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diff --git a/2620.txt b/2620.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e0229e9 --- /dev/null +++ b/2620.txt @@ -0,0 +1,35082 @@ +Project Gutenberg V2 The Home Book of Verse, by Burton Stevenson +#2 in our 8 volume Home Book of Verse series by Stevenson + +V4 and V5 correspond to the two halves of "Part IV" as they were +in two volume editions of over 3700 pages: half is in each Vol. + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +This etext was prepared by Dennis Schreiner, dcjjj@ix.netcom.com + + + + + +The Home Book of Verse, Volume 2 + +by Burton Egbert Stevenson + + + + +Contents of Volume I of the two volume set are in our Volume 1 +This includes contents of Volumes 1 through 4 of our Etext editions. + + + + +PART II + + + + + +POEMS OF LOVE + + + + +EROS + +The sense of the world is short, - +Long and various the report, - +To love and be beloved; +Men and gods have not outlearned it; +And, how oft soe'er they've turned it, +'Tis not to be improved. + +Ralph Waldo Emerson [1803-1882] + + + + + + +"NOW WHAT IS LOVE" + + + + + + +"NOW WHAT IS LOVE" + +Now what is Love, I pray thee, tell? +It is that fountain and that well +Where pleasure and repentance dwell; +It is, perhaps, the sauncing bell +That tolls all into heaven or hell; +And this is Love, as I hear tell. + +Yet what is Love, I prithee, say? +It is a work on holiday, +It is December matched with May, +When lusty bloods in fresh array +Hear ten months after of the play; +And this is Love, as I hear say. + +Yet what is Love, good shepherd, sain? +It is a sunshine mixed with rain, +It is a toothache or like pain, +It is a game where none hath gain; +The lass saith no, yet would full fain; +And this is Love, as I hear sain. + +Yet, shepherd, what is Love, I pray? +It is a yes, it is a nay, +A pretty kind of sporting fray, +It is a thing will soon away. +Then, nymphs, take vantage while ye may; +And this is Love, as I hear say. + +Yet what is Love, good shepherd, show? +A thing that creeps, it cannot go, +A prize that passeth to and fro, +A thing for one, a thing for moe, +And he that proves shall find it so; +And shepherd, this is Love, I trow. + +Walter Raleigh [1552?-1618] + + +WOOING SONG +From "Christ's Victory" + +Love is the blossom where there blows +Every thing that lives or grows: +Love doth make the Heavens to move, +And the Sun doth burn in love: +Love the strong and weak doth yoke, +And makes the ivy climb the oak, +Under whose shadows lions wild, +Softened by love, grow tame and mild: +Love no medicine can appease, +He burns fishes in the seas: +Not all the skill his wounds can stench, +Not all the sea his fire can quench. +Love did make the bloody spear +Once a leavy coat to wear, +While in his leaves there shrouded lay +Sweet birds, for love that sing and play +And of all love's joyful flame +I the bud and blossom am. +Only bend thy knee to me, +Thy wooing shall thy winning be! + +See, see the flowers that below +Now as fresh as morning blow; +And of all the virgin rose +That as bright Aurora shows; +How they all unleaved die, +Losing their virginity! +Like unto a summer shade, +But now born, and now they fade. +Every thing doth pass away; +There is danger in delay: +Come, come, gather then the rose, +Gather it, or it you lose! +All the sand of Tagus' shore +Into my bosom casts his ore: +All the valleys' swimming corn +To my house is yearly borne: +Every grape of every vine +Is gladly bruised to make me wine: +While ten thousand kings, as proud, +To carry up my train have bowed, +And a world of ladies send me +In my chambers to attend me: +All the stars in Heaven that shine, +And ten thousand more, are mine: +Only bend thy knee to me, +Thy wooing shall thy winning be. + +Giles Fletcher [1549?-1611] + + +ROSALIND'S MADRIGAL +From "Rosalind" + +Love in my bosom like a bee +Doth suck his sweet: +Now with his wings he plays with me, +Now with his feet. +Within mine eyes he makes his nest, +His bed amidst my tender breast; +My kisses are his daily feast, +And yet he robs me of my rest: +Ah! wanton, will ye? + +And if I sleeps, then percheth he +With pretty flight, +And makes his pillow of my knee +The livelong night. +Strike I my lute, he tunes the string; +He music plays if so I sing; +He lends me every lovely thing, +Yet cruel he my heart doth sting: +Whist, wanton, still ye! + +Else I with roses every day +Will whip you hence, +And bind you, when you long to play, +For your offence. +I'll shut mine eyes to keep you in; +I'll make you fast it for your sin; +I'll count your power not worth a pin. +- Alas! what hereby shall I win +If he gainsay me? + +What if I beat the wanton boy +With many a rod? +He will repay me with annoy, +Because a god. +Then sit thou safely on my knee; +Then let thy bower my bosom be; +Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee; +O Cupid, so thou pity me, +Spare not, but play thee! + +Thomas Lodge [1558?-1625] + + +SONG +From "Hymen's Triumph" + +Love is a sickness full of woes, +All remedies refusing; +A plant that with most cutting grows, +Most barren with best using. +Why so? +More we enjoy it, more it dies; +If not enjoyed, it sighing cries - +Heigh ho! + +Love is a torment of the mind, +A tempest everlasting; +And Jove hath made it of a kind +Not well, nor full nor fasting. +Why so? +More we enjoy it, more it dies; +If not enjoyed, it sighing cries - +Heigh ho! + +Samuel Daniel [1562-1619] + + +LOVE'S PERJURIES +From "Love's Labor's Lost" + +On a day, alack the day! +Love, whose month is ever May, +Spied a blossom passing fair +Playing in the wanton air: +Through the velvet leaves the wind, +All unseen, 'gan passage find; +That the lover, sick to death, +Wished himself the heaven's breath. +Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow; +Air, would I might triumph so! +But, alack, my hand is sworn +Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn: +Vow, alack, for youth unmeet; +Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. +Do not call it sin in me +That I am forsworn for thee: +Thou for whom e'en Jove would swear +Juno but an Ethiope were, +And deny himself for Jove, +Turning mortal for thy love. + +William Shakespeare [1564-1616] + + +VENUS' RUNAWAY +From "The Hue and Cry After Cupid" + +Beauties, have ye seen this toy, +Called Love, a little boy, +Almost naked, wanton, blind; +Cruel now, and then as kind? +If he be amongst ye, say? +He is Venus' runaway. + +She that will but now discover +Where the winged wag doth hover, +Shall to-night receive a kiss, +How or where herself would wish: +But who brings him to his mother, +Shall have that kiss, and another. + +He hath marks about him plenty: +You shall know him among twenty. +All his body is a fire, +And his breath a flame entire, +That, being shot like lightning in, +Wounds the heart, but not the skin. + +At his sight, the sun hath turned, +Neptune in the waters burned; +Hell hath felt a greater heat; +Jove himself forsook his seat: +From the centre to the sky, +Are his trophies reared high. + +Wings he hath, which though ye clip, +He will leap from lip to lip, +Over liver, lights, and heart, +But not stay in any part; +But if chance his arrow misses, +He will shoot himself in kisses. + +He doth bear a golden bow, +And a quiver, hanging low, +Full of arrows, that outbrave +Dian's shafts; where, if he have +Any head more sharp than other, +With that first he strikes his mother. + +Still the fairest are his fuel. +When his days are to be cruel, +Lovers' hearts are all his food, +And his baths their warmest blood: +Naught but wounds his hands doth season, +And he hates none like to Reason. + +Trust him not; his words, though sweet, +Seldom with his heart do meet. +All his practice is deceit; +Every gift it is a bait; +Not a kiss but poison bears; +And most treason in his tears. + +Idle minutes are his reign; +Then, the straggler makes his gain +By presenting maids with toys, +And would have ye think them joys: +'Tis the ambition of the elf +To have all childish as himself. + +If by these ye please to know him, +Beauties, be not nice, but show him. +Though ye had a will to hide him, +Now, we hope, ye'll not abide him; +Since you hear his falser play, +And that he's Venus' runaway. + +Ben Jonson [1573?-1637] + + +WHAT IS LOVE? +From "The Captain" + +Tell me, dearest, what is love? +'Tis a lightning from above; +'Tis an arrow, 'tis a fire, +'Tis a boy they call Desire. +'Tis a grave, +Gapes to have +Those poor fools that long to prove. + +Tell me more, are women true? +Yes, some are, and some as you. +Some are willing, some are strange, +Since you men first taught to change. +And till troth +Be in both, +All shall love, to love anew. + +Tell me more yet, can they grieve? +Yes, and sicken sore, but live, +And be wise, and delay, +When you men are wise as they. +Then I see, +Faith will be +Never till they both believe. + +John Fletcher [1579-1625] + + +LOVE'S EMBLEMS +From "Valentinian" + +Now the lusty spring is seen; +Golden yellow, gaudy blue, +Daintily invite the view: +Everywhere on every green +Roses blushing as they blow, +And enticing men to pull, +Lilies whiter than the snow, +Woodbines of sweet honey full: +All love's emblems, and all cry, +"Ladies, if not plucked, we die." + +Yet the lusty spring hath stayed; +Blushing red and purest white +Daintily to love invite +Every woman, every maid: +Cherries kissing as they grow, +And inviting men to taste, +Apples even ripe below, +Winding gently to the waist: +All love's emblems, and all cry, +"Ladies, if not plucked, we die." + +John Fletcher [1579-1625] + + +THE POWER OF LOVE +From "Valentinian" + +Hear, ye ladies that despise +What the mighty Love has done; +Fear examples and be wise: +Fair Callisto was a nun; +Leda, sailing on the stream +To deceive the hopes of man, +Love accounting but a dream, +Doted on a silver swan; +Danae, in a brazen tower, +Where no love was, loved a shower. + +Hear, ye ladies that are coy, +What the mighty Love can do; +Fear the fierceness of the boy: +The chaste Moon he makes to woo; +Vesta, kindling holy fires, +Circled round about with spies, +Never dreaming loose desires, +Doting at the altar dies; +Ilion, in a short hour, higher +He can build, and once more fire. + +John Fletcher [1579-1625] + + +ADVICE TO A LOVER + +The sea hath many thousand sands, +The sun hath motes as many; +The sky is full of stars, and Love +As full of woes as any: +Believe me, that do know the elf, +And make no trial by thyself! + +It is in truth a pretty toy +For babes to play withal: +But O, the honies of our youth +Are oft our age's gall: +Self-proof in time will make thee know +He was a prophet told thee so: + +A prophet that, Cassandra-like, +Tells truth without belief; +For headstrong Youth will run his race, +Although his goal be grief: - +Love's Martyr, when his heat is past, +Proves Care's Confessor at the last. + +Unknown + + +LOVE'S HOROSCOPE + +Love, brave Virtue's younger brother, +Erst hath made my heart a mother, +She consults the anxious spheres, +To calculate her young son's years; +She asks if sad or saving powers +Gave omen to his infant hours; +She asks each star that then stood by +If poor Love shall live or die. + +Ah, my heart! is that the way? +Are these the beams that rule thy day? +Thou know'st a face in whose each look +Beauty lays ope Love's fortune-book, +On whose fair revolutions wait +The obsequious motions of Love's fate. +Ah, my heart! her eyes and she +Have taught thee new astrology. +Howe'er Love's native hours were set, +Whatever starry synod met, +'Tis in the mercy of her eye, +If poor Love shall live or die. + +If those sharp rays, putting on +Points of death, bid Love be gone; - +Though the heavens in council sate +To crown an uncontrolled fate; +Though their best aspects twined upon +The kindest constellation, +Cast amorous glances on its birth, +And whispered the confederate earth +To pave his paths with all the good +That warms the bed of youth and blood: - +Love has no plea against her eye; +Beauty frowns, and Love must die. + +But if her milder influence move, +And gild the hopes of humble Love; - +Though heaven's inauspicious eye +Lay black on Love's nativity; +Though every diamond in Jove's crown +Fixed his forehead to a frown; - +Her eye a strong appeal can give, +Beauty smiles, and Love shall live. + +O, if Love shall live, O where, +But in her eye, or in her ear, +In her breast, or in her breath, +Shall I hide poor Love from death? +For in the life aught else can give, +Love shall die, although he live. + +Or, if Love shall die, O where, +But in her eye, or in her ear, +In her breath, or in her breast, +Shall I build his funeral nest? +While Love shall thus entombed lie, +Love shall live, although he die! + +Richard Crashaw [1613?-1649] + + +"AH, HOW SWEET IT IS TO LOVE!" +From "Tyrannic Love" + +Ah, how sweet it is to love! +Ah, how gay is young Desire! +And what pleasing pains we prove +When we first approach Love's fire! +Pains of Love be sweeter far +Than all other pleasures are. + +Sighs which are from lovers blown +Do but gently heave the heart: +Even the tears they shed alone +Cure, like trickling balm, their smart: +Lovers, when they lose their breath, +Bleed away in easy death. + +Love and Time with reverence use, +Treat them like a parting friend; +Nor the golden gifts refuse +Which in youth sincere they send: +For each year their price is more, +And they less simple than before. + +Love, like spring-tides full and high, +Swells in every youthful vein; +But each tide does less supply, +Till they quite shrink in again: +If a flow in age appear, +'Tis but rain, and runs not clear. + +John Dryden [1631-1700] + + +SONG + +Love still has something of the sea, +From whence his Mother rose; +No time his slaves from doubt can free, +Nor give their thoughts repose. + +They are becalmed in clearest days, +And in rough weather tossed; +They wither under cold delays, +Or are in tempests lost. + +One while they seem to touch the port, +Then straight into the main +Some angry wind, in cruel sport, +The vessel drives again. + +At first Disdain and Pride they fear, +Which if they chance to 'scape, +Rivals and Falsehood soon appear, +In a more dreadful shape. + +By such degrees to joy they come, +And are so long withstood, +So slowly they receive the sum, +It hardly does them good. + +'Tis cruel to prolong a pain; +And to defer a joy, +Believe me, gentle Celemene, +Offends the winged boy. + +An hundred thousand oaths your fears, +Perhaps, would not remove; +And if I gazed a thousand years, +I could no deeper love. + +Charles Sedley [1639?-1710] + + +THE VINE +From "Sunday Up the River" + +The wine of Love is music, +And the feast of Love is song: +And when Love sits down to the banquet, +Love sits long: + +Sits long and arises drunken, +But not with the feast and the wine; +He reeleth with his own heart, +That great, rich Vine. + +James Thomson [1834-1882] + + +SONG + +Fain would I change that note +To which fond love hath charmed me, +Long, long to sing by rote, +Fancying that that harmed me: +Yet when this thought doth come, - +Love is the perfect sum +Of all delight. +I have no other choice +Either for pen or voice +To sing or write. + +O love, they wrong thee much +That say thy sweet is bitter +When thy rich fruit is such +As nothing can be sweeter. +Fair house of joy and bliss +Where truest pleasure is, +I do adore thee: +I know thee what thou art, +I serve thee with my heart, +And fall before thee. + +Unknown + + +CUPID STUNG + +Cupid once upon a bed +Of roses laid his weary head; +Luckless urchin, not to see +Within the leaves a slumbering bee. +The bee awaked - with anger wild +The bee awaked, and stung the child. +Loud and piteous are his cries; +To Venus quick he runs, he flies; +"Oh Mother! I am wounded through - +I die with pain - in sooth I do! +Stung by some little angry thing, +Some serpent on a tiny wing - +A bee it was - for once, I know, +I heard a rustic call it so." +Thus he spoke, and she the while +Heard him with a soothing smile; +Then said, "My infant, if so much +Thou feel the little wild bee's touch, +How must the heart, ah, Cupid! be, +The hapless heart that's stung by thee!" + +Thomas Moore [1779-1852] + + +CUPID DROWNED + +T'other day, as I was twining +Roses, for a crown to dine in, +What, of all things, 'mid the heap, +Should I light on, fast asleep, +But the little desperate elf, +The tiny traitor, Love, himself! +By the wings I picked him up +Like a bee, and in a cup +Of my wine I plunged and sank him, +Then what d'ye think I did? - I drank him. +Faith, I thought him dead. Not he! +There he lives with ten-fold glee; +And now this moment with his wings +I feel him tickling my heart-strings. + +Leigh Hunt [1784-1859] + + +SONG +From "The Heir of Vironi" + +Oh! say not woman's love is bought +With vain and empty treasure. +Oh! say not woman's heart is caught +By every idle pleasure. +When first her gentle bosom knows +Love's flame, it wanders never; +Deep in her heart the passion glows, +She loves, and loves for ever. + +Oh! say not woman's false as fair, +That, like the bee, she ranges, +Still seeking flowers more sweet and rare, +As fickle fancy changes. +Ah no! the love that first can warm +Will leave her bosom never; +No second passion e'er can charm, +She loves, and loves for ever. + +Isaac Pocock [1782-1835] + + +"IN THE DAYS OF OLD" +From "Crotchet Castle" + +In the days of old +Lovers felt true passion, +Deeming years of sorrow +By a smile repaid: +Now the charms of gold, +Spells of pride and fashion, +Bid them say Good-morrow +To the best-loved Maid. + +Through the forests wild, +O'er the mountains lonely, +They were never weary +Honor to pursue: +If the damsel smiled +Once in seven years only, +All their wanderings dreary +Ample guerdon knew. + +Now one day's caprice +Weighs down years of smiling, +Youthful hearts are rovers, +Love is bought and sold. +Fortune's gifts may cease, +Love is less beguiling: +Wiser were the lovers +In the days of old. + +Thomas Love Peacock [1785-1866] + + +SONG + +How delicious is the winning +Of a kiss at Love's beginning, +When two mutual hearts are sighing +For the knot there's no untying! + +Yet remember, 'midst your wooing, +Love has bliss, but Love has ruing; +Other smiles may make you fickle, +Tears for other charms may trickle. + +Love he comes, and Love he tarries, +Just as fate or fancy carries; +Longest stays, when sorest chidden; +Laughs and flies, when pressed and bidden. + +Bind the sea to slumber stilly, +Bind its odor to the lily, +Bind the aspen ne'er to quiver, +Then bind Love to last forever! + +Love's a fire that needs renewal +Of fresh beauty for its fuel: +Love's wing moults when caged and captured, +Only free, he soars enraptured. + +Can you keep the bee from ranging, +Or the ringdove's neck from changing? +No! nor fettered Love from dying +In the knot there's no untying. + +Thomas Campbell [1777-1844] + + +STANZAS + +Could Love for ever +Run like a river, +And Time's endeavor +Be tried in vain - +No other pleasure +With this could measure, +And like a treasure +We'd hug the chain. +But since our sighing +Ends not in dying, +And, formed for flying, +Love plumes his wing; +Then for this reason +Let's love a season; +But let that season +Be only Spring. + +When lovers parted +Feel broken-hearted, +And, all hopes thwarted, +Expect to die; +A few years older, +Ah! how much colder +They might behold her +For whom they sigh! +When linked together, +In every weather, +They pluck Love's feather +From out his wing - +He'll stay for ever, +But sadly shiver +Without his plumage, +When past the Spring. + +Like Chiefs of Faction, +His life is action - +A formal paction +That curbs his reign, +Obscures his glory, +Despot no more, he +Such territory +Quits with disdain. +Still, still advancing, +With banners glancing, +His power enhancing, +He must move on - +Repose but cloys him, +Retreat destroys him, +Love brooks not a +Degraded throne. + +Wait not, fond lover! +Till years are over, +And then recover, +As from a dream. +While each bewailing +The other's failing, +With wrath and railing, +All hideous seem - +While first decreasing, +Yet not quite ceasing, +Wait not till teasing +All passion blight: +If once diminished +Love's reign is finished - +Then part in friendship, - +And bid good-night. + +So shall Affection +To recollection +The dear connection +Bring back with joy: +You had not waited +Till, tired or hated, +Your passions sated +Began to cloy. +Your last embraces +Leave no cold traces - +The same fond faces +As through the past; +And eyes, the mirrors +Of your sweet errors, +Reflect but rapture - +Not least though last. + +True, separations +Ask more than patience; +What desperations +From such have risen! +But yet remaining, +What is't but chaining +Hearts which, once waning, +Beat 'gainst their prison? +Time can but cloy love, +And use destroy love: +The winged boy, Love, +Is but for boys - +You'll find it torture +Though sharper, shorter, +To wean and not +Wear out your joys. + +George Gordon Byron [1788-1824] + + +"THEY SPEAK O' WILES" + +They speak o' wiles in woman's smiles, +An' ruin in her ee; +I ken they bring a pang at whiles +That's unco' sair to dree; + +But mind ye this, the half-ta'en kiss, +The first fond fa'in' tear, +Is, heaven kens, fu' sweet amends, +An' tints o' heaven here. + +When two leal hearts in fondness meet, +Life's tempests howl in vain; +The very tears o' love are sweet +When paid with tears again. + +Shall hapless prudence shake its pow? +Shall cauldrife caution fear? +Oh, dinna, dinna droun the lowe +That lights a heaven here! + +William Thom [1798?