A Dedication. To Charlotte Cushman

As Love will carve dear names upon a tree, Symbol of gravure on his heart to be,

So thought I thine with loving text to set In the growth and substance of my canzonet;

But, writing it, my tears begin to fall— This wild-rose stem for thy large name’s too small!

Nay, still my trembling hands are fain, are fain Cut the good letters though they lap again;

Perchance such folk as mark the blur and stain Will say, `It was the beating of the rain;’

Or, haply these o’er-woundings of the stem May loose some little balm, to plead for them.

1876.