The day is dying and the sun is low,
And as the changing colors come and go,
In merry mood we stand -- my love and I,
Reading our fortune in the opal sky.

"Ah! there," cries she, "in yonder rosy hue
I see an omen that is surely true --
A happy promise of our future life,
Rose-colored, bright, and free from worldly strife."

"And there," say I, "in that deep purple cloud
Behold a forecast of that glad and proud
Swept time to come -- that happy, long-sought hour
When I shall wear the purple robe or power:
And by that right bright tint of glist'ning gold
A tale of wealth is surely safely told."

Be even as we speak, the colors fade,
And o'er the sky there creeps a cold gray shade;
Slowly the world puts off its garment bright,
And dons the gloomy mourning-robe of night.
We speak not, but her hand clasps tight o'er mine,
And so I know my love has read the sign.
   Laura.

"C.J.D."
Critic, 31 December 1898, p3