-1848] + + +"LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY" + +Over the mountains +And over the waves, +Under the fountains +And under the graves, +Under floods that are deepest, +Which Neptune obey, +Over rocks that are steepest, +Love will find out the way. + +Where there is no place +For the glow-worm to lie, +Where there is no space +For receipt of a fly, +Where the midge dares not venture, +Lest herself fast she lay, +If Love come, he will enter, +And find out the way. + +You may esteem him +A child for his might, +Or you may deem him +A coward from his flight: +But if she whom Love doth honor +Be concealed from the day, +Set a thousand guards upon her, +Love will find out the way. + +Some think to lose him, +By having him confined, +And some do suppose him, +Poor thing, to be blind; +But if ne'er so close ye wall him, +Do the best that you may, +Blind Love, if so ye call him, +Will find out the way. + +You may train the eagle +To stoop to your fist, +Or you may inveigle +The phoenix of the east; +The tiger, ye may move her +To give over her prey; +But you'll ne'er stop a lover - +He will find out the way. + +Unknown + + +A WOMAN'S SHORTCOMINGS + +She has laughed as softly as if she sighed, +She has counted six, and over, +Of a purse well filled, and a heart well tried - +Oh, each a worthy lover! +They "give her time"; for her soul must slip +Where the world has set the grooving; +She will lie to none with her fair red lip: +But love seeks truer loving. + +She trembles her fan in a sweetness dumb, +As her thoughts were beyond recalling; +With a glance for one, and a glance for some, +From her eyelids rising and falling; +Speaks common words with a blushful air, +Hears bold words, unreproving; +But her silence says - what she never will swear - +And love seeks better loving. + +Go, lady! lean to the night-guitar, +And drop a smile to the bringer; +Then smile as sweetly, when he is far, +At the voice of an in-door singer. +Bask tenderly beneath tender eyes; +Glance lightly, on their removing; +And join new vows to old perjuries - +But dare not call it loving! + +Unless you can think, when the song is done, +No other is soft in the rhythm; +Unless you can feel, when left by One, +That all men else go with him; +Unless you can know, when unpraised by his breath, +That your beauty itself wants proving; +Unless you can swear "For life, for death!" - +Oh, fear to call it loving! + +Unless you can muse in a crowd all day +On the absent face that fixed you; +Unless you can love, as the angels may, +With the breadth of heaven betwixt you; +Unless you can dream that his faith is fast, +Through behoving and unbehoving; +Unless you can die when the dream is past - +Oh, never call it loving! + +Elizabeth Barrett Browning [1806-1861] + + +"LOVE HATH A LANGUAGE" +From "To My Son" + +Love hath a language for all years - +Fond hieroglyphs, obscure and old - +Wherein the heart reads, writ in tears, +The tale which never yet was told. + +Love hath his meter too, to trace +Those bounds which never yet were given, - +To measure that which mocks at space, +Is deep as death, and high as heaven. + +Love hath his treasure hoards, to pay +True faith, or goodly service done, - +Dear priceless nothings, which outweigh +All riches that the sun shines on. + +Helen Selina Sheridan [1807-1867] + + +SONG +From "Maud" + +O, let the solid ground, +Not fail beneath my feet +Before my life has found +What some have found so sweet; +Then let come what come may, +What matter if I go mad, +I shall have had my day. + +Let the sweet heavens endure, +Not close and darken above me +Before I am quite quite sure +That there is one to love me! +Then let come what come may +To a life that has been so sad, +I shall have had my day. + +Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] + + +AMATURUS + +Somewhere beneath the sun, +These quivering heart-strings prove it, +Somewhere there must be one +Made for this soul to move it; +Some one that hides her sweetness +From neighbors whom she slights, +Nor can attain completeness, +Nor give her heart its rights; +Some one whom I could court +With no great change of manner, +Still holding reason's fort, +Though waving fancy's banner; +A lady, not so queenly +As to disdain my hand, +Yet born to smile serenely +Like those that rule the land; +Noble, but not too proud; +With soft hair simply folded, +And bright face crescent-browed, +And throat by Muses moulded; +And eyelids lightly falling +On little glistening seas, +Deep-calm, when gales are brawling, +Though stirred by every breeze; +Swift voice, like flight of dove +Through minster-arches floating, +With sudden turns, when love +Gets overnear to doting; +Keen lips, that shape soft sayings +Like crystals of the snow, +With pretty half-betrayings +Of things one may not know; +Fair hand whose touches thrill, +Like golden rod of wonder, +Which Hermes wields at will +Spirit and flesh to sunder; +Light foot, to press the stirrup +In fearlessness and glee, +Or dance, till finches chirrup, +And stars sink to the sea. + +Forth, Love, and find this maid, +Wherever she be hidden: +Speak, Love, be not afraid, +But plead as thou art bidden; +And say, that he who taught thee +His yearning want and pain, +Too dearly, dearly bought thee +To part with thee in vain. + +William Johnson-Cory [1823-1892] + + +THE SURFACE AND THE DEPTHS + +Love took my life and thrilled it +Through all its strings, +Played round my mind and filled it +With sound of wings; +But to my heart he never came +To touch it with his golden flame. + +Therefore it is that singing +I do rejoice, +Nor heed the slow years bringing +A harsher voice; +Because the songs which he has sung +Still leave the untouched singer young. + +But whom in fuller fashion +The Master sways, +For him, swift-winged with passion, +Fleet the brief days. +Betimes the enforced accents come, +And leave him ever after dumb. + +Lewis Morris [1833-1907] + + +A BALLAD OF DREAMLAND + +I hid my heart in a nest of roses, +Out of the sun's way, hidden apart; +In a softer bed then the soft white snow's is, +Under the roses I hid my heart. +Why would it sleep not? why should it start, +When never a leaf of the rose-tree stirred? +What made sleep flutter his wings and part? +Only the song of a secret bird. + +Lie still, I said, for the wind's wing closes, +And mild leaves muffle the keen sun's dart; +Lie still, for the wind on the warm seas dozes, +And the wind is unquieter yet than thou art. +Does a thought in thee still as a thorn's wound smart? +Does the fang still fret thee of hope deferred? +What bids the lips of thy sleep dispart? +Only the song of a secret bird. + +The green land's name that a charm encloses, +It never was writ in the traveller's chart, +And sweet on its trees as the fruit that grows is, +It never was sold in the merchant's mart. +The swallows of dreams through its dim fields dart, +And sleep's are the tunes in its tree-tops heard; +No hound's note wakens the wildwood hart, +Only the song of a secret bird. + +ENVOI +In the world of dreams I have chosen my part, +To sleep for a season and hear no word +Of true love's truth or of light love's art, +Only the song of a secret bird. + +Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909] + + +ENDYMION + +The rising moon has hid the stars; +Her level rays, like golden bars, +Lie on the landscape green, +With shadows brown between. + +And silver white the river gleams, +As if Diana, in her dreams +Had dropped her silver bow +Upon the meadows low. + +On such a tranquil night as this, +She woke Endymion with a kiss, +When, sleeping in the grove, +He dreamed not of her love. + +Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought, +Love gives itself, but is not bought; +Nor voice, nor sound betrays +Its deep, impassioned gaze. + +It comes, - the beautiful, the free, +The crown of all humanity, - +In silence and alone +To seek the elected one. + +It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep +Are life's oblivion, the soul's sleep, +And kisses the closed eyes +Of him who slumbering lies. + +O weary hearts! O slumbering eyes! +O drooping souls, whose destinies +Are fraught with fear and pain, +Ye shall be loved again! + +No one is so accursed by fate, +No one so utterly desolate, +But some heart, though unknown, +Responds unto his own. + +Responds, - as if with unseen wings, +An angel touched its quivering strings; +And whispers, in its song, +"Where hast thou stayed so long?" + +Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807-1882] + + +FATE + +Two shall be born, the whole wide world apart, +And speak in different tongues and have no thought +Each of the other's being, and no heed. +And these, o'er unknown seas, to unknown lands +Shall cross, escaping wreck, defying death; +And all unconsciously shape every act +And bend each wandering step to this one end - +That, one day, out of darkness they shall meet +And read life's meaning in each other's eyes. + +And two shall walk some narrow way of life +So nearly side by side that, should one turn +Ever so little space to left or right, +They needs must stand acknowledged, face to face. +And, yet, with wistful eyes that never meet +And groping hands that never clasp and lips +Calling in vain to ears that never hear, +They seek each other all their weary days +And die unsatisfied - and this is Fate! + +Susan Marr Spalding [1841-1908] + + +"GIVE ALL TO LOVE" + +Give all to love; +Obey thy heart; +Friends, kindred, days, +Estate, good fame, +Plans, credit, and the Muse, - +Nothing refuse. + +'Tis a brave master; +Let it have scope: +Follow it utterly, +Hope beyond hope: +High and more high +It dives into noon, +With wing unspent, + +Untold intent; +But it is a god, +Knows its own path +And the outlets of the sky. + +It was never for the mean; +It requireth courage stout. +Souls above doubt, +Valor unbending, +It will reward, - +They shall return +More than they were, +And ever ascending. + +Leave all for love; +Yet, hear me, yet, +One word more thy heart behoved, +One pulse more of firm endeavor, - +Keep thee to-day, +To-morrow, forever, +Free as an Arab +Of thy beloved. + +Cling with life to the maid; +But when the surprise, +First vague shadow of surmise, +Flits across her bosom young, +Of a joy apart from thee, +Free be she, fancy-free; +Nor thou detain her vesture's hem, +Nor the palest rose she flung +From her summer diadem. + +Though thou loved her as thyself, +As a self of purer clay, +Though her parting dims the day, +Stealing grace from all alive; +Heartily know, +When half-gods go, +The gods arrive. + +Ralph Waldo Emerson [1803-1882] + + +"O, LOVE IS NOT A SUMMER MOOD" + +O, love is not a summer mood, +Nor flying phantom of the brain, +Nor youthful fever of the blood, +Nor dream, nor fate, nor circumstance. +Love is not born of blinded chance, +Nor bred in simple ignorance. + +Love is the flower of maidenhood; +Love is the fruit of mortal pain; +And she hath winter in her blood. +True love is steadfast as the skies, +And once alight, she never flies; +And love is strong, and love is wise. + +Richard Watson Gilder [1844-1909] + + +WHEN WILL LOVE COME? + +Some find Love late, some find him soon, +Some with the rose in May, +Some with the nightingale in June, +And some when skies are gray; +Love comes to some with smiling eyes, +And comes with tears to some; +For some Love sings, for some Love sighs, +For some Love's lips are dumb. + +How will you come to me, fair Love? +Will you come late or soon? +With sad or smiling skies above, +By light of sun or moon? +Will you be sad, will you be sweet, +Sing, sigh, Love, or be dumb? +Will it be summer when we meet, +Or autumn ere you come? + +Pakenham Beatty [1855- + + +"AWAKE, MY HEART" + +Awake, my heart, to be loved, awake, awake! + +The darkness silvers away, the morn doth break, +It leaps in the sky: unrisen lustres slake +The o'ertaken moon. Awake, O heart, awake! + +She too that loveth awaketh and hopes for thee: +Her eyes already have sped the shades that flee, +Already they watch the path thy feet shall take: +Awake, O heart, to be loved, awake, awake! + +And if thou tarry from her, - if this could be, - +She cometh herself, O heart, to be loved, to thee; +For thee would unashamed herself forsake: +Awake, to be loved, my heart, awake, awake! + +Awake! The land is scattered with light, and see, +Uncanopied sleep is flying from field and tree; +And blossoming boughs of April in laughter shake: +Awake, O heart, to be loved, awake, awake! + +Lo, all things wake and tarry and look for thee: +She looketh and saith, "O sun, now bring him to me. +Come, more adored, O adored, for his coming's sake, +And awake, my heart, to be loved, awake, awake!" + +Robert Bridges [1844-1930] + + +THE SECRET + +Nightingales warble about it +All night under blossom and star; +The wild swan is dying without it, +And the eagle crieth afar; +The sun, he doth mount but to find it, +Searching the green earth o'er; +But more doth a man's heart mind it - +O more, more, more! + +Over the gray leagues of ocean +The infinite yearneth alone; +The forests with wandering emotion +The thing they know not intone; +Creation arose but to see it, +A million lamps in the blue; +But a lover, he shall be it, +If one sweet maid is true. + +George Edward Woodberry [1855-1930] + + +THE ROSE OF STARS + +When Love, our great Immortal, +Put on mortality, +And down from Eden's portal +Brought this sweet life to be, +At the sublime archangel +He laughed with veiled eyes, +For he bore within his bosom +The seed of Paradise. + +He hid it in his bosom, +And there such warmth it found, +It brake in bud and blossom +And the rose fell on the ground; +As the green light on the prairie, +As the red light on the sea, +Through fragrant belts of summer +Came this sweet life to be. + +And the grave archangel seeing, +Spread his mighty wings for flight, +But the glow hung round him fleeing +Like the rose of an Arctic night; +And sadly moving heavenward +By Venus and by Mars, +He heard the joyful planets +Hail Earth, the Rose of Stars. + +George Edward Woodberry [1855-1930] + + +SONG OF EROS +From "Agathon" + +When love in the faint heart trembles, +And the eyes with tears are wet, +O, tell me what resembles +Thee, young Regret? +Violets with dewdrops drooping, +Lilies o'erfull of gold, +Roses in June rains stooping, +That weep for the cold, +Are like thee, young Regret. + +Bloom, violets, lilies, and roses! +But what, young Desire, +Like thee, when love discloses +Thy heart of fire? +The wild swan unreturning, +The eagle alone with the sun, +The long-winged storm-gulls burning +Seaward when day is done, +Are like thee, young Desire. + +George Edward Woodberry [1855-1930] + + +LOVE IS STRONG + +A viewless thing is the wind, +But its strength is mightier far +Than a phalanxed host in battle line, +Than the limbs of a Samson are. + +And a viewless thing is Love, +And a name that vanisheth; +But her strength is the wind's wild strength above, +For she conquers shame and Death. + +Richard Burton [1861- + + +"LOVE ONCE WAS LIKE AN APRIL DAWN" + +Love once was like an April dawn: +Song throbbed within the heart by rote, +And every tint of rose or fawn +Was greeted by a joyous note. +How eager was my thought to see +Into that morning mystery! + +Love now is like an August noon, +No spot is empty of its shine; +The sun makes silence seem a boon, +And not a voice so dumb as mine. +Yet with what words I'd welcome thee - +Couldst thou return, dear mystery! + +Robert Underwood Johnson [1853- + + +THE GARDEN OF SHADOW + +Love heeds no more the sighing of the wind +Against the perfect flowers: thy garden's close +Is grown a wilderness, where none shall find +One strayed, last petal of one last year's rose. + +O bright, bright hair! O mouth like a ripe fruit! +Can famine be so nigh to harvesting? +Love, that was songful, with a broken lute +In grass of graveyards goeth murmuring. + +Let the wind blow against the perfect flowers, +And all thy garden change and glow with spring: +Love is grown blind with no more count of hours +Nor part in seed-time nor in harvesting. + +Ernest Dowson [1867-1900] + + +THE CALL + +Love comes laughing up the valleys, +Hand in hand with hoyden Spring; +All the Flower-People nodding, +All the Feathered-Folk a-wing. + +"Higher! Higher!" call the thrushes; +"Wilder! Freer!" breathe the trees; +And the purple mountains beckon +Upward to their mysteries. + +Always farther leagues to wander, +Peak to peak and slope to slope; +Lips to sing and feet to follow, +Eyes to dream and heart to hope! + +Tarry? Nay, but who can tarry? +All the world is on the wing; +Love comes laughing up the valleys, +Hand in hand with hoyden Spring. + +Reginald Wright Kauffman [1877- + + +THE HIGHWAY + +All day long on the highway +The King's fleet couriers ride; +You may hear the tread of their horses sped +Over the country side. +They ride for life and they ride for death +And they override who tarrieth. +With show of color and flush of pride +They stir the dust on the highway. + +Let them ride on the highway wide. +Love walks in little paths aside. + +All day long on the highway +Is a tramp of an army's feet; +You may see them go in a marshaled row +With the tale of their arms complete: +They march for war and they march for peace, +For the lust of gold and fame's increase, +For victories sadder than defeat +They raise the dust on the highway. + +All the armies of earth defied, +Love dwells in little paths aside. + +All day long on the highway +Rushes an eager band, +With straining eyes for a worthless prize +That slips from the grasp like sand. +And men leave blood where their feet have stood +And bow them down unto brass and wood - +Idols fashioned by their own hand - +Blind in the dust of the highway. + +Power and gold and fame denied, +Love laughs glad in the paths aside. + +Louise Driscoll [1875- + + +SONG + +Take it, love! +'Twill soon be over, +With the thickening of the clover, +With the calling of the plover, +Take it, take it, lover. + +Take it, boy! +The blossom's falling, +And the farewell cuckoo's calling, +While the sun and showers are one, +Take your love out in the sun. + +Take it, girl! +And fear no after, +Take your fill of all this laughter, +Laugh or not, the tears will fall, +Take the laughter first of all. + +Richard Le Gallienne [1866- + + +"NEVER GIVE ALL THE HEART" + +Never give all the heart, for love +Will hardly seem worth thinking of +To passionate women, if it seem +Certain, and they never dream +That it fades out from kiss to kiss; +For everything that's lovely is +But a brief, dreamy, kind delight. +O never give the heart outright +For they, for all smooth lips can say, +Have given their hearts up to the play, +And who can play it well enough +If deaf and dumb and blind with love? +He that made this knows all the cost, +For he gave all his heart and lost. + +William Butler Yeats [1865- + + +SONG + +I came to the door of the House of Love +And knocked as the starry night went by; +And my true love cried "Who knocks?" and I said +"It is I." + +And Love looked down from a lattice above +Where the roses were dry as the lips of the dead: +"There is not room in the House of Love +For you both," he said. + +I plucked a leaf from the porch and crept +Away through a desert of scoffs and scorns +To a lonely place where I prayed and wept +And wove me a crown of thorns. + +I came once more to the House of Love +And knocked, ah, softly and wistfully, +And my true love cried "Who knocks?" and I said +"None now but thee." + +And the great doors opened wide apart +And a voice rang out from a glory of light, +"Make room, make room for a faithful heart +In the House of Love, to-night." + +Alfred Noyes [1880- + + +"CHILD, CHILD" + +Child, child, love while you can +The voice and the eyes and the soul of a man, +Never fear though it break your heart - +Out of the wound new joy will start; +Only love proudly and gladly and well +Though love be heaven or love be hell. + +Child, child, love while you may, +For life is short as a happy day; +Never fear the thing you feel - +Only by love is life made real; +Love, for the deadly sins are seven, +Only through love will you enter heaven. + +Sara Teasdale [1884-1933] + + +WISDOM + +The young girl questions: "Whether were it better +To lie for ever, a warm slug-a-bed, +Or to rise up and bide by Fate and Chance, +The rawness of the morning, +The gibing and the scorning +Of the stern Teacher of my ignorance?" +"I know not," Wisdom said. + +The young girl questions: "Friend, shall I die calmer, +If I've lain for ever, sheets above the head, +Warm in a dream, or rise to take the worst +Of peril in the highways +Of straying in the by-ways, +Of hunger for the truth, of drought and thirst?" +"We do not know," he said, +"Nor may till we be dead." + +Ford Madox Ford [1873- + + +EPILOGUE +From "Emblems Of Love" + +What shall we do for Love these days? +How shall we make an altar-blaze +To smite the horny eyes of men +With the renown of our Heaven, +And to the unbelievers prove +Our service to our dear god, Love? +What torches shall we lift above +The crowd that pushes through the mire, +To amaze the dark heads with strange fire? +I should think I were much to blame, +If never I held some fragrant flame +Above the noises of the world, +And openly 'mid men's hurrying stares, +Worshipped before the sacred fears +That are like flashing curtains furled +Across the presence of our lord Love. +Nay, would that I could fill the gaze +Of the whole earth with some great praise +Made in a marvel for men's eyes, +Some tower of glittering masonries, +Therein such a spirit flourishing +Men should see what my heart can sing: +All that Love hath done to me +Built into stone, a visible glee; +Marble carried to gleaming height +As moved aloft by inward delight; +Not as with toil of chisels hewn, +But seeming poised in a mighty tune. +For of all those who have been known +To lodge with our kind host, the sun, +I envy one for just one thing: +In Cordova of the Moors +There dwelt a passion-minded King, +Who set great bands of marble-hewers +To fashion his heart's thanksgiving +In a tall palace, shapen so +All the wondering world might know +The joy he had of his Moorish lass. +His love, that brighter and larger was +Than the starry places, into firm stone +He sent, as if the stone were glass +Fired and into beauty blown. +Solemn and invented gravely +In its bulk the fabric stood, +Even as Love, that trusteth bravely +In its own exceeding good +To be better than the waste +Of time's devices; grandly spaced, +Seriously the fabric stood. +But over it all a pleasure went +Of carven delicate ornament, +Wreathing up like ravishment, +Mentioning in sculptures twined +The blitheness Love hath in his mind; +And like delighted senses were +The windows, and the columns there +Made the following sight to ache +As the heart that did them make. +Well I can see that shining song +Flowering there, the upward throng +Of porches, pillars and windowed walls, +Spires like piercing panpipe calls, +Up to the roof's snow-cloud flight; +All glancing in the Spanish light +White as water of arctic tides, +Save an amber dazzle on sunny sides. +You had said, the radiant sheen +Of that palace might have been +A young god's fantasy, ere he came +His serious worlds and suns to frame; +Such an immortal passion +Quivered among the slim hewn stone. +And in the nights it seemed a jar +Cut in the substance of a star, +Wherein a wine, that will be poured +Some time for feasting Heaven, was stored. +But within this fretted shell, +The wonder of Love made visible, +The King a private gentle mood +There placed, of pleasant quietude. +For right amidst there was a court, +Where always musked silences +Listened to water and to trees; +And herbage of all fragrant sort, - +Lavender, lad's-love, rosemary, +Basil, tansy, centaury, - +Was the grass of that orchard, hid +Love's amazements all amid. +Jarring the