. 



The land breeze freshens in thy gleaming sail ! 



Across the singing waves the shadows creep ; 

 Under the new moon's thread of silver pale. 



With the first star, thou comest o'er the deep. 



Cclia Thaxter. 



