CHORDS.5 X. H ! now the orchard's leaves are sear, IN Drip not with starlight-litten dew; Green-drowned no moon-bright fruit hangs here; Dead, dead your long, white lilies too- And you, Allita, where are you! " Then comes her dim touch, faintly warm; Cool hair sense on my feverish cheek; Dim eyes at mine deep with some charm,- So gray! so gray! and I am weak Weak with wild tears and can not speak. I am as one who walks with dreams: Sees as in youth his father's home; Hears from his native mountain-streams Far music of continual foam. 1 57