air with rumor cool, +Small fountains played into a pool +With sound as soft as the barley's hiss +When its beard just sprouting is; +Whence a young stream, that trod on moss, +Prettily rimpled the court across. +And in the pool's clear idleness, +Moving like dreams through happiness, +Shoals of small bright fishes were; +In and out weed-thickets bent +Perch and carp, and sauntering went +With mounching jaws and eyes a-stare; +Or on a lotus leaf would crawl +A brindled loach to bask and sprawl, +Tasting the warm sun ere it dipped +Into the water; but quick as fear +Back his shining brown head slipped +To crouch on the gravel of his lair, +Where the cooled sunbeams, broke in wrack, +Spilt shattered gold about his back. +So within that green-veiled air, +Within that white-walled quiet, where +Innocent water thought aloud, - +Childish prattle that must make +The wise sunlight with laughter shake +On the leafage overbowed, - +Often the King and his love-lass +Let the delicious hours pass. +All the outer world could see +Graved and sawn amazingly +Their love's delighted riotise, +Fixed in marble for all men's eyes; +But only these twain could abide +In the cool peace that withinside +Thrilling desire and passion dwelt; +They only knew the still meaning spelt +By Love's flaming script, which is +God's word written in ecstasies. +And where is now that palace gone, +All the magical skilled stone, +All the dreaming towers wrought +By Love as if no more than thought +The unresisting marble was? +How could such a wonder pass? +Ah, it was but built in vain +Against the stupid horns of Rome, +That pushed down into the common loam +The loveliness that shone in Spain. +But we have raised it up again! +A loftier palace, fairer far, +Is ours, and one that fears no war. +Safe in marvellous walls we are; +Wondering sense like builded fires, +High amazement of desires, +Delight and certainty of love, +Closing around, roofing above +Our unapproached and perfect hour +Within the splendors of love's power. + +Lascelles Abercrombie [1881- + + +ON HAMPSTEAD HEATH + +Against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree, +His scarlet tunic burns; +And livelier than the green sap's mantling glee +The Spring fire tingles through him headily +As quivering he turns +And stammers out the old amazing tale +Of youth and April weather; +While she, with half-breathed jests that, sobbing, fail, +Sits, tight-lipped, quaking, eager-eyed and pale, +Beneath her purple feather. + +Wilfrid Wilson Gibson [1878- + + +ONCE ON A TIME + +Once on a time, once on a time, +Before the Dawn began, +There was a nymph of Dian's train +Who was beloved of Pan; +Once on a time a peasant lad +Who loved a lass at home; +Once on a time a Saxon king +Who loved a queen of Rome. + +The world has but one song to sing, +And it is ever new, +The first and last of all the songs +For it is ever true - +A little song, a tender song, +The only song it hath; +"There was a youth of Ascalon +Who loved a girl of Gath." + +A thousand thousand years have gone, +And aeons still shall pass, +Yet shall the world forever sing +Of him who loved a lass - +An olden song, a golden song, +And sing it unafraid: +"There was a youth, once on a time, +Who dearly loved a maid." + +Kendall Banning [1879- + + + + + + +IN PRAISE OF HER + + + + + + +FIRST SONG +From "Astrophel and Stella" + +Doubt you to whom my Muse these notes intendeth, +Which now my breast, o'ercharged, to music lendeth? +To you! to you! all song of praise is due; +Only in you my song begins and endeth. + +Who hath the eyes which marry state with pleasure? +Who keeps the key of Nature's chiefest treasure? +To you! to you! all song of praise is due; +Only for you the heaven forgat all measure. + +Who hath the lips where wit in fairness reigneth? +Who womankind at once both decks and staineth? +To you! to you! all song of praise is due; +Only by you Cupid his crown maintaineth. + +Who hath the feet, whose step all sweetness planteth? +Who else, for whom Fame worthy trumpets wanteth? +To you! to you! all song of praise is due; +Only to you her sceptre Venus granteth. + +Who hath the breast, whose milk doth passions nourish? +Whose grace is such, that when it chides doth cherish? +To you! to you! all song of praise is due; +Only through you the tree of life doth flourish. + +Who hath the hand, which without stroke subdueth? +Who long-dead beauty with increase reneweth? +To you! to you! all song of praise is due; +Only at you all envy hopeless rueth. + +Who hath the hair, which loosest fastest tieth? +Who makes a man live then glad when he dieth? +To you! to you! all song of praise is due; +Only of you the flatterer never lieth. + +Who hath the voice, which soul from senses sunders? +Whose force but yours the bolts of beauty thunders? +To you! to you! all song of praise is due; +Only with you not miracles are wonders. + +Doubt you to whom my Muse these notes intendeth, +Which now my breast, o'ercharged, to music lendeth? +To you! to you! all song of praise is due; +Only in you my song begins and endeth. + +Philip Sidney [1554-1586] + + +SILVIA +From "The Two Gentlemen of Verona" + +Who is Silvia? What is she? +That all our swains commend her? +Holy, fair, and wise is she; +The heaven such grace did lend her, +That she might admired be. + +Is she kind as she is fair? +For beauty lives with kindness: +Love doth to her eyes repair, +To help him of his blindness; +And, being helped, inhabits there. + +Then to Silvia let us sing, +That Silvia is excelling; +She excels each mortal thing +Upon the dull earth dwelling: +To her let us garlands bring. + +William Shakespeare [1564-1616] + + +CUPID AND CAMPASPE +From "Alexander and Campaspe" + +Cupid and my Campaspe played +At cards for kisses; Cupid paid: +He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows, +His mother's doves, and team of sparrows; +Loses them too; then down he throws +The coral of his lip, the rose +Growing on's cheek (but none knows how); +With these, the crystal of his brow, +And then the dimple on his chin; +All these did my Campaspe win: +And last he set her both his eyes - +She won, and Cupid blind did rise. + +O Love! has she done this to thee? +What shall, alas! become of me? + +John Lyly [1554?-1606] + + +APOLLO'S SONG +From "Midas" + +My Daphne's hair is twisted gold, +Bright stars apiece her eyes do hold, +My Daphne's brow enthrones the Graces, +My Daphne's beauty stains all faces, +On Daphne's cheek grow rose and cherry, +On Daphne's lip a sweeter berry, +Daphne's snowy hand but touched does melt, +And then no heavenlier warmth is felt, +My Daphne's voice tunes all the spheres, +My Daphne's music charms all ears. +Fond am I thus to sing her praise; +These glories now are turned to bays. + +John Lyly [1554?-1606] + + +"FAIR IS MY LOVE FOR APRIL'S IN HER FACE" +From "Perimedes" + +Fair is my love for April's in her face, +Her lovely breasts September claims his part, +And lordly July in her eyes takes place, +But cold December dwelleth in her heart; +Blest be the months that set my thoughts on fire, +Accurst that month that hindereth my desire. + +Like Phoebus' fire, so sparkle both her eyes, +As air perfumed with amber is her breath, +Like swelling waves her lovely breasts do rise, +As earth, her heart, cold, dateth me to death: +Aye me, poor man, that on the earth do live, +When unkind earth death and despair doth give! + +In pomp sits mercy seated in her face, +Love 'twixt her breasts his trophies doth imprint, +Her eyes shine favor, courtesy, and grace, +But touch her heart, ah, that is framed of flint! +Therefore my harvest in the grass bears grain; +The rock will wear, washed with a winter's rain. + +Robert Greene [1560?-1592] + + +SAMELA +From "Menaphon" + +Like to Diana in her summer weed, +Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye, +Goes fair Samela; +Whiter than be the flocks that straggling feed, +When washed by Arethusa's Fount they lie, +Is fair Samela. + +As fair Aurora in her morning-gray, +Decked with the ruddy glister of her love, +Is fair Samela; +Like lovely Thetis on a calmed day, +Whenas her brightness Neptune's fancy move, +Shines fair Samela. + +Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams, +Her teeth are pearl, the breasts are ivory +Of fair Samela; +Her cheeks like rose and lily yield forth gleams; +Her brows bright arches framed of ebony: +Thus fair Samela + +Passeth fair Venus in her bravest hue, +And Juno in the show of majesty, +For she's Samela; +Pallas, in wit, - all three, if you well view, +For beauty, wit, and matchless dignity +Yield to Samela. + +Robert Greene [1560?-1592] + + +DAMELUS' SONG OF HIS DIAPHENIA + +Diaphenia like the daffadowndilly, +White as the sun, fair as the lily, +Heigh ho, how I do love thee! +I do love thee as my lambs +Are beloved of their dams; - +How blest were I if thou would'st prove me. + +Diaphenia like the spreading roses, +That in thy sweets all sweets encloses, +Fair sweet, how I do love thee! +I do love thee as each flower +Loves the sun's life-giving power; +For dead, thy breath to life might move me. + +Diaphenia like to all things blessed, +When all thy praises are expressed, +Dear joy, how I do love thee! +As the birds do love the spring, +Or the bees their careful king: +Then in requite, sweet virgin, love me! + +Henry Constable [1562-1613] + + +MADRIGAL + +My love in her attire doth show her wit, +It doth so well become her; +For every season she hath dressings fit, +For Winter, Spring, and Summer. + +No beauty she doth miss +When all her robes are on: +But Beauty's self she is +When all her robes are gone. + +Unknown + + +ON CHLORIS WALKING IN THE SNOW + +I saw fair Chloris walk alone, +Whilst feathered rain came softly down, +As Jove descended from his tower +To court her in a silver shower. +The wanton snow flew on her breast +Like little birds unto their nest, +But, overcome with whiteness there, +For grief it thawed into a tear; +Thence falling on her garment's hem, +To deck her, froze into a gem. + +William Strode [1602-1645] + + +"THERE IS A LADY SWEET AND KIND" + +There is a lady sweet and kind, +Was never face so pleased my mind; +I did but see her passing by, +And yet I love her till I die. + +Her gesture, motion, and her smiles, +Her wit, her voice my heart beguiles, +Beguiles my heart, I know not why, +And yet I love her till I die. + +Cupid is winged and doth range, +Her country so my love doth change: +But change she earth, or change she sky, +Yet I will love her till I die. + +Unknown + + +CHERRY-RIPE + +There is a garden in her face +Where roses and white lilies blow; +A heavenly paradise is that place, +Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow: +There cherries grow which none may buy +Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry. + +Those cherries fairly do enclose +Of orient pearl a double row, +Which when her lovely laughter shows, +They look like rose-buds filled with snow; +Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy +Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry. + +Her eyes like angels watch them still; +Her brows like bended bows do stand, +Threatening with piercing frowns to kill +All that attempt with eye or hand +Those sacred cherries to come nigh, +Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry. + +Thomas Campion [ ? -1619] + + +AMARILLIS + +I care not for these ladies, +That must be wooed and prayed: +Give me kind Amarillis, +The wanton countrymaid. +Nature art disdaineth, +Her beauty is her own. +Her when we court and kiss, +She cries, Forsooth, let go! +But when we come where comfort is, +She never will say No. + +If I love Amarillis, +She gives me fruit and flowers: +But if we love these ladies, +We must give golden showers. +Give them gold, that sell love, +Give me the Nut-brown lass, +Who, when we court and kiss, +She cries, Forsooth, let go: +But when we come where comfort is, +She never will say No. + +These ladies must have pillows, +And beds by strangers wrought; +Give me a bower of willows, +Of moss and leaves unbought, +And fresh Amarillis, +With milk and honey fed; +Who, when we court and kiss, +She cries, Forsooth, let go: +But when we come where comfort is, +She never will say No! + +Thomas Campion [ ? -1619] + + +ELIZABETH OF BOHEMIA + +You meaner beauties of the night, +That poorly satisfy our eyes +More by your number than your light, +You common people of the skies; +What are you when the moon shall rise? + +You curious chanters of the wood, +That warble forth Dame Nature's lays, +Thinking your passions understood +By your weak accents; what's your praise +When Philomel her voice shall raise? + +You violets that first appear, +By your pure purple mantles known +Like the proud virgins of the year, +As if the spring were all your own; +What are you when the rose is blown? + +So, when my mistress shall be seen +In form and beauty of her mind, +By virtue first, then choice, a Queen, +Tell me, if she were not designed +Th' eclipse and glory of her kind. + +Henry Walton [1568-1639] + + +HER TRIUMPH +From "A Celebration of Charis" + +See the Chariot at hand here of Love, +Wherein my Lady rideth! +Each that draws is a swan or a dove, +And well the car Love guideth. +As she goes, all hearts do duty +Unto her beauty; +And, enamored, do wish, so they might +But enjoy such a sight, +That they still were to run by her side, +Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride. + +Do but look on her eyes, they do light +All that Love's world compriseth! +Do but look on her hair, it is bright +As Love's star when it riseth! +Do but mark, her forehead's smoother +Than Words that soothe her! +And from her arched brows such a grace +Sheds itself through the face, +As alone there triumphs to the life +All the gain, all the good, of the elements' strife. + +Have you seen but a bright lily grow +Before rude hands have touched it? +Have you marked but the fall o' the snow +Before the soil hath smutched it? +Have you felt the wool of beaver, +Or swan's down ever? +Or have smelt o' the bud o' the brier? +Or the nard in the fire? +Or have tasted the bag o' the bee? +O so white, O so soft, O so sweet is she! + +Ben Jonson [1573?-1637] + + +OF PHYLLIS + +In petticoat of green, +Her hair about her eyne, +Phyllis beneath an oak +Sat milking her fair flock: +Among that sweet-strained moisture, rare delight, +Her hand seemed milk in milk, it was so white. + +William Drummond [1585-1649] + + +A WELCOME + +Welcome, welcome, do I sing, +Far more welcome than the spring; +He that parteth from you never +Shall enjoy a spring forever. + +He that to the voice is near, +Breaking from your ivory pale, +Need not walk abroad to hear +The delightful nightingale. + +He that looks still on your eyes, +Though the winter have begun +To benumb our arteries, +Shall not want the summer's sun. + +He that still may see your cheeks, +Where all rareness still reposes, +Is a fool if e'er he seeks +Other lilies, other roses. + +He to whom your soft lip yields, +And perceives your breath in kissing, +All the odors of the fields +Never, never shall be missing. + +He that question would anew +What fair Eden was of old, +Let him rightly study you, +And a brief of that behold. + +Welcome, welcome, then I sing, +Far more welcome than the spring; +He that parteth from you never, +Shall enjoy a spring forever. + +William Browne [1591-1643?] + + +THE COMPLETE LOVER + +For her gait, if she be walking; +Be she sitting, I desire her +For her state's sake; and admire her +For her wit if she be talking; +Gait and state and wit approve her; +For which all and each I love her. + +Be she sullen, I commend her +For a modest. Be she merry, +For a kind one her prefer I. +Briefly, everything doth lend her +So much grace, and so approve her, +That for everything I love her. + +William Browne [1591-1643?] + + +RUBIES AND PEARLS + +Some asked me where the rubies grew, +And nothing I did say, +But with my finger pointed to +The lips of Julia. + +Some asked how pearls did grow, and where; +Then spoke I to my girl, +To part her lips, and showed them there +The quarrelets of pearl. + +Robert Herrick [1591-1674] + + +UPON JULIA'S CLOTHES + +Whenas in silks my Julia goes, +Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows +The liquefaction of her clothes! +Next, when I cast mine eyes and see +That brave vibration each way free, +- O how that glittering taketh me! + +Robert Herrick [1591-1674] + + +TO CYNTHIA ON CONCEALMENT OF HER BEAUTY + +Do not conceal those radiant eyes, +The starlight of serenest skies; +Lest, wanting of their heavenly light, +They turn to chaos' endless night! + +Do not conceal those tresses fair, +The silken snares of thy curled hair; +Lest, finding neither gold nor ore, +The curious silk-worm work no more. + +Do not conceal those breasts of thine, +More snow-white than the Apennine; +Lest, if there be like cold and frost, +The lily be for ever lost. + +Do not conceal that fragrant scent, +Thy breath, which to all flowers hath lent +Perfumes; lest, it being suppressed, +No spices grow in all the East. + +Do not conceal thy heavenly voice, +Which makes the hearts of gods rejoice; +Lest, music hearing no such thing, +The nightingale forget to sing. + +Do not conceal, nor yet eclipse, +Thy pearly teeth with coral lips; +Lest that the seas cease to bring forth +Gems which from thee have all their worth. + +Do not conceal no beauty, grace, +That's either in thy mind or face; +Lest virtue overcome by vice +Make men believe no Paradise. + +Francis Kynaston [1587-1642] + + +SONG + +Ask me no more where Jove bestows, +When June is past, the fading rose; +For in your beauty's orient deep +These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. + +Ask me no more whither do stray +The golden atoms of the day; +For in pure love heaven did prepare +Those powders to enrich your hair. + +Ask me no more whither doth haste +The nightingale when May is past; +For in your sweet dividing throat +She winters and keeps warm her note. + +Ask me no more where those stars 'light +That downwards fall in dead of night; +For in your eyes they sit, and there +Fixed become as in their sphere. + +Ask me no more if east or west +The Phoenix builds her spicy nest; +For unto you at last she flies, +And in your fragrant bosom dies. + +Thomas Carew [1598?-1639?] + + +A DEVOUT LOVER + +I have a mistress, for perfections rare +In every eye, but in my thoughts most fair. +Like tapers on the altar shine her eyes; +Her breath is the perfume of sacrifice; +And wheresoe'er my fancy would begin, +Still her perfection lets religion in. +We sit and talk, and kiss away the hours +As chastely as the morning dews kiss flowers: +I touch her, like my beads, with devout care, +And come unto my courtship as my prayer. + +Thomas Randolph [1605-1635] + + +ON A GIRDLE + +That which her slender waist confined +Shall now my joyful temples bind; +No monarch but would give his crown +His arms might do what this has done. + +It was my Heaven's extremest sphere, +The pale which held that lovely deer: +My joy, my grief, my hope, my love, +Did all within this circle move. + +A narrow compass! and yet there +Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair! +Give me but what this ribbon bound, +Take all the rest the sun goes round! + +Edmund Waller [1606-1687] + + +CASTARA + +Like the violet, which alone +Prospers in some happy shade, +My Castara lives unknown, +To no looser eye betrayed: +For she's to herself untrue +Who delights i' the public view + +Such is her beauty as no arts +Have enriched with borrowed grace. +Her high birth no pride imparts, +For she blushes in her place. +Folly boasts a glorious blood; +She is noblest, being good. + +Cautious, she knew never yet +What a wanton courtship meant; +Nor speaks loud to boast her wit, +In her silence, eloquent. +Of herself survey she takes, +But 'tween men no difference makes. + +She obeys with speedy will +Her grave parents' wise commands; +And so innocent, that ill +She nor acts, nor understands. +Women's feet run still astray +If to ill they know the way. + +She sails by that rock, the court, +Where oft virtue splits her mast; +And retiredness thinks the port +Where her fame may anchor cast. +Virtue safely cannot sit +Where vice is enthroned for wit. + +She holds that day's pleasure best +Where sin waits not on delight; +Without mask, or ball, or feast, +Sweetly spends a winter's night. +O'er that darkness whence is thrust +Prayer and sleep, oft governs lust. + +She her throne makes reason climb, +While wild passions captive lie; +And, each article of time, +Her pure thoughts to heaven fly; +All her vows religious be, +And she vows her love to me. + +William Habington [1605-1654] + + +TO ARAMANTHA +That She Would Dishevel Her Hair + +Aramantha, sweet and fair, +Ah, braid no more that shining hair! +As my curious hand or eye +Hovering round thee, let it fly. + +Let it fly as unconfined +As its calm ravisher the wind, +Who hath left his darling, th' east, +To wanton in that spicy nest. + +Every tress must be confessed; +But neatly tangled at the best; +Like a clew of golden thread +Most excellently ravelled. + +Do not, then, wind up that light +In ribbons, and o'er-cloud in night, +Like the sun in's early ray; +But shake your head and scatter day. + +Richard Lovelace [1618-1658] + + +CHLOE DIVINE + +Chloe's a Nymph in flowery groves, +A Nereid in the streams; +Saint-like she in the temple moves, +A woman in my dreams. + +Love steals artillery from her eyes, +The Graces point her charms; +Orpheus is rivalled in her voice, +And Venus in her arms. + +Never so happily in one +Did heaven and earth combine; +And yet 'tis flesh and blood alone +That makes her so divine. + +Thomas D'Urfey [1653-1723] + + +MY PEGGY + +My Peggy is a young thing, +Just entered in her teens, +Fair as the day, and sweet as May, +Fair as the day, and always gay: +My Peggy is a young thing, +And I'm na very auld, +Yet weel I like to meet her at +The wauking o' the fauld. + +My Peggy speaks sae sweetly +Whene'er we meet alane, +I wish nae mair to lay my care, +I wish nae mair o' a' that's rare: +My Peggy speaks sae sweetly, +To a' the lave I'm cauld; +But she gars a' my spirits glow +At wauking o' the fauld. + +My Peggy smiles sae kindly +Whene'er I whisper love, +That I look doun on a' the toun, +That I look doun upon a croun: +My Peggy smiles sae kindly, +It makes me blithe and bauld, +And naething gi'es me sic delight +As waulking o' the fauld. + +My Peggy sings sae saftly, +When on my pipe I play; +By a' the rest it is confessed, +By a' the rest that she sings best: +My Peggy sings sae saftly, +And in her sangs are tauld, +Wi' innocence the wale o' sense, +At wauking o' the fauld. + +Allan Ramsay [1686-1758] + + +SONG +From "Acis and Galatea" + +O ruddier than the