UNWRITTEN POEMS

FAIRY spirits of the breeze--

Frailer nothing is than these.

Fancies born we know not where--

In the heart or in the air;

Wandering echoes blown unsought

From far crystal peaks of thought;

Shadows, fading at the dawn,

Ghosts of feeling dead and gone:

Alas! Are all fair things that live

Still lovely and still fugitive?

--William Winter