Every lover the years disclose Is of a beautiful name made free.

One befriends, and all others are foes : Anna's the name of names for me.

Sentiment hallows the vowels of Delia; Sweet simplicity breathes from Rose ! Courtly memories glitter in Celia ; Rosalind savors of quips and hose, Araminta of wits and beaux,

Prue of puddings, and Coralie

All of sawdust and spangled shows; Anna's the name of names for me.

Fie upon Caroline, Jane, Amelia—

These I reckon the essence of prose !— Mystical Magdalen, cold Cornelia,

Adelaide's attitudes, Mopsa's mowes, Maud's magnificence, Totty's toes, Poll and Bet with their twang of the sea, Nell's impertinence, Pamela's woes! Anna's the name of names for me.

ENVOY.

Ruth like a gillyflower smells and blows,

Sylvia prattles of Arcady,

Portia 's only a Roman nose,

Anna 's the name of names for me!

"Of Ladies' Names."

WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY.

ANNE.

HER eyes be like the violets,

Ablow in Sudbury lane;

When she doth smile, her face is sweet
As blossoms after rain;

With grief I think of my gray hairs,
And wish me young again.

In comes she through the dark old door
Upon this Sabbath day;

And she doth bring the tender wind
That sings in bush and tree;
And hints of all the apple boughs
That kissed her by the way.

Our parson stands up straight and tall,
For our dear souls to pray,

And of the place where sinners go,
Some grewsome things doth say
Now, she is highest Heaven to me;
So Hell is far away.

Most stiff and still the good folk sit
To hear the sermon through;
But if our God be such a God,
And if these things be true,
Why did He make her then so fair,
And both her eyes so blue?

A flickering light, the sun creeps in,
And finds her sitting there;
And touches soft her lilac gown,
And soft her yellow hair;
I looked across to that old pew,
And have both praise and prayer.

Oh, violets in Sudbury lane,
Amid the grasses green,

This maid who stirs ye with her feet
Is far more fair, I ween!

I wonder how my forty years
Look by her sweet sixteen!

LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE.

ANNETTA.

ONE day, all satiate with sport

Of piercing hearts unto their marrow, Cupid, asleep in Sylvan Court,

Awoke and missed both bow and arrow.

Then in commingled grief and rage

He roamed as far as e'er love's star gets, And for a while earth owned an age

Of unpierced hearts, love's virgin targets.

But o'er his path Annetta trips,

A vision of lost treasures flashesHis ruby bow,-her arching lips,

His quivered darts, her trembling lashes.

CHARLES H. A. ESLING.

ANNIE.

ANNIE is fairer than her kith

And kinder than her kin ;

Her eyes are like the open heaven
Holy and pure from sin :

Her heart is like an ordered house
Good fairies harbor in :

Oh, happy he who wins the love
That I can never win!

Her sisters stand as hyacinths
Around the perfect rose :
They bloom and open to the full,
My bud will scarce unclose.

They are for every butterfly

That comes and sips and goes;
My bud hides in the tender green
Most sweet, and hardly shows.

Oh, cruel kindness in soft eyes
That are no more than kind,
On which I gaze my heart away

Till the tears make me blind!
How is it others find the way
That I can never find

To make her laugh that sweetest laugh Which leaves all else behind?

Her hair is like the golden corn
A low wind breathes upon :
Or like the golden harvest-moon
When all the mists are gone :
Or like a stream with golden sands
On which the sun has shone
Day after day in summer time
Ere autumn leaves are wan.

I will not tell her that I love,
Lest she should turn away
With sorrow in her tender heart
Which now is light and gay.

I will not tell her that I love,
Lest she should turn and say
That we must meet no more again

For many a weary day.

CHRISTINA ROSSETTI.