cherry! +O sweeter than the berry! +O nymph more bright +Than moonshine night, +Like kidlings blithe and merry! +Ripe as the melting luster; +Yet hard to tame +As raging flame, +And fierce as storms that bluster! + +John Gay [1685-1732] + + +"TELL ME, MY HEART, IF THIS BE LOVE" + +When Delia on the plain appears, +Awed by a thousand tender fears +I would approach, but dare not move: +Tell me, my heart, if this be love? + +Whene'er she speaks, my ravished ear +No other voice than hers can hear, +No other wit but hers approve: +Tell me, my heart, if this be love? + +If she some other youth commend, +Though I was once his fondest friend, +His instant enemy I prove: +Tell me, my heart, if this be love? + +When she is absent, I no more +Delight in all that pleased before - +The clearest spring, or shadiest grove: +Tell me, my heart, if this be love? + +When fond of power, of beauty vain, +Her nets she spread for every swain, +I strove to hate, but vainly strove: +Tell me, my heart, if this be love? + +George Lyttleton [1709-1773] + + +THE FAIR THIEF + +Before the urchin well could go, +She stole the whiteness of the snow; +And more, that whiteness to adorn, +She stole the blushes of the morn; +Stole all the sweetness ether sheds +On primrose buds and violet beds. + +Still to reveal her artful wiles +She stole the Graces' silken smiles; +She stole Aurora's balmy breath; +And pilfered orient pearl for teeth; +The cherry, dipped in morning dew, +Gave moisture to her lips, and hue. + +These were her infant spoils, a store; +And she, in time, still pilfered more! +At twelve, she stole from Cyprus' queen +Her air and love-commanding mien; +Stole Juno's dignity; and stole +From Pallas sense to charm the soul. + +Apollo's wit was next her prey; +Her next, the beam that lights the day; +She sang; - amazed the Sirens heard, +And to assert their voice appeared. +She played; - the Muses from their hill, +Wondered who thus had stole their skill. + +Great Jove approved her crimes and art; +And, t'other day, she stole my heart! +If lovers, Cupid, are thy care, +Exert thy vengeance on this Fair: +To trial bring her stolen charms, +And let her prison be my arms! + +Charles Wyndham [1710-1763] + + +AMORET + +If rightly tuneful bards decide, +If it be fixed in Love's decrees, +That Beauty ought not to be tried +But by its native power to please, +Then tell me, youths and lovers, tell - +What fair can Amoret excel? + +Behold that bright unsullied smile, +And wisdom speaking in her mien: +Yet - she so artless all the while, +So little studious to be seen - +We naught but instant gladness know, +Nor think to whom the gift we owe. + +But neither music, nor the powers +Of youth and mirth and frolic cheer, +Add half the sunshine to the hours, +Or make life's prospect half so clear, +As memory brings it to the eye +From scenes where Amoret was by. + +This, sure, is Beauty's happiest part; +This gives the most unbounded sway; +This shall enchant the subject heart +When rose and lily fade away; +And she be still, in spite of Time, +Sweet Amoret, in all her prime. + +Mark Akenside [1721-1770] + + +SONG + +The shape alone let others prize, +The features of the fair: +I look for spirit in her eyes, +And meaning in her air. + +A damask cheek, an ivory arm, +Shall ne'er my wishes win: +Give me an animated form, +That speaks a mind within. + +A face where awful honor shines, +Where sense and sweetness move, +And angel innocence refines +The tenderness of love. + +These are the soul of beauty's frame; +Without whose vital aid +Unfinished all her features seem, +And all her roses dead. + +But ah! where both their charms unite, +How perfect is the view, +With every image of delight, +With graces ever new: + +Of power to charm the greatest woe, +The wildest rage control, +Diffusing mildness o'er the brow, +And rapture through the soul. + +Their power but faintly to express +All language must despair; +But go, behold Arpasia's face, +And read it perfect there. + +Mark Akenside [1721-1770] + + +KATE OF ABERDEEN + +The silver moon's enamored beam +Steals softly through the night, +To wanton with the winding stream, +And kiss reflected light. +To beds of state go balmy sleep +('Tis where you've seldom been), +May's vigil while the shepherds keep +With Kate of Aberdeen. + +Upon the green the virgins wait, +In rosy chaplets gay, +Till morn unbar her golden gate, +And give the promised May. +Methinks I hear the maids declare, +The promised May, when seen, +Not half so fragrant, half so fair, +As Kate of Aberdeen. + +Strike up the tabor's boldest notes, +We'll rouse the nodding grove; +The nested birds shall raise their throats, +And hail the maid of love; +And see - the matin lark mistakes, +He quits the tufted green: +Fond bird! 'tis not the morning breaks, - +'Tis Kate of Aberdeen. + +Now lightsome o'er the level mead, +Where midnight fairies rove, +Like them the jocund dance we'll lead, +Or tune the reed to love: +For see the rosy May draws nigh, +She claims a virgin Queen; +And hark, the happy shepherds cry, +'Tis Kate of Aberdeen. + +John Cunningham [1729-1773] + + +SONG + +Who has robbed the ocean cave, +To tinge thy lips with coral hue? +Who from India's distant wave +For thee those pearly treasures drew? +Who from yonder orient sky +Stole the morning of thine eye? + +A thousand charms, thy form to deck, +From sea, and earth, and air are torn; +Roses bloom upon thy cheek, +On thy breath their fragrance borne. +Guard thy bosom from the day, +Lest thy snows should melt away. + +But one charm remains behind, +Which mute earth can ne'er impart; +Nor in ocean wilt thou find, +Nor in the circling air, a heart. +Fairest! wouldst thou perfect be, +Take, oh, take that heart from me. + +John Shaw [1559-1625] + + +CHLOE + +It was the charming month of May, +When all the flowers were fresh and gay; +One morning, by the break of day, +The youthful, charming Chloe +From peaceful slumber she arose, +Girt on her mantle and her hose, +And o'er the flowery mead she goes, +The youthful, charming Chloe. +Lovely was she by the dawn, +Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe, +Tripping o'er the pearly lawn, +The youthful, charming Chloe. + +The feathered people you might see, +Perched all around on every tree, +In notes of sweetest melody +They hail the charming Chloe; +Till, painting gay the eastern skies, +The glorious sun began to rise, +Out-rivalled by the radiant eyes +Of youthful, charming Chloe. +Lovely was she by the dawn, +Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe, +Tripping o'er the pearly lawn, +The youthful, charming Chloe. + +Robert Burns [1759-1796] + + +"O MALLY'S MEEK, MALLY'S SWEET" + +As I was walking up the street, +A barefit maid I chanced to meet; +But O the road was very hard +For that fair maiden's tender feet. +O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, +Mally's modest and discreet, +Mally's rare, Mally's fair, +Mally's every way complete. + +It were more meet that those fine feet +Were weel laced up in silken shoon, +And 'twere more fit that she should sit +Within yon chariot gilt aboon. + +Her yellow hair, beyond compare, +Comes trinkling down her swan-white neck, +And her two eyes, like stars in skies, +Would keep a sinking ship frae wreck. +O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, +Mally's modest and discreet, +Mally's rare, Mally's fair, +Mally's every way complete. + +Robert Burns [1759-1796] + + +THE LOVER'S CHOICE + +You, Damon, covet to possess +The nymph that sparkles in her dress; +Would rustling silks and hoops invade, +And clasp an armful of brocade. + +Such raise the price of your delight +Who purchase both their red and white, +And, pirate-like, surprise your heart +With colors of adulterate art. + +Me, Damon, me the maid enchants +Whose cheeks the hand of nature paints; +A modest blush adorns her face, +Her air an unaffected grace. + +No art she knows, or seeks to know; +No charm to wealthy pride will owe; +No gems, no gold she needs to wear; +She shines intrinsically fair. + +Thomas Bedingfield [ ? -1613] + + +RONDEAU REDOUBLE + +My day and night are in my lady's hand; +I have no other sunrise than her sight; +For me her favor glorifies the land; +Her anger darkens all the cheerful light. +Her face is fairer than the hawthorn white, +When all a-flower in May the hedgerows stand; +While she is kind, I know of no affright; +My day and night are in my lady's hand. + +All heaven in her glorious eyes is spanned; +Her smile is softer than the summer's night, +Gladder than daybreak on the Faery strand; +I have no other sunrise than her sight. +Her silver speech is like the singing flight +Of runnels rippling o'er the jewelled sand; +Her kiss a dream of delicate delight; +For me her favor glorifies the land. + +What if the Winter chase the Summer bland! +The gold sun in her hair burns ever bright. +If she be sad, straightway all joy is banned; +Her anger darkens all the cheerful light. +Come weal or woe, I am my lady's knight +And in her service every ill withstand; +Love is my Lord in all the world's despite +And holdeth in the hollow of his hand +My day and night. + +John Payne [1842-1916] + + +"MY LOVE SHE'S BUT A LASSIE YET" + +My love she's but a lassie yet, +A lightsome lovely lassie yet; +It scarce wad do +To sit an' woo +Down by the stream sae glassy yet. + +But there's a braw time coming yet, +When we may gang a-roaming yet; +An' hint wi' glee +O' joys to be, +When fa's the modest gloaming yet. + +She's neither proud nor saucy yet, +She's neither plump nor gaucy yet; +But just a jinking, +Bonny blinking, +Hilty-skilty lassie yet. + +But O, her artless smile's mair sweet +Than hinny or than marmalete; +An' right or wrang, +Ere it be lang, +I'll bring her to a parley yet. + +I'm jealous o' what blesses her, +The very breeze that kisses her, +The flowery beds +On which she treads, +Though wae for ane that misses her. + +Then O, to meet my lassie yet, +Up in yon glen sae grassy yet; +For all I see +Are naught to me, +Save her that's but a lassie yet. + +James Hogg [1770-1835] + + +JESSIE, THE FLOWER O' DUNBLANE + +The sun has gane down o'er the lofty Benlomond +And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene, +While lanely I stray, in the calm simmer gloamin', +To muse on sweet Jessie, the Flower o' Dunblane. + +How sweet is the brier, wi' its saft fauldin' blossom, +And sweet is the birk, wi' its mantle o' green; +Yet sweeter and fairer, and dear to this bosom, +Is lovely young Jessie, the Flower o' Dunblane. + +She's modest as ony, and blithe as she's bonnie; +For guileless simplicity marks her its ain; +And far be the villain, divested of feeling, +Wha'd blight in its bloom the sweet Flower o' Dunblane. + +Sing on, thou sweet mavis, thy hymn to the e'ening! +Thou'rt dear to the echoes of Calderwood glen; +Sae dear to this bosom, sae artless and winning, +Is charming young Jessie, the Flower o' Dunblane. + +How lost were my days till I met wi' my Jessie! +The sports o' the city seemed foolish and vain; +I ne'er saw a nymph I would ca' my dear lassie +Till charmed wi' sweet Jessie, the Flower o' Dunblane. + +Though mine were the station o' loftiest grandeur, +Amidst its profusion I'd languish in pain, +And reckon as naething the height o' its splendor, +If wanting sweet Jessie, the Flower o' Dunblane. + +Robert Tannahill [1774-1810] + + +MARGARET AND DORA + +Margaret's beauteous - Grecian arts +Ne'er drew form completer, +Yet why, in my hearts of hearts, +Hold I Dora's sweeter? + +Dora's eyes of heavenly blue +Pass all painting's reach, +Ringdoves' notes are discord to +The music of her speech. + +Artists! Margaret's smile receive, +And on canvas show it; +But for perfect worship leave +Dora to her poet. + +Thomas Campbell [1777-1844] + + +DAGONET'S CANZONET + +A queen lived in the South; +And music was her mouth, +And sunshine was her hair, +By day, and all the night +The drowsy embers there +Remembered still the light; +My soul, was she not fair! + +But for her eyes - they made +An iron man afraid; +Like sky-blue pools they were, +Watching the sky that knew +Itself transmuted there +Light blue, or deeper blue; +My soul, was she not fair! + +The lifting of her hands +Made laughter in the lands +Where the sun is, in the South: +But my soul learnt sorrow there +In the secrets of her mouth, +Her eyes, her hands, her hair: +O soul, was she not fair! + +Ernest Rhys [1859- + + +STANZAS FOR MUSIC + +There be none of Beauty's daughters +With a magic like thee; +And like music on the waters +Is thy sweet voice to me: +When, as if its sound were causing +The charmed ocean's pausing, +The waves lie still and gleaming, +And the lulled winds seem dreaming. + +And the midnight moon is weaving +Her bright chain o'er the deep, +Whose breast is gently heaving, +As an infant's asleep: +So the spirit bows before thee, +To listen and adore thee; +With a full but soft emotion, +Like the swell of Summer's ocean. + +George Gordon Byron [1788-1824] + + +"FLOWERS I WOULD BRING" + +Flowers I would bring if flowers could make thee fairer, +And music, if the Muse were dear to thee; +(For loving these would make thee love the bearer) +But sweetest songs forget their melody, +And loveliest flowers would but conceal the wearer: - +A rose I marked, and might have plucked; but she +Blushed as she bent, imploring me to spare her, +Nor spoil her beauty by such rivalry. +Alas! and with what gifts shall I pursue thee, +What offerings bring, what treasures lay before thee; +When earth with all her floral train doth woo thee, +And all old poets and old songs adore thee; +And love to thee is naught; from passionate mood +Secured by joy's complacent plenitude! + +Aubrey Thomas de Vere [1814-1902] + + +"IT IS NOT BEAUTY I DEMAND" + +It is not Beauty I demand, +A crystal brow, the moon's despair, +Nor the snow's daughter, a white hand, +Nor mermaid's yellow pride of hair: + +Tell me not of your starry eyes, +Your lips that seem on roses fed, +Your breasts, where Cupid tumbling lies +Nor sleeps for kissing of his bed: - + +A bloomy pair of vermeil cheeks +Like Hebe's in her ruddiest hours, +A breath that softer music speaks +Than summer winds a-wooing flowers, - + +These are but gauds: nay, what are lips? +Coral beneath the ocean-stream, +Whose brink when your adventurer sips +Full oft he perisheth on them. + +And what are cheeks but ensigns oft +That wave hot youth to fields of blood? +Did Helen's breast, though ne'er so soft, +Do Greece or Ilium any good? + +Eyes can with baleful ardor burn; +Poison can breathe, that erst perfumed; +There's many a white hand holds an urn +With lovers' hearts to dust consumed. + +For crystal brows - there's naught within; +They are but empty cells for pride; +He who the Siren's hair would win +Is mostly strangled in the tide. + +Give me, instead of Beauty's bust, +A tender heart, a loyal mind +Which with temptation I could trust, +Yet never linked with error find, - + +One in whose gentle bosom I +Could pour my secret heart of woes, +Like the care-burthened honey-fly +That hides his murmurs in the rose, - + +My earthly Comforter! whose love +So indefeasible might be +That, when my spirit won above, +Hers could not stay, for sympathy. + +George Darley [1795-1846] + + +SONG + +She is not fair to outward view +As many maidens be, +Her loveliness I never knew +Until she smiled on me; +Oh! then I saw her eye was bright, +A well of love, a spring of light. + +But now her looks are coy and cold, +To mine they ne'er reply, +And yet I cease not to behold +The love-light in her eye: +Her very frowns are fairer far +Than smiles of other maidens are. + +Hartley Coleridge [1796-1849] + + +SONG + +A violet in her lovely hair, +A rose upon her bosom fair! +But O, her eyes +A lovelier violet disclose, +And her ripe lips the sweetest rose +That's 'neath the skies. + +A lute beneath her graceful hand +Breathes music forth at her command; +But still her tongue +Far richer music calls to birth +Than all the minstrel power on earth +Can give to song. + +And thus she moves in tender light, +The purest ray, where all is bright, +Serene, and sweet; +And sheds a graceful influence round, +That hallows e'en the very ground +Beneath her feet! + +Charles Swain [1801-1874] + + +EILEEN AROON + +When like the early rose, +Eileen Aroon! +Beauty in childhood blows, +Eileen Aroon! +When, like a diadem, +Buds blush around the stem, +Which is the fairest gem? - +Eileen Aroon! + +Is it the laughing eye, +Eileen Aroon! +Is it the timid sigh, +Eileen Aroon! +Is it the tender tone, +Soft as the stringed harp's moan? +O, it is truth alone, - +Eileen Aroon! + +When like the rising day, +Eileen Aroon! +Love sends his early ray, +Eileen Aroon! +What makes his dawning glow, +Changeless through joy or woe? +Only the constant know: - +Eileen Aroon! + +I know a valley fair, +Eileen Aroon! +I knew a cottage there, +Eileen Aroon! +Far in that valley's shade +I knew a gentle maid, +Flower of a hazel glade, - +Eileen Aroon! + +Who in the song so sweet? +Eileen Aroon! +Who in the dance so fleet? +Eileen Aroon! +Dear were her charms to me +Dearer her laughter free, +Dearest her constancy, - +Eileen Aroon! + +Were she no longer true, +Eileen Aroon! +What should her lover do? +Eileen Aroon! +Fly with his broken chain +Far o'er the sounding main, +Never to love again, - +Eileen Aroon! + +Youth must with time decay, +Eileen Aroon! +Beauty must fade away, +Eileen Aroon! +Castles are sacked in war, +Chieftains are scattered far, +Truth is a fixed star, - +Eileen Aroon! + +Gerald Griffin [1803-1840] + + +ANNIE LAURIE + +Maxwelton braes are bonnie +Where early fa's the dew, +And it's there that Annie Laurie +Gie'd me her promise true - +Gie'd me her promise true, +Which ne'er forgot will be; +And for bonnie Annie Laurie +I'd lay me doun and dee. + +Her brow is like the snaw-drift; +Her throat is like the swan; +Her face it is the fairest +That e'er the sun shone on - +That e'er the sun shone on - +And dark blue is her ee; +And for bonnie Annie Laurie +I'd lay me doun and dee. + +Like dew on the gowan lying +Is the fa' o' her fairy feet; +And like the winds in summer sighing, +Her voice is low and sweet - +Her voice is low and sweet - +And she's a' the world to me; +And for bonnie Annie Laurie +I'd lay me doun and dee. + +William Douglas [1672?-1748] + + +TO HELEN + +Helen, thy beauty is to me +Like those Nicaean barks of yore, +That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, +The weary, wayworn wanderer bore +To his own native shore. + +On desperate seas long wont to roam, +Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, +Thy Naiad airs, have brought me home +To the glory that was Greece +And the grandeur that was Rome. + +Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche +How statue-like I see thee stand, +The agate lamp within thy hand! +Ah, Psyche, from the regions which +Are Holy Land! + +Edgar Allan Poe [1809-1849] + + +"A VOICE BY THE CEDAR TREE" +From "Maud" + +I +A voice by the cedar tree, +In the meadow under the Hall! +She is singing an air that is known to me, +A passionate ballad gallant and gay, +A martial song like a trumpet's call! +Singing alone in the morning of life, +In the happy morning of life and of May, +Singing of men that in battle array, +Ready in heart and ready in hand, +March with banner and bugle and fife +To the death, for their native land. + +II +Maud with her exquisite face, +And wild voice pealing up to the sunny sky, +And feet like sunny gems on an English green, +Maud in the light of her youth and her grace, +Singing of Death, and of Honor that cannot die, +Till I well could weep for a time so sordid and mean, +And myself so languid and base. + +III +Silence, beautiful voice! +Be still, for you only trouble the mind +With a joy in which I cannot rejoice, +A glory I shall not find. +Still! I will hear you no more, +For your sweetness hardly leaves me a choice +But to move to the meadow and fall before +Her feet on the meadow grass, and adore, +Not her, who is neither courtly nor kind, +Not her, not her, but a voice. + +Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] + + +SONG + +Nay but you, who do not love her, +Is she not pure gold, my mistress? +Holds earth aught - speak truth - above her? +Aught like this tress, see, and this tress, +And this last fairest tress of all, +So fair, see, ere I let it fall? + +Because you spend your lives in praising; +To praise, you search the wide world over: +Then why not witness, calmly gazing, +If earth holds aught - speak truth - above her? +Above this tress, and this, I touch +But cannot praise, I love so much! + +Robert Browning [1812-1889] + + +THE HENCHMAN + +My lady walks her morning round, +My lady's page her fleet greyhound, +My lady's hair the fond winds stir, +And all the birds make songs for her. + +Her thrushes sing in Rathburn bowers, +And Rathburn side is gay with flowers; +But ne'er like hers, in flower or bird, +Was beauty seen or music heard. + +The distance of the stars is hers; +The least of all her worshipers, +The dust beneath her dainty heel, +She knows not that I see or feel. + +Oh, proud and calm! - she cannot know +Where'er she goes with her I go; +Oh, cold and fair! - she cannot guess +I kneel to share her hound's caress! + +Gay knights beside her hunt and hawk, +I rob their ears of her sweet talk; +Her suitors come from east and west, +I steal her smiles from every guest. + +Unheard of her, in loving words, +I greet her with the song of birds; +I reach her with her green-armed bowers, +I kiss her with the lips of flowers. + +The hound and I are on her trail, +The wind and I uplift her veil; +As if the calm, cold moon she were, +And I the tide, I follow her. + +As unrebuked as they, I share +The license of the sun and air, +And in a common homage hide +My worship from her scorn and pride. + +World-wide apart, and yet so near, +I breathe her charmed atmosphere, +Wherein to her my service brings +The reverence due to holy things. + +Her maiden pride, her haughty name, +My dumb devotion shall not shame; +The love that no return doth crave +To knightly levels lifts the slave. + +No lance have I, in joust or fight, +To splinter in my lady's sight; +But, at her feet, how blest were I +For any need of hers to die! + +John Greenleaf Whittier [1807-1892] + + +LOVELY MARY DONNELLY + +Oh, lovely Mary Donnelly, it's you I love the best! +If fifty girls were round you I'd hardly see the rest. +Be what it may the time of day, the place be where it will, +Sweet looks of Mary Donnelly, they bloom before me still. + +Her eyes like mountain water that's flowing on a rock, +How clear they are, how dark they are! they give me many a shock. +Red rowans warm in sunshine and wetted with a shower, +Could ne'er express the charming lip that has me in its power. + +Her nose