shall pay me down. Also the day I give you ease Of golden guineas you pay a hundred." Laughing I left the Wise Man's door. Has he found such things where a Changeling sits? The home is darkened from roof to floor, The house is naked and ravaged and plundered Where a Changling sits On the hearthstone, warming his shivering fits. He sits at his ease, for he knows well He can keep his post. He has left me nothing to pay the cost Of snatching my heart from his private Hell. Yet when all is done and told I am glad the Wise Man in the City Had no pity For me, and for him I had no gold. Because if I did not remember him, My little child--Ah! What should we have, He and I? Not even a grave With a name of his own by the river's brim. Because if among the poppies gay, On the hill-side, now my eyes are dim, I could not fancy a child at play, And if I should pass by the pool in the quarry And never see him, a darling ghost, Sailing a boat there, I should be sorry-- If in the firelit, lone December I never heard him come scampering post Haste down the stair--if the soul that is lost Came back, and I did not remember. THE POETRY SOCIETY The objects of the Society, as stated in the Constitution, are to promote (in the words of Matthew Arnold, adopted as a motto), "a clearer, deeper sense of the best in poetry and of the strength an