is straight and handsome, her eyebrows lifted up, +Her chin is very neat and pert, and smooth like a china cup, +Her hair's the brag of Ireland, so weighty and so fine; +It's rolling down upon her neck, and gathered in a twine. + +The dance o' last Whit-Monday night exceeded all before; +No pretty girl for miles about was missing from the floor; +But Mary kept the belt of love, and O but she was gay! +She danced a jig, she sung a song, that took my heart away. + +When she stood up for dancing, her steps were so complete, +The music nearly killed itself to listen to her feet; +The fiddler moaned his blindness, he heard her so much praised, +But blessed his luck he wasn't deaf when once her voice she raised. + +And evermore I'm whistling or lilting what you sung, +Your smile is always in my heart, your name beside my tongue; +But you've as many sweethearts as you'd count on both your hands, +And for myself there's not a thumb or little finger stands. + +Oh, you're the flower o' womankind in country or in town; +The higher I exalt you, the lower I'm cast down. +If some great lord should come this way, and see your beauty bright, +And you to be his lady, I'd own it was but right. + +O might we live together in a lofty palace hall, +Where joyful music rises, and where scarlet curtains fall! +O might we live together in a cottage mean and small, +With sods of grass the only roof, and mud the only wall! + +O lovely Mary Donnelly, your beauty's my distress: +It's far too beauteous to be mine, but I'll never wish it less. +The proudest place would fit your face, and I am poor and low; +But blessings be about you, dear, wherever you may go! + +William Allingham [1824-1889] + + +LOVE IN THE VALLEY + +Under yonder beech-tree single on the green-sward, +Couched with her arms behind her golden head, +Knees and tresses folded to slip and ripple idly, +Lies my young love sleeping in the shade. +Had I the heart to slide an arm beneath her, +Press her parting lips as her waist I gather slow, +Waking in amazement she could not but embrace me: +Then would she hold me and never let me go? + +Shy as the squirrel and wayward as the swallow, +Swift as the swallow along the river's light +Circleting the surface to meet his mirrored winglets, +Fleeter she seems in her stay than in her flight. +Shy as the squirrel that leaps among the pine-tops, +Wayward as the swallow overhead at set of sun, +She whom I love is hard to catch and conquer, +Hard, but O the glory of the winning were she won! + +When her mother tends her before the laughing mirror, +Tying up her laces, looping up her hair, +Often she thinks, were this wild thing wedded, +More love should I have, and much less care. +When her mother tends her before the lighted mirror, +Loosening her laces, combing down her curls, +Often she thinks, were this wild thing wedded, +I should miss but one for many boys and girls. + +Heartless she is as the shadow in the meadows, +Flying to the hills on a blue and breezy noon. +No, she is athirst and drinking up her wonder: +Earth to her is young as the slip of the new moon. +Deals she an unkindness, 'tis but her rapid measure, +Even as in a dance; and her smile can heal no less: +Like the swinging May-cloud that pelts the flowers with hailstones +Off a sunny border, she was made to bruise and bless. + +Lovely are the curves of the white owl sweeping +Wavy in the dusk lit by one large star. +Lone on the fir-branch, his rattle-note unvaried, +Brooding o'er the gloom, spins the brown eve-jar. +Darker grows the valley, more and more forgetting: +So were it with me if forgetting could be willed. +Tell the grassy hollow that holds the bubbling well-spring, +Tell it to forget the source that keeps it filled. + +Stepping down the hill with her fair companions, +Arm in arm, all against the raying West, +Boldly she sings, to the merry tune she marches; +Brave in her shape, and sweeter unpossessed. +Sweeter, for she is what my heart first awaking +Whispered the world was; morning light is she. +Love that so desires would fain keep her changeless; +Fain would fling the net, and fain have her free. + +Happy happy time, when the white star hovers +Low over dim fields fresh with bloomy dew, +Near the face of dawn, that draws athwart the darkness, +Threading it with color, like yewberries the yew. +Thicker crowd the shades as the grave East deepens +Glowing, and with crimson a long cloud swells. +Maiden still the morn is; and strange she is, and secret; +Strange her eyes; her cheeks are cold as cold sea-shells. + +Sunrays, leaning on our southern hills and lighting +Wild cloud-mountains that drag the hills along, +Oft ends the day of your shifting brilliant laughter +Chill as a dull face frowning on a song. +Ay, but shows the South-west a ripple-feathered bosom +Blown to silver while the clouds are shaken and ascend +Scaling the mid-heavens as they stream, there comes a sunset +Rich, deep like love in beauty without end. + +When at dawn she sighs, and like an infant to the window +Turns grave eyes craving light, released from dreams, +Beautiful she looks, like a white water-lily +Bursting out of bud in havens of the streams. +When from bed she rises clothed from neck to ankle +In her long nightgown sweet as boughs of May, +Beautiful she looks, like a tall garden-lily +Pure from the night, and splendid for the day. + +Mother of the dews, dark eye-lashed twilight, +Low-lidded twilight, o'er the valley's brim, +Rounding on thy breast sings the dew-delighted skylark, +Clear as though the dewdrops had their voice in him. +Hidden where the rose-flush drinks the rayless planet, +Fountain-full he pours the spraying fountain-showers. +Let me hear her laughter, I would have her ever +Cool as dew in twilight, the lark above the flowers. + +All the girls are out with their baskets for the primrose; +Up lanes, woods through, they troop in joyful bands. +My sweet leads: she knows not why, but now she loiters, +Eyes the bent anemones, and hangs her hands. +Such a look will tell that the violets are peeping, +Coming the rose: and unaware a cry +Springs in her bosom for odors and for color, +Covert and the nightingale; she knows not why. + +Kerchiefed head and chin she darts between her tulips, +Streaming like a willow gray in arrowy rain: +Some bend beaten cheek to gravel, and their angel +She will be; she lifts them, and on she speeds again. +Black the driving rain cloud breasts the iron gateway: +She is forth to cheer a neighbor lacking mirth. +So when sky and grass met rolling dumb for thunder +Saw I once a white dove, sole light of earth. + +Prim little scholars are the flowers of her garden, +Trained to stand in rows, and asking if they please. +I might love them well but for loving more the wild ones: +O my wild ones! they tell me more than these. +You, my wild one, you tell of honied field-rose, +Violet, blushing eglantine in life; and even as they, +They by the wayside are earnest of your goodness, +You are of life's, on the banks that line the way. + +Peering at her chamber the white crowns the red rose, +Jasmine winds the porch with stars two and three. +Parted is the window; she sleeps; the starry jasmine +Breathes a falling breath that carries thoughts of me. +Sweeter unpossessed, have I said of her my sweetest? +Not while she sleeps: while she sleeps the jasmine breathes, +Luring her to love: she sleeps; the starry jasmine +Bears me to her pillow under white rose-wreaths. + +Yellow with birdfoot-trefoil are the grass-glades; +Yellow with cinquefoil of the dew-gray leaf; +Yellow with stonecrop; the moss-mounds are yellow; +Blue-necked the wheat sways, yellowing to the sheaf. +Green-yellow bursts from the copse the laughing yaffle; +Sharp as a sickle is the edge of shade and shine: +Earth in her heart laughs looking at the heavens, +Thinking of the harvest: I look and think of mine. + +This I may know: her dressing and undressing +Such a change of light shows as when the skies in sport +Shift from cloud to moonlight; or edging over thunder +Slips a ray of sun; or sweeping into port +White sails furl; or on the ocean borders +White sails lean along the waves leaping green. +Visions of her shower before me, but from eyesight +Guarded she would be like the sun were she seen. + +Front door and back of the mossed old farmhouse +Open with the morn, and in a breezy link +Freshly sparkles garden to stripe-shadowed orchard, +Green across a rill where on sand the minnows wink. +Busy in the grass the early sun of summer +Swarms, and the blackbird's mellow fluting notes +Call my darling up with round and roguish challenge: +Quaintest, richest carol of all the singing throats! + +Cool was the woodside; cool as her white dairy +Keeping sweet the cream-pan; and there the boys from school, +Cricketing below, rushed brown and red with sunshine; +O the dark translucence of the deep-eyed cool! +Spying from the farm, herself she fetched a pitcher +Full of milk, and tilted for each in turn the beak. +Then a little fellow, mouth up and on tiptoe, +Said, "I will kiss you": she laughed and leaned her cheek. + +Doves of the fir-wood walling high our red roof +Through the long noon coo, crooning through the coo. +Loose droop the leaves, and down the sleepy roadway +Sometimes pipes a chaffinch; loose droops the blue. +Cows flap a slow tail knee-deep in the river, +Breathless, given up to sun and gnat and fly. +Nowhere is she seen; and if I see her nowhere, +Lightning may come, straight rains and tiger sky. + +O the golden sheaf, the rustling treasure-armful! +O the nutbrown tresses nodding interlaced! +O the treasure-tresses one another over +Nodding! O the girdle slack about the waist! +Slain are the poppies that shot their random scarlet +Quick amid the wheat-ears: wound about the waist, +Gathered, see these brides of Earth one blush of ripeness! +O the nutbrown tresses nodding interlaced. + +Large and smoky red the sun's cold disk drops, +Clipped by naked hills, on violet shaded snow: +Eastward large and still lights up a bower of moonrise, +Whence at her leisure steps the moon aglow. +Nightlong on black print-branches our beech-tree +Gazes in this whiteness: nightlong could I. +Here may life on death or death on life be painted. +Let me clasp her soul to know she cannot die! + +Gossips count her faults; they scour a narrow chamber +Where there is no window, read not heaven or her. +"When she was a tiny," one aged woman quavers, +Plucks at my heart and leads me by the ear. +Faults she had once as she learned to run and tumbled: +Faults of feature some see, beauty not complete. +Yet, good gossips, beauty that makes holy +Earth and air, may have faults from head to feet. + +Hither she comes; she comes to me; she lingers, +Deepens her brown eyebrows, while in new surprise +High rise the lashes in wonder of a stranger; +Yet am I the light and living of her eyes. +Something friends have told her fills her heart to brimming, +Nets her in her blushes, and wounds her, and tames. - +Sure of her haven, O like a dove alighting, +Arms up, she dropped: our souls were in our names. + +Soon will she lie like a white frost sunrise. +Yellow oats and brown wheat, barley pale as rye, +Long since your sheaves have yielded to the thresher, +Felt the girdle loosened, seen the tresses fly. +Soon will she lie like a blood-red sunset. +Swift with the to-morrow, green-winged Spring! +Sing from the South-west, bring her back the truants, +Nightingale and swallow, song and dipping wing. + +Soft new beech-leaves, up to beamy April +Spreading bough on bough a primrose mountain, you, +Lucid in the moon, raise lilies to the skyfields, +Youngest green transfused in silver shining through: +Fairer than the lily, than the wild white cherry: +Fair as in image my seraph love appears +Borne to me by dreams when dawn is at my eyelids: +Fair as in the flesh she swims to me on tears. + +Could I find a place to be alone with heaven, +I would speak my heart out: heaven is my need. +Every woodland tree is flushing like the dogwood, +Flashing like the whitebeam, swaying like the reed. +Flushing like the dogwood crimson in October; +Streaming like the flag-reed South-west blown; +Flashing as in gusts the sudden-lighted whitebeam: +All seem to know what is for heaven alone. + +George Meredith [1828-1909] + + +MARIAN + +She can be as wise as we, +And wiser when she wishes; +She can knit with cunning wit, +And dress the homely dishes. +She can flourish staff or pen, +And deal a wound that lingers; +She can talk the talk of men, +And touch with thrilling fingers. + +Match her ye across the sea, +Natures fond and fiery; +Ye who zest the turtle's nest +With the eagle's eyrie. +Soft and loving is her soul, +Swift and lofty soaring; +Mixing with its dove-like dole +Passionate adoring. + +Such a she who'll match with me? +In flying or pursuing, +Subtle wiles are in her smiles +To set the world a-wooing. +She is steadfast as a star, +And yet the maddest maiden: +She can wage a gallant war, +And give the peace of Eden. + +George Meredith [1828-1909] + + +PRAISE OF MY LADY + +My lady seems of ivory +Forehead, straight nose, and cheeks that be +Hollowed a little mournfully. +Beata mea Domina! + +Her forehead, overshadowed much +By bows of hair, has a wave such +As God was good to make for me. +Beata mea Domina! + +Not greatly long my lady's hair, +Nor yet with yellow color fair, +But thick and crisped wonderfully: +Beata mea Domina! + +Heavy to make the pale face sad, +And dark, but dead as though it had +Been forged by God most wonderfully +Beata mea Domina! + +Of some strange metal, thread by thread, +To stand out from my lady's head, +Not moving much to tangle me. +Beata mea Domina! + +Beneath her brows the lids fall slow, +The lashes a clear shadow throw +Where I would wish my lips to be. +Beata mea Domina! + +Her great eyes, standing far apart, +Draw up some memory from her heart, +And gaze out very mournfully; +Beata mea Domina! + +So beautiful and kind they are, +But most times looking out afar, +Waiting for something, not for me. +Beata mea Domina! + +I wonder if the lashes long +Are those that do her bright eyes wrong, +For always half tears seem to be +Beata mea Domina! + +Lurking below the underlid, +Darkening the place where they lie hid: +If they should rise and flow for me! +Beata mea Domina! + +Her full lips being made to kiss, +Curled up and pensive each one is; +This makes me faint to stand and see. +Beata mea Domina! + +Her lips are not contented now, +Because the hours pass so slow +Towards a sweet time: (pray for me), +Beata mea Domina! + +Nay, hold thy peace! for who can tell? +But this at least I know full well, +Her lips are parted longingly, +Beata mea Domina! + +So passionate and swift to move, +To pluck at any flying love, +That I grow faint to stand and see. +Beata mea Domina! + +Yea! there beneath them is her chin, +So fine and round, it were a sin +To feel no weaker when I see +Beata mea Domina! + +God's dealings; for with so much care +And troublous, faint lines wrought in there, +He finishes her face for me. +Beata mea Domina! + +Of her long neck what shall I say? +What things about her body's sway, +Like a knight's pennon or slim tree +Beata mea Domina! + +Set gently waving in the wind; +Or her long hands that I may find +On some day sweet to move o'er me? +Beata mea Domina! + +God pity me though, if I missed +The telling, how along her wrist +The veins creep, dying languidly +Beata mea Domina! + +Inside her tender palm and thin. +Now give me pardon, dear, wherein +My voice is weak and vexes thee. +Beata mea Domina! + +All men that see her any time, +I charge you straightly in this rhyme, +What, and wherever you may be, +Beata mea Domina! + +To kneel before her; as for me +I choke and grow quite faint to see +My lady moving graciously. +Beata mea Domina! + +William Morris [1834-1896] + + +MADONNA MIA + +Under green apple boughs +That never a storm will rouse, +My lady hath her house +Between two bowers; +In either of the twain +Red roses full of rain; +She hath for bondwomen +All kind of flowers. + +She hath no handmaid fair +To draw her curled gold hair +Through rings of gold that bear +Her whole hair's weight; +She hath no maids to stand +Gold-clothed on either hand; +In all that great green land +None is so great. + +She hath no more to wear +But one white hood of vair +Drawn over eyes and hair, +Wrought with strange gold, +Made for some great queen's head, +Some fair great queen since dead; +And one strait gown of red +Against the cold. + +Beneath her eyelids deep +Love lying seems asleep, +Love, swift to wake, to weep, +To laugh, to gaze; +Her breasts are like white birds, +And all her gracious words +As water-grass to herds +In the June-days. + +To her all dews that fall +And rains are musical; +Her flowers are fed from all, +Her joys from these; +In the deep-feathered firs +Their gift of joy is hers, +In the least breath that stirs +Across the trees. + +She grows with greenest leaves, +Ripens with reddest sheaves, +Forgets, remembers, grieves, +And is not sad; +The quiet lands and skies +Leave light upon her eyes; +None knows her, weak or wise, +Or tired or glad. + +None knows, none understands, +What flowers are like her hands; +Though you should search all lands +Wherein time grows, +What snows are like her feet, +Though his eyes burn with heat +Through gazing on my sweet, - +Yet no man knows. + +Only this thing is said; +That white and gold and red, +God's three chief words, man's bread +And oil and wine, +Were given her for dowers, +And kingdom of all hours, +And grace of goodly flowers +And various vine. + +This is my lady's praise: +God after many days +Wrought her in unknown ways, +In sunset lands; +This is my lady's birth; +God gave her might and mirth. +And laid his whole sweet earth +Between her hands. + +Under deep apple boughs +My lady hath her house; +She wears upon her brows +The flower thereof; +All saying but what God saith +To her is as vain breath; +She is more strong than death, +Being strong as love. + +Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909] + + +"MEET WE NO ANGELS, PANSIE?" + +Came, on a Sabbath morn, my sweet, +In white, to find her lover; +The grass grew proud beneath her feet, +The green elm-leaves above her: - +Meet we no angels, Pansie? + +She said, "We meet no angels now"; +And soft lights streamed upon her; +And with white hand she touched a bough; +She did it that great honor: - +What! meet no angels, Pansie? + +O sweet brown hat, brown hair, brown eyes, +Down-dropped brown eyes, so tender! +Then what said I? - gallant replies +Seem flattery, and offend her: - +But, - meet we no angels, Pansie? + +Thomas Ashe [1836-1889] + + +TO DAPHNE + +Like apple-blossoms, white and red; +Like hues of dawn, which fly too soon; +Like bloom of peach, so softly spread; +Like thorn of May and rose of June - +Oh, sweet! oh, fair! beyond compare, +Are Daphne's cheeks, +Are Daphne's blushing cheeks, I swear. + +That pretty rose, which comes and goes +Like April sunshine in the sky, +I can command it when I choose - +See how it rises if I cry: +Oh, sweet! oh, fair! beyond compare, +Are Daphne's cheeks, +Are Daphne's blushing cheeks, I swear. + +Ah! when it lies round lips and eyes, +And fades away, again to spring, +No lover, sure, could ask for more +Than still to cry, and still to sing: +Oh, sweet! oh, fair! beyond compare, +Are Daphne's cheeks, +Are Daphne's blushing cheeks, I swear. + +Walter Besant [1836-1901] + + +"GIRL OF THE RED MOUTH" + +Girl of the red mouth, +Love me! Love me! +Girl of the red mouth, +Love me! +'Tis by its curve, I know, +Love fashioneth his bow, +And bends it - ah, even so! +Oh, girl of the red mouth, love me! + +Girl of the blue eye, +Love me! Love me! +Girl of the dew eye, +Love me! +Worlds hang for lamps on high; +And thought's world lives in thy +Lustrous and tender eye - +Oh, girl of the blue eye, love me! + +Girl of the swan's neck, +Love me! Love me! +Girl of the swan's neck, +Love me! +As a marble Greek doth grow +To his steed's back of snow, +Thy white neck sits thy shoulder so, - +Oh, girl of the swan's neck, love me! + +Girl of the low voice, +Love me! Love me! +Girl of the sweet voice, +Love me! +Like the echo of a bell, - +Like the bubbling of a well, - +Sweeter! Love within doth dwell, - +Oh, girl of the low voice, love me! + +Martin MacDermott [1823-1905] + + +THE DAUGHTER OF MENDOZA + +O lend to me, sweet nightingale, +Your music by the fountain, +And lend to me your cadences, +O river of the mountain! +That I may sing my gay brunette, +A diamond spark in coral set, +Gem for a prince's coronet - +The daughter of Mendoza. + +How brilliant is the morning star, +The evening star how tender, - +The light of both is in her eyes, +Their softness and their splendor. +But for the lash that shades their light +They were too dazzling for the sight, +And when she shuts them, all is night - +The daughter of Mendoza. + +O ever bright and beauteous one, +Bewildering and beguiling, +The lute is in thy silvery tones, +The rainbow in thy smiling; +And thine, is, too, o'er hill and dell, +The bounding of the young gazelle, +The arrow's flight and ocean's swell - +Sweet daughter of Mendoza! + +What though, perchance, we no more meet, - +What though too soon we sever? +Thy form will float like emerald light +Before my vision ever. +For who can see and then forget +The glories of my gay brunette - +Thou art too bright a star to set, +Sweet daughter of Mendoza! + +Mirabeau Bonaparte Lamar [1798-1859] + + +"IF SHE BE MADE OF WHITE AND RED" + +If she be made of white and red, +As all transcendent beauty shows; +If heaven be blue above her head, +And earth be golden, as she goes: +Nay, then thy deftest words restrain; +Tell not that beauty, it is vain. + +If she be filled with love and scorn, +As all divinest natures are; +If 'twixt her lips such words are born, +As can but Heaven or Hell confer: +Bid Love be still, nor ever speak, +Lest he his own rejection seek. + +Herbert P. Horne [1864- + + +THE LOVER'S SONG + +Lend me thy fillet, Love! +I would no longer see: +Cover mine eyelids close awhile, +And make me blind like thee. + +Then might I pass her sunny face, +And know not it was fair; +Then might I hear her voice, nor guess +Her starry eyes were there. + +Ah! banished so from stars and sun - +Why need it be my fate? +If only she might dream me good +And wise, and be my mate! + +Lend her thy fillet, Love! +Let her no longer see: +If there is hope for me at all, +She must be blind like thee. + +Edward Rowland Sill [1841-1887] + + +"WHEN FIRST I SAW HER" + +When first I saw her, at the stroke +The heart of nature in me spoke; +The very landscape smiled more sweet, +Lit by her eyes, pressed by her feet; +She made the stars of heaven more bright +By sleeping under them at night; +And fairer made the flowers of May +By being lovelier than they. + +O, soft, soft, where the sunshine spread, +Dark in the grass I laid my head; +And let the lights of earth depart +To find her image in my heart; +Then through my being came and went +Tones of some heavenly instrument, +As if where its blind motions roll +The world should wake and be a soul. + +George Edward Woodberry [1855-1930] + + +MY APRIL LADY + +When down the stair at morning +The sunbeams round her float, +Sweet rivulets of laughter +Are rippling in her throat; +The gladness of her greeting +Is gold without alloy; +And in the morning sunlight +I think her name is Joy. + +When in the evening twilight +The quiet book-room lies, +We read the sad old ballads, +While from her hidden eyes +The tears are falling, falling, +That give her heart relief; +And in the evening twilight, +I think her name is Grief. + +My little April lady, +Of sunshine and of showers +She weaves the old spring magic, +And breaks my heart in flowers! +But when her moods are ended, +She nestles like a dove; +Then, by the pain and rapture, +I know her name is Love. + +Henry Van Dyke [1852-1933] + + +THE MILKMAID +A New Song To An Old Tune + +Across the grass I see her pass; +She comes with tripping pace, - +A maid I know, - and March winds blow +Her hair across her face; - +With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly! +Dolly shall be mine, +Before the spray is white with May, +Or blooms the eglantine. + +The March winds blow. I watch her go: +Her eye is brown and clear; +Her cheek is brown, and soft as down, +(To those who see it near!) - +With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly! +Dolly shall be mine, +Before the spray is white with May, +Or blooms the eglantine. + +What has she not that those have got, - +The dames that walk in silk! +If she undo her kerchief blue, +Her neck is white as milk. +With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly! +Dolly shall be mine, +Before the spray is white with May, +Or blooms the eglantine. + +Let those who will be proud and chill! +For me, from June to June, +My Dolly's words are sweet as curds - +Her laugh is like a tune; - +With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly! +Dolly shall be mine, +Before the spray is white with May, +Or blooms the eglantine. + +Break, break to hear, O crocus-spear! +O tall Lent-lilies flame! +There'll be a bride at Easter-tide, +And Dolly is her name. +With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly! +Dolly shall be mine, +Before the spray is white with May, +Or blooms the eglantine. + +Austin Dobson [1840-1921] + + +SONG + +This peach is pink with such a pink +As suits the peach divinely; +The cunning color rarely spread +Fades to the yellow finely; +But where to spy the truest pink +Is in my Love's soft cheek, I think. + +The snowdrop, child of windy March, +Doth glory in her whiteness; +Her golden neighbors, crocuses, +Unenvious praise her brightness! +But I do know where, out of sight, +My sweetheart keeps a warmer white. + +Norman Gale [1862- + + +IN FEBRUARY + +My Lady's birthday crowns the growing year; +A flower of Spring before the Spring is here; +To sing of her and this fair day to keep +The very Loves forsake their Winter sleep; +Where'er she goes their circling wings they spread, +And shower celestial roses o'er her head. +I, too, would chant her worth and dare to raise +A hymn to what's beyond immortal praise. +Go, little verse, and lay in vesture meet +Of poesy, my homage at her feet. + +Henry Simpson [1868- + + +"LOVE, I MARVEL WHAT YOU ARE" + +Love, I marvel what you are! +Heaven in a pearl of dew, +Lilies hearted with a star - +All are you. + +Spring along your forehead shines +And the summer blooms your breast. +Graces of autumnal vines +Round you rest. + +Birds about a limpid rose +Making song and light of wing +While the warm wind sunny blows, - +So you sing. + +Darling, if the little dust, +That I know is merely I, +Have availed to win your trust, +Let me die. + +Trumbull Stickney [1874-1904] + + +BALLADE OF MY LADY'S BEAUTY + +Squire Adam had two wives, they say, +Two wives had he for his delight; +He kissed and clypt them all the day, +And clypt and kissed them all the night. +Now Eve like ocean foam was white, +And Lilith, roses dipped in wine, +But though they were a goodly sight, +No lady is so fair as mine. + +To Venus some folk tribute pay, +And Queen of Beauty she is hight, +And Sainte Marie the world doth sway, +In cerule napery bedight. +My wonderment these twain invite, +Their comeliness it is divine; +And yet I say in their despite, +No lady is so fair as mine. + +Dame Helen caused a grievous fray, +For love of her brave men did fight, +The eyes of her made sages fey +And put their hearts in woeful plight. +To her no rhymes will I indite, +For her no garlands will I twine; +Though she be made of flowers and light, +No lady is so fair as mine. + +L'ENVOI +Prince Eros, Lord of lovely might, +Who on Olympus doth recline, +Do I not tell the truth aright? +No lady is so fair as mine. + +Joyce Kilmer [1886-1918] + + +URSULA + +I see her in the festal warmth to-night, +Her rest all grace, her motion all delight. +Endowed with all the woman's arts that please, +In her soft gown she seems a thing of ease, +Whom sorrow may not reach or evil blight. + +To-morrow she will toil from floor to floor +To smile upon the unreplying poor, +To stay the tears of widows, and to be +Confessor to men's erring hearts . . . ah me! +She knows not I am beggar at her door. + +Robert Underwood Johnson [1853- + + +VILLANELLE OF HIS LADY'S TREASURES + +I took her dainty eyes, as well +As silken tendrils of her hair: +And so I made a Villanelle! + +I took her voice, a silver bell, +As clear as song, as soft as prayer; +I took her dainty eyes as well. + +It may be, said I, who can tell, +These things shall be my less despair? +And so I made a Villanelle! + +I took her whiteness virginal +And from her cheeks two roses rare: +I took her dainty eyes as well. + +I said: "It may be possible +Her image from my heart to tear!" +And so I made a Villanelle! + +I stole her laugh, most musical: +I wrought it in with artful care; +I took her dainty eyes as well; +And so I made a Villanelle. + +Ernest Dowson [1867-1900] + + +SONG + +Love, by that loosened hair +Well now I know +Where the lost Lilith went +So long ago. + +Love, by those starry eyes +I understand +How the sea maidens lure +Mortals from land. + +Love, by that welling laugh +Joy claims his own +Sea-born and wind-wayward +Child of the sun. + +Bliss Carman [1861-1929] + + +SONG + +O, like a queen's her happy tread, +And like a queen's her golden head! +But O, at last, when all is said, +Her woman's heart for me! + +We wandered where the river gleamed +'Neath oaks that mused and pines that dreamed, +A wild thing of the woods she seemed, +So proud, and pure, and free! + +All heaven drew nigh to hear her sing, +When from her lips her soul took wing; +The oaks forgot their pondering, +The pines their reverie. + +And O, her happy, queenly tread, +And O, her queenly golden head! +But O, her heart, when all is said, +Her woman's heart for me! + +William Watson [1858-1935] + + +ANY LOVER, ANY LASS + +Why are her eyes so bright, so bright, +Why do her lips control +The kisses of a summer night, +When I would love her soul? + +God set her brave eyes wide apart +And painted them with fire; +They stir the ashes of my heart +To embers of desire. + +Her lips so tenderly are wrought +In so divine a shape, +That I am servant to my thought +And can no wise escape. + +Her body is a flower, her hair +About her neck doth play; +I find her colors everywhere, +They are the pride of day. + +Her little hands are soft, and when +I see her fingers move +I know in very truth that men +Have died for less than love. + +Ah, dear, live, lovely thing! my eyes +Have sought her like a prayer; +It is my better self that cries +"Would she were not so fair!" + +Would I might forfeit ecstasy +And find a calmer place, +Where I might undesirous see +Her too desired face: + +Nor find her eyes so bright, so bright, +Nor hear her lips unroll +Dream after dream the lifelong night, +When I would love her soul. + +Richard Middleton [1882-1911] + + +SONGS ASCENDING + +Love has been sung a thousand ways - +So let it be; +The songs ascending in your praise +Through all my days +Are three. + +Your cloud-white body first I sing; +Your love was heaven's blue, +And I, a bird, flew carolling +In ring on ring +Of you. + +Your nearness is the second song; +When God began to be, +And bound you strongly, right or wrong, +With his own thong, +To me. + +But oh, the song, eternal, high, +That tops these two! - +You live forever, you who die, +I am not I +But you. + +Witter Bynner [1881- + + +SONG + +"Oh! Love," they said, "is King of Kings, +And Triumph is his crown. +Earth fades in flame before his wings, +And Sun and Moon bow down." - +But that, I knew, would never do; +And Heaven is all too high. +So whenever I meet a Queen, I said, +I will not catch her eye. + +"Oh! Love," they said, and "Love," they said, +"The gift of Love is this; +A crown of thorns about thy head, +And vinegar to thy kiss!" - +But Tragedy is not for me; +And I'm content to be gay. +So whenever I spied a Tragic Lady, +I went another way. + +And so I never feared to see +You wander down the street, +Or come across the fields to me +On ordinary feet. +For what they'd never told me of, +And what I never knew; +It was that all the time, my love, +Love would be merely you. + +Rupert Brooke [1887-1915] + + +SONG + +How do I love you? +I do not know. +Only because of you +Gladly I go. + +Only because of you +Labor is sweet, +And all the song of you +Sings in my feet. + +Only the thought of you +Trembles and lies +Just where the world begins - +Under my eyes. + +Irene Rutherford McLeod [1891- + + +TO. . . IN CHURCH + +If I was drawn here from a distant place, +'Twas not to pray nor hear our friend's address, +But, gazing once more on your winsome face, +To worship there Ideal Loveliness. +On that pure shrine that has too long ignored +The gifts that once I brought so frequently +I lay this votive offering, to record +How sweet your quiet beauty seemed to me. +Enchanting girl, my faith is not a thing +By futile prayers and vapid psalm-singing +To vent in crowded nave and public pew. +My creed is simple: that the world is fair, +And beauty the best thing to worship there, +And I confess it by adoring you. + +Alan Seeger [1888-1916] + + +AFTER TWO YEARS + +She is all so slight +And tender and white +As a May morning. +She walks without hood +At dusk. It is good +To hear her sing. + +It is God's will +That I shall love her still +As He loves Mary. +And night and day +I will go forth to pray +That she love me. + +She is as gold +Lovely, and far more cold. +Do thou pray with me, +For if I win grace +To kiss twice her face +God has done well to me. + +Richard Aldington [1892- + + +PRAISE + +Dear, they are praising your beauty, +The grass and the sky: +The sky in a silence of wonder, +The grass in a sigh. + +I too would sing for your praising, +Dearest, had I +Speech as the whispering grass, +Or the silent sky. + +These have an art for the praising +Beauty so high. +Sweet, you are praised in a silence, +Sung in a sigh. + +Seumas O'Sullivan [1879- + + + + + + + +PLAINTS AND PROTESTATIONS + + + + + + +"FORGET NOT YET" + The Lover Beseecheth His Mistress + Not To Forget His Steadfast Faith + And True Intent + +Forget not yet the tried intent +Of such a truth as I have meant: +My great travail so gladly spent, +Forget not yet! + +Forget not yet when first began +The weary life ye know, since when +The suit, the service, none tell can; +Forget not yet! + +Forget not yet the great assays, +The cruel wrong, the scornful ways, +The painful patience in delays, +Forget not yet! + +Forget not! O, forget not this! - +How long ago hath been, and is, +The mind that never meant amiss - +Forget not yet! + +Forget not then thine own approved, +The which so long hath thee so loved, +Whose steadfast faith yet never moved: +Forget not this! + +Thomas Wyatt [1503?-1542] + + +FAWNIA +From "Pandosto" + +Ah! were she pitiful as she is fair, +Or but as mild as she is seeming so, +Then were my hopes greater than my despair, +Then all the world were heaven, nothing woe. + +Ah! were her heart relenting as her hand, +That seems to melt even with the mildest touch, +Then knew I where to seat me in a land +Under wide heavens, but yet there is not such. +So as she shows she seems the budding rose, +Yet sweeter far than is an earthly flower; +Sovereign of beauty, like the spray she grows; +Compassed she is with thorns and cankered flower. +Yet were she willing to be plucked and worn, +She would be gathered, though she grew on thorn. + +Ah! when she sings, all music else be still, +For none must be compared to her note; +Ne'er breathed such glee from Philomela's bill, +Nor from the morning-singer's swelling throat. +Ah! when she riseth from her blissful bed +She comforts all the world as doth the sun, +And at her sight the night's foul vapor's fled; +When she is set the gladsome day is done. +O glorious sun, imagine me the west, +Shine in my arms, and set thou in my breast! + +Robert Greene [1560?-1592] + + +THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE + +Come live with me and be my Love, +And we will all the pleasures prove +That hills and valleys, dales and fields, +Or woods or steepy mountain yields. + +And we will sit upon the rocks, +And see the shepherds feed their flocks +By shallow rivers, to whose falls +Melodious birds sing madrigals. + +And I will make thee beds of roses +And a thousand fragrant posies; +A cap of flowers, and a kirtle +Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle. + +A gown made of the finest wool +Which from our pretty lambs we pull; +Fair-lined slippers for the cold, +With buckles of the purest gold. + +A belt of straw and ivy-buds +With coral clasps and amber studs: +And if these pleasures may thee move, +Come live with me and be my Love. + +The shepherd swains shall dance and sing +For thy delight each May morning: +If these delights thy mind may move, +Then live with me and be my Love. + +Christopher Marlowe [1564-1593] + + +THE NYMPH'S REPLY TO THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD + +If all the world and love were young, +And truth in every shepherd's tongue, +These pretty pleasures might me move +To live with thee, and be thy Love. + +But Time drives flocks from field to fold; +When rivers rage and rocks grow cold; +And Philomel becometh dumb; +The rest complains of cares to come. + +The flowers do fade, and wanton fields +To wayward Winter reckoning yields: +A honey tongue, a heart of gall, +Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. + +Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, +Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, +Soon break, soon wither, - soon forgotten, +In folly ripe, in reason rotten. + +Thy belt of straw and ivy-buds, +Thy coral clasps and amber studs, - +All these in me no means can move +To come to thee and be thy Love. + +But could youth last, and love still breed, +Had joys no date, nor age no need, +Then these delights my mind might move +To live with thee and be thy Love. + +Walter Raleigh [1552?-1618] + + +"WRONG NOT, SWEET EMPRESS OF MY HEART" + +Wrong not, sweet empress of my heart, +The merit of true passion, +With thinking that he feels no smart, +That sues for no compassion. + +Silence in love bewrays more woe +Than words, though ne'er so witty: +A beggar that is dumb, you know, +May challenge double pity. + +Then wrong not, dearest to my heart, +My true, though secret passion; +He smarteth most that hides his smart, +And sues for no compassion. + +Walter Raleigh [1552?-1618] + + +TO HIS COY LOVE + +I pray thee, leave, love me no more, +Call home the heart you gave me! +I but in vain that saint adore +That can but will not save me. +These poor half-kisses kill me quite - +Was ever man thus served: +Amidst an ocean of delight +For pleasure to be starved! + +Show me no more those snowy breasts +With azure riverets branched, +Where, whilst mine eye with plenty feasts, +Yet is my thirst not stanched; +O Tantalus, thy pains ne'er tell! +By me thou art prevented: +'Tis nothing to be plagued in Hell, +But thus in Heaven tormented. + +Clip me no more in those dear arms, +Nor thy life's comfort call me, +O these are but too powerful charms, +And do but more enthral me! +But see how patient I am grown +In all this coil about thee: +Come, nice thing, let my heart alone, +I cannot live without thee! + +Michael Drayton [1563-1631] + + +HER SACRED BOWER + +Where she her sacred bower adorns, +The rivers clearly flow, +The groves and meadows swell with flowers, +The winds all gently blow. +Her sun-like beauty shines so fair, +Her spring can never fade: +Who then can blame the life that strives +To harbor in her shade? + +Her grace I sought, her love I wooed; +Her love thought to obtain; +No time, no toil, no vow, no faith, +Her wished grace can gain. +Yet truth can tell my heart is hers +And her will I adore; +And from that love when I depart, +Let heaven view me no more! + +Her roses with my prayers shall spring; +And when her trees I praise, +Their boughs shall blossom, mellow fruit +Shall strew her pleasant ways. +The words of hearty zeal have power +High wonders to effect; +O, why should then her princely ear +My words or zeal neglect? + +If she my faith misdeems, or worth, +Woe worth my hapless fate! +For though time can my truth reveal, +That time will come too late. +And who can glory in the worth +That cannot yield him grace? +Content in everything is not, +Nor joy in every place. + +But from her Bower of Joy since I +Must now excluded be, +And she will not relieve my cares, +Which none can help but she; +My comfort in her love shall dwell, +Her love lodge in my breast, +And though not in her bower, yet I +Shall in her temple rest. + +Thomas Campion [ ? -1619] + + +TO LESBIA +After Catullus + +My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love, +And though the sager sort our deeds reprove, +Let us not weigh them. Heaven's great lamps do dive +Into their west, and straight again revive: +But soon as once set is our little light, +Then must we sleep one ever-during night. + +If all would lead their lives in love like me, +Then bloody swords and armor should not be; +No drum nor trumpet peaceful sleeps should move, +Unless alarm came from the Camp of Love: +But fools do live and waste their little light, +And seek with pain their ever-during night. + +When timely death my life and fortune ends, +Let not my hearse be vexed with mourning friends; +But let all lovers, rich in triumph, come +And with sweet pastimes grace my happy tomb: +And, Lesbia, close up thou my little light, +And crown with love my ever-during night. + +Thomas Campion [ ? -1619] + + +"LOVE ME OR NOT" + +Love me or not, love her I must or die; +Leave her or not, follow her needs must I. +O that her grace would my wished comforts give! +How rich in her, how happy should I live! + +All my desire, all my delight should be +Her to enjoy, her to unite to me; +Envy should cease, her would I love alone: +Who loves by looks, is seldom true to one. + +Could I enchant, and that it lawful were, +Her would I charm softly that none should hear; +But love enforced rarely yields firm content: +So would I love that neither should repent. + +Thomas Campion [ ? -1619] + + +"THERE IS NONE, O NONE BUT YOU" + +There is none, O none but you, +That from me estrange the sight, +Whom mine eyes affect to view, +And chained ears hear with delight. + +Other beauties others move: +In you I all graces find; +Such is the effect of Love, +To make them happy that are kind. + +Women in frail beauty trust, +Only seem you fair to me: +Still prove truly kind and just, +For that may not dissembled be. + +Sweet, afford me then your sight, +That, surveying all your looks, +Endless volumes I may write, +And fill the world with envied books: + +Which, when after-ages view, +All shall wonder and despair, - +Woman, to find a man so true, +Or man, a woman half so fair! + +Thomas Campion [ ? -1619] + + +OF CORINNA'S SINGING + +When to her lute Corinna sings, +Her voice revives the leaden strings, +And doth in highest notes appear, +As any challenged echo clear: +But when she doth of mourning speak, +E'en with her sighs, the strings do break. + +And as her lute doth live or die, +Led by her passion, so must I! +For when of pleasure she doth sing, +My thoughts enjoy a sudden spring: +But if she doth of sorrow speak, +E'en from my heart the strings do break. + +Thomas Campion [ ? -1619] + + +"WERE MY HEART AS SOME MEN'S ARE" + +Were my heart as some men's are, thy errors would not move me; +But thy faults I curious find, and speak because I love thee: +Patience is a thing divine, and far, I grant, above me. + +Foes sometimes befriend us more, our blacker deeds objecting, +Than the obsequious bosom-guest with false respect affecting: +Friendship is the Glass of Truth, our hidden stains detecting. + +When I use of eyes enjoy, and inward light of reason, +Thy observer will I be and censor, but in season: +Hidden mischief to conceal in State and Love is treason. + +Thomas Campion [ ? -1619] + + +"KIND ARE HER ANSWERS" + +Kind are her answers, +But her performance keeps no day; +Breaks time, as dancers +From their own music when they stray. +All her free favors +And smooth words wing my hopes in vain. +O, did ever voice so sweet but only feign? +Can true love yield such delay, +Converting joy to pain? + +Lost is our freedom +When we submit to women so: +Why do we need 'em +When, in their best, they work our woe? +There is no wisdom +Can alter ends by fate prefixed. +O, why is the good of man with evil mixed? +Never were days yet called two +But one night went betwixt. + +Thomas Campion [ ? -1619] + + +TO CELIA +From "The Forest" + +Drink to me only with thine eyes, +And I will pledge with mine; +Or leave a kiss but in the cup +And I'll not look for wine. +The thirst that from the soul doth rise +Doth ask a drink divine; +But might I of Jove's nectar sup, +I would not change for thine. + +I sent thee late a rosy wreath, +Not so much honoring thee +As giving it a hope that there +It could not withered be; +But thou thereon didst only breathe, +And sent'st it back to me; +Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, +Not of itself but thee! + +Ben Jonson [1573?-1637] + + +SONG +From "The Forest" + +O, do not wanton with those eyes, +Lest I be sick with seeing; +Nor cast them down, but let them rise, +Lest shame destroy their being. + +O, be not angry with those fires, +For then their threats will kill me; +Nor look too kind on my desires, +For then my hopes will spill me. + +O, do not steep them in thy tears, +For so will sorrow slay me; +Nor spread them as distract with fears; +Mine own enough betray me. + +Ben Jonson [1573?-1637] + + +SONG + +Go and catch a falling star, +Get with child a mandrake root, +Tell me where all past years are, +Or who cleft the Devil's foot; +Teach me to hear mermaid's singing, +Or to keep off envy's stinging, +And find +What wind +Serves to advance an honest mind. + +If thou be'st born to strange sights, +Things invisible go see, +Ride ten thousand days and nights +Till Age snow white hairs on thee; +Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me +All strange wonders that befell thee, +And swear +No where +Lives a woman true and fair. + +If thou find'st one, let me know; +Such a pilgrimage were sweet. +Yet do not; I would not go, +Though at next door we might meet. +Though she were true when you met her, +And last till you write your letter, +Yet she +Will be +False, ere I come, to two or three. + +John Donne [1573-1631] + + +THE MESSAGE + +Send home my long-strayed eyes to me, +Which, O! too long have dwelt on thee: +But if from you they've learned such ill, +To sweetly smile, +And then beguile, +Keep the deceivers, keep them still. + +Send home my harmless heart again, +Which no unworthy thought could stain: +But if it has been taught by thine +To forfeit both +Its word and oath, +Keep it, for then 'tis none of mine. + +Yet send me back my heart and eyes, +For I'll know all thy falsities; +That I one day may laugh, when thou +Shalt grieve and mourn - +Of one the scorn, +Who proves as false as thou art now. + +John Donne [1573-1631] + + +SONG + +Ladies, though to your conquering eyes +Love owes his chiefest victories, +And borrows those bright arms from you +With which he does the world subdue, +Yet you yourselves are not above +The empire nor the griefs of love. + +Then rack not lovers with disdain, +Lest Love on you revenge their pain: +You are not free because you're fair: +The Boy did not his Mother spare. +Beauty's but an offensive dart: +It is no armor for the heart. + +George Etherege [1635?-1691] + + +TO A LADY ASKING HIM HOW LONG HE WOULD LOVE HER + +It is not, Celia, in our power +To say how long our love will last; +It may be we within this hour +May lose those joys we now do taste: +The Blessed, that immortal be, +From change in love are only free. + +Then since we mortal lovers are, +Ask not how long our love will last; +But while it does, let us take care +Each minute be with pleasure passed: +Were it not madness to deny +To live because we're sure to die? + +George Etherege [1635?-1691] + + +TO AENONE + +What conscience, say, is it in thee, +When I a heart had one, +To take away that heart from me, +And to retain thy own? + +For shame or pity now incline +To play a loving part; +Either to send me kindly thine, +Or give me back my heart. + +Covet not both; but if thou dost +Resolve to part with neither, +Why, yet to show that thou art just, +Take me and mine together! + +Robert Herrick [1591-1674] + + +TO ANTHEA, WHO MAY COMMAND HIM ANYTHING + +Bid me to live, and I will live +Thy Protestant to be; +Or bid me love, and I will give +A loving heart to thee. + +A heart as soft, a heart as kind, +A heart as sound and free +As in the whole world thou canst find, +That heart I'll give to thee. + +Bid that heart stay, and it will stay +To honor thy decree; +Or bid it languish quite away, +And 't shall do so for thee. + +Bid me to weep, and I will weep, +While I have eyes to see; +And having none, yet will I keep +A heart to weep for thee. + +Bid me despair, and I'll despair, +Under that cypress tree; +Or bid me die, and I will dare +E'en death, to die for thee. + +Thou art my life, my love, my heart, +The very eyes of me; +And hast command of every part, +To live and die for thee. + +Robert Herrick [1591-1674] + + +THE BRACELET: TO JULIA + +Why I tie about thy wrist, +Julia, this silken twist; +For what other reason is't +But to show thee how, in part, +Thou my pretty captive art? +But thy bond-slave is my heart: +'Tis but silk that bindeth thee, +Snap the thread and thou art free; +But 'tis otherwise with me; +I am bound and fast bound, so +That from thee I cannot go; +If I could, I would not so. + +Robert Herrick [1591-1674] + + +TO THE WESTERN WIND + +Sweet western wind, whose luck it is, +Made rival with the air, +To give Perenna's lip a kiss, +And fan her wanton hair: + +Bring me but one, I'll promise thee, +Instead of common showers, +Thy wings shall be embalmed by me, +And all beset with flowers. + +Robert Herrick [1591-1674] + + +TO MY INCONSTANT MISTRESS + +When thou, poor Excommunicate +From all the joys of Love, shalt see +The full reward and glorious fate +Which my strong faith shall purchase me, +Then curse thine own Inconstancy. + +A fairer hand than thine shall cure +That heart which thy false oaths did wound; +And to my soul a soul more pure +Than thine shall by Love's hand be bound, +And both with equal glory crowned. + +Then shalt thou weep, entreat, complain +To Love, as I did once to thee: +When all thy tears shall be as vain +As mine were then: for thou shalt be +Damned for thy false Apostasy. + +Thomas Carew [1598?-1639?] + + +PERSUASIONS TO ENJOY + +If the quick spirits in your eye +Now languish and anon must die; +If every sweet and every grace +Must fly from that forsaken face: +Then, Celia, let us reap our joys +Ere Time such goodly fruit destroys. + +Or, if that golden fleece must grow +For ever free from aged snow; +If those bright suns must know no shade, +Nor your fresh beauties ever fade: +Then fear not, Celia, to bestow +What, still being gathered, still must grow. + +Thus either Time his sickle brings +In vain, or else in vain his wings. + +Thomas Carew [1598?-1639?] + + +MEDIOCRITY IN LOVE REJECTED + +Give me more love, or more disdain: +The torrid, or the frozen zone +Bring equal ease unto my pain; +The temperate affords me none: +Either extreme, of love or hate, +Is sweeter than a calm estate. + +Give me a storm; if it be love, +Like Danae in that golden shower, +I'll swim in pleasure; if it prove +Disdain, that torrent will devour +My vulture-hopes; and he's possessed +Of heaven, that's but from hell released. + +Then crown my joys, or cure my pain: +Give me more love, or more disdain. + +Thomas Carew [1598?-1639?] + + +THE MESSAGE + +Ye little birds that sit and sing +Amidst the shady valleys, +And see how Phillis sweetly walks +Within her garden-alleys; +Go, pretty birds, about her bower; +Sing, pretty birds, she may not lower; +Ah me! methinks I see her frown! +Ye pretty wantons, warble. + +Go tell her through your chirping bills, +As you by me are bidden, +To her is only known my love, +Which from the world is hidden. +Go, pretty birds, and tell her so, +See that your notes strain not too low, +For still methinks I see her frown; +Ye pretty wantons, warble. + +Go tune your voices' harmony +And sing, I am her lover; +Strain loud and sweet, that every note +With sweet content may move her: +And she that hath the sweetest voice, +Tell her I will not change my choice: +- Yet still methinks I see her frown! +Ye pretty wantons, warble. + +O fly! make haste! see, see, she falls +Into a pretty slumber! +Sing round about her rosy bed +That waking she may wonder: +Say to her, 'tis her lover true +That sendeth love to you, to you! +And when you hear her kind reply, +Return with pleasant warblings. + +Thomas Heywood [ ? -1650?] + + +"HOW CAN THE HEART FORGET HER" + +At her fair hands how have I grace entreated +With prayers oft repeated! +Yet still my love is thwarted: +Heart, let her go, for she'll not be converted - +Say, shall she go? +O no, no, no, no, no! +She is most fair, though she be marble-hearted. + +How often have my sighs declared my anguish, +Wherein I daily languish! +Yet still she doth procure it: +Heart, let her go, for I cannot endure it - +Say, shall she go? +O no, no, no, no, no! +She gave the wound, and she alone must cure it. + +But shall I still a true affection owe her, +Which prayers, sighs, tears do show her, +And shall she still disdain me? +Heart, let her go, if they no grace can gain me - +Say, shall she go? +O no, no, no, no, no! +She made me hers, and hers she will retain me. + +But if the love that hath and still doth burn me +No love at length return me, +Out of my thoughts I'll set her: +Heart, let her go, O heart I pray thee, let her! +Say, shall she go? +O no, no, no, no, no! +Fixed in the heart, how can the heart forget her? + +Francis Davison [fl. 1602] + + +TO ROSES IN THE BOSOM OF CASTARA + +Ye blushing virgins happy are +In the chaste nunnery of her breasts - +For he'd profane so chaste a fair, +Whoe'er should call them Cupid's nests. + +Transplanted thus how bright ye grow! +How rich a perfume do ye yield! +In some close garden cowslips so +Are sweeter than in the open field. + +In those white cloisters live secure +From the rude blasts of wanton breath! - +Each hour more innocent and pure, +Till you shall wither into death. + +Then that which living gave you room, +Your glorious sepulcher shall be. +There wants no marble for a tomb +Whose breast hath marble been to me. + +William Habington [1605-1654] + + +TO FLAVIA + +'Tis not your beauty can engage +My wary heart; +The sun, in all his pride and rage, +Has not that art; +And yet he shines as bright as you, +If brightness could our souls subdue. + +'Tis not the pretty things you say, +Nor those you write, +Which can make Thyrsis' heart your prey: +For that delight, +The graces of a well-taught mind, +In some of our own sex we find. + +No, Flavia, 'tis your love I fear; +Love's surest darts, +Those which so seldom fail him, are +Headed with hearts: +Their very shadows make us yield; +Dissemble well, and win the field! + +Edmund Waller [1606-1687] + + +"LOVE NOT ME FOR COMELY GRACE" + +Love not me for comely grace, +For my pleasing eye or face; +Nor for any outward part, +No, nor for a constant heart: +For these may fail or turn to ill, +So thou and I shall sever. +Keep, therefore, a true woman's eye, +And love me still, but know not why; +So hast thou the same reason still +To doat upon me ever. + +Unknown + + +"WHEN, DEAREST, I BUT THINK OF THEE" + +When, dearest, I but think of thee, +Methinks all things that lovely be +Are present, and my soul delighted: +For beauties that from worth arise +Are, like the grace of deities, +Still present with us, though unsighted. + +Thus while I sit and sigh the day +With all his borrowed lights away, +Till night's black wings do overtake me, +Thinking on thee, thy beauties then, +As sudden lights do sleepy men, +So they by their bright rays awake me. + +Thus absence dies, and dying proves +No absence can subsist with loves +That do partake of fair perfection: +Since in the darkest night they may +By their quick motion find a way +To see each other by reflection. + +The waving sea can with each flood +Bathe some high promont that hath stood +Far from the main up in the river: +O think not then but love can do +As much! for that's an ocean too, +Which flows not every day, but ever! + +John Suckling [1609-1642] +or Owen Felltham [1602?-1668] + + +A DOUBT OF MARTYRDOM + +O for some honest lover's ghost, +Some kind unbodied post +Sent from the shades below! +I strangely long to know +Whether the noble chaplets wear +Those that their mistress' scorn did bear +Or those that were used kindly. + +For whatsoe'er they tell us here +To make those sufferings dear, +'Twill there, I fear, be found +That to the being crowned +To have loved alone will not suffice, +Unless we also have been wise +And have our loves enjoyed. + +What posture can we think him in +That, here unloved, again +Departs, and's thither gone +Where each sits by his own? +Or how can that Elysium be +Where I my mistress still must see +Circled in other's arms? + +For there the judges all are just, +And Sophonisba must +Be his whom she held dear, +Not his who loved her here. +The sweet Philoclea, since she died, +Lies by her Pirocles his side, +Not by Amphialus. + +Some bays, perchance, or myrtle bough +For difference crowns the brow +Of those kind souls that were +The noble martyrs here: +And if that be the only odds +(As who can tell?), ye kinder gods, +Give me the woman here! + +John Suckling [1609-1642] + + +TO CHLOE +Who For His Sake Wished Herself Younger + +Chloe, why wish you that your years +Would backwards run till they meet mine, +That perfect likeness, which endears +Things unto things, might us combine? +Our ages so in date agree, +That twins do differ more than we. + +There are two births; the one when light +First strikes the new awakened sense; +The other when two souls unite, +And we must count our life from thence: +When you loved me and I loved you +Then both of us were born anew. + +Love then to us new souls did give +And in those souls did plant new powers; +Since when another life we live, +The breath we breathe is his, not ours: +Love makes those young whom age doth chill, +And whom he finds young keeps young still. + +Love, like that angel that shall call +Our bodies from the silent grave, +Unto one age doth raise us all; +None too much, none too little have; +Nay, that the difference may be none, +He makes two, not alike, but one. + +And now since you and I are such, +Tell me what's yours, and what is mine? +Our eyes, our ears, our taste, smell, touch, +Do, like our souls, in one combine; +So, by this, I as well may be +Too old for you, as you for me. + +William Cartwright [1611-1643] + + +"I'll NEVER LOVE THEE MORE" + +My dear and only Love, I pray +This little world of thee +Be governed by no other sway +Than purest monarchy; +For if confusion have a part, +Which virtuous souls abhor, +And hold a synod in thy heart, +I'll never love thee more. + +Like Alexander I will reign, +And I will reign alone; +My thoughts did evermore disdain +A rival on my throne. +He either fears his fate too much, +Or his deserts are small, +That dares not put it to the touch +To gain or lose it all. + +But I must rule and govern still, +And always give the law, +And have each subject at my will +And all to stand in awe. +But 'gainst my batteries if I find +Thou kick, or vex me sore, +As that thou set me up a blind, +I'll never love thee more! + +Or in the empire of thy heart, +Where I should solely be, +If others do pretend a part +And dare to vie with me, +Or if committees thou erect, +And go on such a score, +I'll laugh and sing at thy neglect, +And never love thee more. + +But if thou wilt be faithful, then, +And constant of thy word, +I'll make thee glorious by my pen +And famous by my sword; +I'll serve thee in such noble ways +Were never heard before; +I'll crown and deck thee all with bays, +And love thee evermore. + +James Graham [1612-1650] + + +TO ALTHEA, FROM PRISON + +When Love with unconfined wings +Hovers within my gates, +And my divine Althea brings +To whisper at the grates; +When I lie tangled in her hair +And fettered to her eye, +The birds that wanton in the air +Know no such liberty. + +When flowing cups run swiftly round +With no allaying Thames, +Our careless heads with roses bound, +Our hearts with loyal flames; +When thirsty grief in wine we steep, +When healths and draughts go free - +Fishes that tipple in the deep +Know no such liberty. + +When, like committed linnets, I +With shriller throat shall sing +The sweetness, mercy, majesty, +And glories of my King; +When I shall voice aloud how good +He is, how great should be, +Enlarged winds, that curl the flood, +Know no such liberty. + +Stone walls do not a prison make, +Nor iron bars a cage; +Minds innocent and quiet take +That for an hermitage; +If I have freedom in my love +And in my soul am free, +Angels alone, that soar above, +Enjoy such liberty. + +Richard Lovelace [1618-1658] + + +WHY I LOVE HER + +'Tis not her birth, her friends, nor yet her treasure, +Nor do I covet her for sensual pleasure, +Nor for that old morality +Do I love her, 'cause she loves me. + +Sure he that loves his lady 'cause she's fair, +Delights his eye, so loves himself, not her. +Something there is moves me to love, and I +Do know I love, but know not how, nor why. + +Alexander Brome [1620-1666] + + +TO HIS COY MISTRESS + +Had we but world enough, and time, +This coyness, Lady, were no crime. +We would sit down and think which way +To walk and pass our long love's day. +Thou by the Indian Ganges' side +Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide +Of Humber would complain. I would +Love you ten years before the Flood, +And you should, if you please, refuse +Till the conversion of the Jews. +My vegetable love should grow +Vaster than empires, and more slow; +An hundred years should go to praise +Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze; +Two hundred to adore each breast, +But thirty thousand to the rest; +An age at least to every part, +And the last age should show your heart. +For, Lady, you deserve this state, +Nor would I love at lower rate. +But at my back I always hear +Time's winged chariot hurrying near; +And yonder all before us lie +Deserts of vast eternity. +Thy beauty shall no more be found, +Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound +My echoing song: then worms shall try +That long preserved virginity, +And your quaint honor turn to dust, +And into ashes all my lust: +The grave's a fine and private place, +But none, I think, do there embrace. +Now therefore, while the youthful hue +Sits on thy skin like morning dew, +And while thy willing soul transpires +At every pore with instant fires, +Now let us sport us while we may, +And now, like amorous birds of prey, +Rather at once our time devour +Than languish in his slow-chapt power. +Let us roll all our strength and all +Our sweetness up into one ball, +And tear our pleasures with rough strife +Through the iron gates of life: +Thus, though we cannot make our sun +Stand still, yet we will make him run. + +Andrew Marvell [1621-1678] + + +A DEPOSITION FROM BEAUTY + +Though when I loved thee thou wert fair, +Thou art no longer so; +These glories all the pride they wear +Unto opinion owe. +Beauties, like stars, in borrowed luster shine; +And 'twas my love that gave thee thine. + +The flames that dwelt within thine eye +Do now with mine expire; +Thy brightest graces fade and die +At once with my desire. +Love's fires thus mutual influence return; +Thine cease to shine, when mine to burn. + +Then, proud Celinda, hope no more +To be implored or wooed, +Since by thy scorn thou dost restore +Thy wealth my love bestowed: +And thy despised disdain too late shall find +That none are fair but who are kind. + +Thomas Stanley [1625-1678] + + +"LOVE IN THY YOUTH, FAIR MAID" + +Love in thy youth, fair maid, be wise, +Old Time will make thee colder, +And though each morning new arise, +Yet we each day grow older. + +Thou as heaven art fair and young, +Thine eyes like twin stars shining; +But ere another day be sprung, +All these will be declining; + +Then winter comes with all his fears, +And all thy sweets shall borrow; +Too late then wilt thou shower thy tears, +And I, too late, shall sorrow. + +Unknown + + +TO CELIA + +When, Celia, must my old day set, +And my young morning rise +In beams of joy so bright as yet +Ne'er blessed a lover's eyes? +My state is more advanced than when +I first attempted thee: +I sued to be a servant then, +But now to be made free. + +I've served my time faithful and true, +Expecting to be placed +In happy freedom, as my due, +To all the joys thou hast: +Ill husbandry in love is such +A scandal to love's power, +We ought not to misspend so much +As one poor short-lived hour. + +Yet think not, sweet, I'm weary grown, +That I pretend such haste; +Since none to surfeit e'er was known +Before he had a taste: +My infant love could humbly wait +When, young, it scarce knew how +To plead; but grown to man's estate, +He is impatient now. + +Charles Cotton [1630-1687] + + +TO CELIA + +Not, Celia, that I juster am +Or better than the rest! +For I would change each hour, like them, +Were not my heart at rest. + +But I am tied to very thee +By every thought I have; +Thy face I only care to see, +Thy heart I only crave. + +All that in woman is adored +In thy dear self I find - +For the whole sex can but afford +The handsome and the kind. + +Why then should I seek further store, +And still make love anew? +When change itself can give no more, +'Tis easy to be true! + +Charles Sedley [1639-1701] + + +A SONG + +My dear mistress has a heart +Soft as those kind looks she gave me; +When with love's restless art, +And her eyes, she did enslave me. +But her constancy's so weak, +She's so wild and apt to wander, +That my jealous heart would break +Should we live one day asunder. + +Melting joys about her move, +Killing pleasures, wounding blisses; +She can dress her eyes in love, +And her lips can arm with kisses. +Angels listen when she speaks; +She's my delight, all mankind's wonder; +But my jealous heart would break +Should we live one day asunder. + +John Wilmot [1647-1680] + + +LOVE AND LIFE + +All my past life is mine no more; +The flying hours are gone, +Like transitory dreams given o'er, +Whose images are kept in store +By memory alone. + +The time that is to come is not; +How can it then be mine? +The present moment's all my lot; +And that, as fast as it is got, +Phillis, is only thine. + +Then talk not of inconstancy, +False hearts, and broken vows; +If I by miracle can be +This live-long minute true to thee, +'Tis all that Heaven allows. + +John Wilmot [1647-1680] + + +CONSTANCY + +I cannot change as others do, +Though you unjustly scorn; +Since that poor swain that sighs for you +For you alone was born. +No, Phillis, no; your heart to move +A surer way I'll try; +And, to revenge my slighted love, +Will still live on, will still live on and die. + +When, killed with grief, Amyntas lies, +And you to mind shall call +The sighs that now unpitied rise, +The tears that vainly fall - +That welcome hour that ends this smart, +Will then begin your pain; +For such a faithful tender heart +Can never break, can never break in vain. + +John Wilmot [1647-1680] + + +SONG + +Too late, alas! I must confess, +You need not arts to move me; +Such charms by nature you possess, +'Twere madness not to love ye. + +Then spare a heart you may surprise, +And give my tongue the glory +To boast, though my unfaithful eyes +Betray a tender story. + +John Wilmot [1647-1680] + + +SONG + +Come, Celia, let's agree at last +To love and live in quiet; +Let's tie the knot so very fast +That time shall ne'er untie it. +Love's dearest joys they never prove, +Who free from quarrels live; +'Tis sure a god like part of love +Each other to forgive. + +When least I seemed concerned I took +No pleasure, nor had rest; +And when I feigned an angry look, +Alas! I loved you best. +Say but the same to me, you'll find +How blest will be our fate; +Sure to be grateful, to be kind, +Can never be too late. + +John Sheffield [1648-1721] + + +THE ENCHANTMENT + +I did but look and love awhile, +'Twas but for one half-hour; +Then to resist I had no will, +And now I have no power. + +To sigh and wish is all my ease; +Sighs which do heat impart +Enough to melt the coldest ice, +Yet cannot warm your heart. + +O would your pity give my heart +One corner of your breast, +'Twould learn of yours the winning art, +And quickly steal the rest. + +Thomas Otway [1652-1685] + + +SONG + +Only tell her that I love: +Leave the rest to her and Fate: +Some kind planet from above +May perhaps her pity move: +Lovers on their stars must wait. - +Only tell her that I love! + +Why, O why should I despair! +Mercy's pictured in her eye: +If she once vouchsafe to hear, +Welcome Hope and farewell Fear! +She's too good to let me die. - +Why, O why should I despair? + +John Cutts [1661-1707] + + +"FALSE THOUGH SHE BE" + +False though she be to me and love, +I'll ne'er pursue revenge; +For still the charmer I approve, +Though I deplore her change. + +In hours of bliss we oft have met: +They could not always last; +And though the present I regret, +I'm grateful for the past. + +William Congreve [1670-1729] + + +TO SILVIA +From "The Cautious Lovers" + +Silvia, let us from the crowd retire, +For what to you and me +(Who but each other do desire) +Is all that here we see? + +Apart we'll live, though not alone; +For who alone can call +Those who in deserts live with one +If in that one they've all? + +The world a vast meander is, +Where hearts confusedly stray; +Where few do hit, whilst thousands miss, +The happy mutual way. + +Anne Finch [? -1720] + + +"WHY, LOVELY CHARMER" + +Why, lovely charmer, tell me why, +So very kind, and yet so shy? +Why does that cold, forbidding air +Give damps of sorrow and despair? +Or why that smile my soul subdue, +And kindle up my flames anew? + +In vain you strive with all your art, +By turns to fire and freeze my heart; +When I behold a face so fair, +So sweet a look, so soft an air, +My ravished soul is charmed all o'er, +I cannot love thee less or more. + +Unknown + + +AGAINST INDIFFERENCE + +More love or more disdain I crave; +Sweet, be not still indifferent: +O send me quickly to my grave, +Or else afford me more content! +Or love or hate me more or less, +For love abhors all lukewarmness. + +Give me a tempest if 'twill drive +Me to the place where I would be; +Or if you'll have me still alive, +Confess you will be kind to me. +Give hopes of bliss or dig my grave: +More love or more disdain I crave. + +Charles Webbe [c. 1678] + + +A SONG TO AMORET + +If I were dead, and, in my place, +Some fresher youth designed +To warm thee, with new fires; and grace +Those arms I left behind: + +Were he as faithful as the Sun, +That's wedded to the Sphere; +His blood as chaste and temperate run, +As April's mildest tear; + +Or were he rich; and, with his heap +And spacious share of earth, +Could make divine affection cheap, +And court his golden birth; + +For all these arts, I'd not believe +(No! though he should be thine!), +The mighty Amorist could give +So rich a heart as mine! + +Fortune and beauty thou might'st find, +And greater men than I; +But my true resolved mind +They never shall come nigh. + +For I not for an hour did love, +Or for a day desire, +But with my soul had from above +This endless holy fire. + +Henry Vaughan [1622-1695] + + +THE LASS OF RICHMOND HILL + +On Richmond Hill there lives a lass +More bright than May-day morn, +Whose charms all other maids surpass, - +A rose without a thorn. + +This lass so neat, with smiles so sweet, +Has won my right good-will; +I'd crowns resign to call her mine, +Sweet lass of Richmond Hill. + +Ye zephyrs gay, that fan the air, +And wanton through the grove, +O, whisper to my charming fair, +I die for her I love. + +How happy will the shepherd be +Who calls this nymph his own! +O, may her choice be fixed on me! +Mine's fixed on her alone. + +James Upton [1670-1749] + + +SONG +From "Sunday Up the River" + +Let my voice ring out and over the earth, +Through all the grief and strife, +With a golden joy in a silver mirth: +Thank God for life! + +Let my voice swell out through the great abyss +To the azure dome above, +With a chord of faith in the harp of bliss: +Thank God for Love! + +Let my voice thrill out beneath and above, +The whole world through: +O my Love and Life, O my Life and Love, +Thank God for you! + +James Thomson [1834-1882] + + +GIFTS +From "Sunday Up the River" + +Give a man a horse he can ride, +Give a man a boat he can sail; +And his rank and wealth, his strength and health, +On sea nor shore shall fail. + +Give a man a pipe he can smoke, +Give a man a book he can read: +And his home is bright with a calm delight, +Though the room be poor indeed. + +Give a man a girl he can love, +As I, O my love, love thee; +And his heart is great with the pulse of Fate, +At home, on land, on sea. + +James Thomson [1834-1882] + + +AMYNTA + +My sheep I neglected, I broke my sheep-crook, +And all the gay haunts of my youth I forsook; +No more for Amynta fresh garlands I wove; +For ambition, I said would soon cure me of love. + +Oh, what had my youth with ambition to do? +Why left I Amynta? Why broke I my vow? +Oh, give me my sheep, and my sheep-hook restore, +And I'll wander from love and Amynta no more. + +Through regions remote in vain do I rove, +And bid the wide ocean secure me from love! +O fool! to imagine that aught could subdue +A love so well founded, a passion so true! + +Alas! 'tis too late at thy fate to repine; +Poor shepherd, Amynta can never be thine: +Thy tears are all fruitless, thy wishes are vain, +The moments neglected return not again. + +Gilbert Elliot [1722-1777] + + +"O NANCY! WILT THOU GO WITH ME" + +O Nancy, wilt thou go with me, +Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town: +Can silent glens have charms for thee, +The lowly cot, the russet gown? +No longer dressed in silken sheen, +No longer decked with jewels rare, +Say, canst thou quit each courtly scene +Where thou wert fairest of the fair? + +O Nancy! when thou'rt far away, +Wilt thou not cast a wish behind? +Say, canst thou face the parching ray, +Nor shrink before the wintry wind? +O! can that soft and gentle mien +Extremes of hardship learn to bear, +Nor, sad, regret each courtly scene +Where thou wert fairest of the fair? + +O Nancy! canst thou love so true, +Through perils keen with me to go, +Or when thy swain mishap shall rue, +To share with him the pang of woe? +Say, should disease or pain befall, +Wilt thou assume the nurse's care; +Nor wistful those gay scenes recall +Where thou wert fairest of the fair? + +And when at last thy love shall die, +Wilt thou receive his parting breath? +Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh, +And cheer with smiles the bed of death? +And wilt thou o'er his breathless clay +Strew flowers and drop the tender tear? +Nor then regret those scenes so gay +Where thou wert fairest of the fair? + +Thomas Percy [1729-1811] + + +CAVALIER'S SONG + +If doughty deeds my lady please, +Right soon I'll mount my steed; +And strong his arm and fast his seat, +That bears frae me the meed. +I'll wear thy colors in my cap, +Thy picture in my heart; +And he that bends not to thine eye +Shall rue it to his smart! +Then tell me how to woo thee, Love; +O tell me how to woo thee! +For thy dear sake nae care I'll take, +Though ne'er another trow me. + +If gay attire delight thine eye +I'll dight me in array; +I'll tend thy chamber door all night, +And squire thee all the day. +If sweetest sounds can win thine ear, +These sounds I'll strive to catch; +Thy voice I'll steal to woo thysel', +That voice that nane can match. +Then tell me how to woo thee, Love; +O tell me how to woo thee! +For thy dear sake nae care I'll take +Though ne'er another trow me. + +But if fond love thy heart can gain, +I never broke a vow; +Nae maiden lays her skaith to me, +I never loved but you. +For you alone I ride the ring, +For you I wear the blue; +For you alone I strive to sing, +O tell me how to woo! +Then tell me how to woo thee, Love; +O tell me how to woo thee! +For thy dear sake nae care I'll take +Though ne'er another trow me. + +Robert Cunninghame-Graham [? -1797?] + + +"MY HEART IS A LUTE" + +Alas, that my heart is a lute, +Whereon you have learned to play! +For a many years it was mute, +Until one summer's day +You took it, and touched it, and made it thrill, +And it thrills and throbs, and quivers still! + +I had known you, dear, so long! +Yet my heart did not tell me why +It should burst one morn into song, +And wake to new life with a cry, +Like a babe that sees the light of the sun, +And for whom this great world has just begun. + +Your lute is enshrined, cased in, +Kept close with love's magic key, +So no hand but yours can win +And wake it to minstrelsy; +Yet leave it not silent too long, nor alone, +Lest the strings should break, and the music be done. + +Anne Barnard [1750-1825] + + +SONG +From "The Duenna" + +Had I a heart for falsehood framed, +I ne'er could injure you; +For though your tongue no promise claimed, +Your charms would make me true: +Then, lady, dread not here deceit, +Nor fear to suffer wrong, +For friends in all the aged you'll meet, +And lovers in the young. + +But when they find that you have blessed +Another with your heart, +They'll bid aspiring passion rest, +And act a brother's part: +Then, lady, dread not here deceit +Nor fear to suffer wrong; +For friends in all the aged you'll meet, +And brothers in the young. + +Richard Brinsley Sheridan [1751-1816] + + +MEETING + +My Damon was the first to wake +The gentle flame that cannot die; +My Damon is the last to take +The faithful bosom's softest sigh: +The life between is nothing worth, +O cast it from thy thought away! +Think of the day that gave it birth, +And this its sweet returning day. + +Buried be all that has been done, +Or say that naught is done amiss; +For who the dangerous path can shun +In such bewildering world as this? +But love can every fault forgive, +Or with a tender look reprove; +And now let naught in memory live +But that we meet, and that we love. + +George Crabbe [1754-1832] + + +"O WERE MY LOVE YON LILAC FAIR" + +O were my Love yon lilac fair, +Wi' purple blossoms to the spring, +And I a bird to shelter there, +When wearied on my little wing; +How I wad mourn when it was torn +By autumn wild and winter rude! +But I wad sing on wanton wing +When youthfu' May its bloom renewed. + +O gin my Love were yon red rose +That grows upon the castle wa', +And I mysel a drap o' dew, +Into her bonnie breast to fa'; +O there, beyond expression blest, +I'd feast on beauty a' the night; +Sealed on her silk-saft faulds to rest, +Till fleyed awa' by Phoebus' light. + +Robert Burns [1759-1796] + + +"BONNIE WEE THING" + +Bonnie wee thing! cannie wee thing! +Lovely wee thing! wert thou mine, +I wad wear thee in my bosom, +Lest my jewel I should tine. +Wishfully I look, and languish +In that bonnie face o' thine; +And my heart it stounds wi' anguish, +Lest my wee thing be na mine. + +Wit and grace, and love and beauty, +In ae constellation shine; +To adore thee is my duty, +Goddess o' this soul o' mine! +Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing, +Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine, +I wad wear thee in my bosom, +Lest my jewel I should tine. + +Robert Burns [1759-1796] + + +ROSE AYLMER + +Ah, what avails the sceptered race! +Ah, what the form divine! +What every virtue, every grace! +Rose Aylmer, all were thine. + +Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes +May weep, but never see, +A night of memories and sighs +I consecrate to thee. + +Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864] + + +"TAKE BACK THE VIRGIN PAGE" +Written On Returning A Blank Book + +Take back the Virgin Page +White and unwritten still; +Some hand more calm and sage +The leaf must fill. +Thoughts came as pure as light - +Pure as even you require: +But oh! each word I write +Love turns to fire. + +Yet let me keep the book: +Oft shall my heart renew, +When on its leaves I look, +Dear thoughts of you. +Like you, 'tis fair and bright; +Like you, too bright and fair +To let wild passion write +One wrong wish there. + +Haply, when from those eyes +Far, far away I roam, +Should calmer thoughts arise +Towards you and home; +Fancy may trace some line +Worthy those eyes to meet, +Thoughts that not burn, but shine. +Pure, calm, and sweet. + +And as o'er ocean far +Seamen their records keep, +Led by some hidden star +Through the cold deep; +So may the words I write +Tell through what storms I stray, +You still the unseen light +Guiding my way. + +Thomas Moore [1779-1852] + + +"BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEARING YOUNG CHARMS" + +Believe me, if all those endearing young charms, +Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, +Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms, +Like fairy-gifts fading away, +Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art, +Let thy loveliness fade as it will, +And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart +Would entwine itself verdantly still. + +It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, +And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear, +That the fervor and faith of a soul may be known, +To which time will but make thee more dear! +No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets, +But as truly loves on to the close, +As the sunflower turns to her god when he sets +The same look which she turned when he rose! + +Thomas Moore [1779-1852] + + +THE NUN + +If you become a nun, dear, +A friar I will be; +In any cell you run, dear, +Pray look behind for me. +The roses all turn pale, too; +The doves all take the veil, too; +The blind will see the show; +What! you become a nun, my dear, +I'll not believe it, no! + +If you become a nun, dear, +The bishop Love will be: +The Cupids every one, dear, +Will chant, "We trust in thee!" +The incense will go sighing, +The candles fall a-dying, +The water turn to wine: +What! you go take the vows, my dear? +You may - but they'll be mine. + +Leigh Hunt [1784-1859] + + +ONLY OF THEE AND ME + +Only of thee and me the night wind sings, +Only of us the sailors speak at sea, +The earth is filled with wondered whisperings +Only of thee and me. + +Only of thee and me the breakers chant, +Only of us the stir in bush and tree; +The rain and sunshine tell the eager plant +Only of thee and me. + +Only of thee and me, till all shall fade; +Only of us the whole world's thoughts can be - +For we are Love, and God Himself is made +Only of thee and me. + +Louis Untermeyer [1885- + + +TO --- + +One word is too often profaned +For me to profane it, +One feeling too falsely disdained +For thee to disdain it. +One hope is too like despair +For prudence to smother, +And Pity from thee more dear +Than that from another. + +I can give not what men call love; +But wilt thou accept not +The worship the heart lifts above +And the Heavens reject not: +The desire of the moth for the star, +Of the night for the morrow, +The devotion to something afar +From the sphere of our sorrow? + +Percy Bysshe Shelley [1792-1822] + + +FROM THE ARABIC + +My faint spirit was sitting in the light +Of thy looks, my love; +It panted for thee like the hind at noon +For the brooks, my love. +Thy barb, whose hoofs outspeed the tempest's flight, +Bore thee far from me; +My heart, for my weak feet were weary soon, +Did companion thee. + +Ah! fleeter far than fleetest storm or steed, +Or the death they bear, +The heart which tender thought clothes like a dove +With the wings of care; +In the battle, in the darkness, in the need, +Shall mine cling to thee, +Nor claim one smile for all the comfort, love, +It may bring to thee. + +Percy Bysshe Shelley [1792-1822] + + +THE WANDERING KNIGHT'S SONG + +My ornaments are arms, +My pastime is in war, +My bed is cold upon the wold, +My lamp yon star. + +My journeyings are long, +My slumbers short and broken; +From hill to hill I wander still, +Kissing thy token. + +I ride from land to land, +I sail from sea to sea; +Some day more kind I fate may find, +Some night, kiss thee. + +John Gibson Lockhart [1794-1854] + + +SONG + +Love's on the highroad, +Love's in the byroad - +Love's on the meadow, and Love's in the mart! +And down every byway +Where I've taken my way +I've met Love a-smiling - for Love's in my heart! + +Dana Burnet [1888- + + +THE SECRET LOVE + +You and I have found the secret way, +None can bar our love or say us nay: +All the world may stare and never know +You and I are twined together so. + +You and I for all his vaunted width +Know the giant Space is but a myth; +Over miles and miles of pure deceit +You and I have found our lips can meet. + +You and I have laughed the leagues apart +In the soft delight of heart to heart. +If there's a gulf to meet or limit set, +You and I have never found it yet. + +You and I have trod the backward way +To the happy heart of yesterday, +To the love we felt in ages past. +You and I have found it still to last. + +You and I have found the joy had birth +In the angel childhood of the earth, +Hid within the heart of man and maid. +You and I of Time are not afraid. + +You and I can mock his fabled wing, +For a kiss is an immortal thing. +And the throb wherein those old lips met +Is a living music in us yet. + +A. E. (George William Russell) [1867-1935] + + +THE FLOWER OF BEAUTY + +Sweet in her green dell the flower of beauty slumbers, +Lulled by the faint breezes sighing through her hair; +Sleeps she, and hears not the melancholy numbers +Breathed to my sad lute amid the lonely air? + +Down from the high cliffs the rivulet is teeming +To wind round the willow-banks that lure him from above: +Oh that, in tears from my rocky prison streaming, +I too could glide to the bower of my love! + +Ah, where the woodbines with sleepy arms have wound her, +Opes she her eyelids at the dream of my lay, +Listening like the dove, while the fountains echo round her, +To her lost mate's call in the forest far away? + +Come, then, my bird! for the peace thou ever bearest, +Still Heaven's messenger of comfort be to me; +Come! this fond bosom, my faithfulest, my fairest, +Bleeds with its death-wound, - but deeper yet for thee. + +George Darley [1795-1846] + + +MY SHARE OF THE WORLD + +I am jealous: I am true: +Sick at heart for love of you, +O my share of the world! +I am cold, O, cold as stone +To all men save you alone. + +Seven times slower creeps the day +When your face is far away, +O my share of the world! +Seven times darker falls the night. +When you gladden not my sight. + +Measureless my joy and pride +Would you choose me for your bride, +O my share of the world! +For your face is my delight, +Morn and even, noon and night. + +To the dance and to the wake +Still I go but for your sake, +O my share of the world! +Just to see your face awhile +Meet your eyes and win your smile. + +And the gay word on my lip +Never lets my secret slip +To my share of the world! +Light my feet trip over the green - +But my heart cries in the keen! + +My poor mother sighs anew +When my looks go after you, +O my share of the world! +And my father's brow grows black +When you smile and turn your back. + +I would part with wealth and ease, +I would go beyond the seas, +For my share of the world! +I would leave my hearth and home +If he only whispered "Come!" + +Houseless under sun and dew, +I would beg my bread with you, +O my share of the world! +Houseless in the snow and storm, +Your heart's love would keep me warm. + +I would pray and I would crave +To be with you in the grave, +O my share of the world! +I would go through fire and flood, +I would give up all but God +For my share of the world! + +Alice Furlong [1875- + + +SONG + +A lake and a fairy boat +To sail in the moonlight clear, - +And merrily we would float +From the dragons that watch us here! + +Thy gown should be snow-white silk, +And strings of orient pearls, +Like gossamers dipped in milk, +Should twine with thy raven curls. + +Red rubies should deck thy hands, +And diamonds be thy dower - +But fairies have broke their wands, +And wishing has lost its power! + +Thomas Hood [1799-1845] + + +"SMILE AND NEVER HEED ME" + +Though, when other maids stand by, +I may deign thee no reply, +Turn not then away, and sigh, - +Smile, and never heed me! + +If our love, indeed, be such +As must thrill at every touch, +Why should others learn as much? - +Smile, and never heed me! + +Even if, with maiden pride, +I should bid thee quit my side, +Take this lesson for thy guide, - +Smile, and never heed me! + +But when stars and twilight meet, +And the dew is falling sweet, +And thou hear'st my coming feet, - +Then - thou then - mayst heed me! + +Charles Swain [1801-1874] + + +ARE THEY NOT ALL MINISTERING SPIRITS? + +We see them not - we cannot hear +The music of their wing - +Yet know we that they sojourn near, +The Angels of the spring! + +They glide along this lovely ground +When the first violet grows; +Their graceful hands have just unbound +The zone of yonder rose. + +I gather it for thy dear breast, +From stain and shadow free: +That which an Angel's touch hath blest +Is meet, my love, for thee! + +Robert Stephen Hawker [1803-1875] + + +MAIDEN EYES + +You never bade me hope, 'tis true; +I asked you not to swear: +But I looked in those eyes of blue, +And read a promise there. + +The vow should bind, with maiden sighs +That maiden lips have spoken: +But that which looks from maiden eyes +Should last of all be broken. + +Gerald Griffin [1803-1840] + + +HALLOWED PLACES + +I pass my days among the quiet places +Made sacred by your feet. +The air is cool in the fresh woodland spaces, +The meadows very sweet. + +The sunset fills the wide sky with its splendor, +The glad birds greet the night; +I stop and listen for a voice strong, tender, +I wait those dear eyes' light. + +You are the heart of every gleam of glory, +Your presence fills the air, +About you gathers all the fair year's story; +I read you everywhere. + +Alice Freeman Palmer [1855-1902] + + +THE LADY'S "YES" + +"Yes," I answered you last night; +"No," this morning, sir, I say: +Colors seen by candle-light +Will not look the same by day. + +When the viols played their best, +Lamps above, and laughs below, +Love me sounded like a jest, +Fit for yes or fit for no. + +Call me false or call me free, +Vow, whatever light may shine, - +No man on your face shall see +Any grief for change on mine. + +Yet the sin is on us both; +Time to dance is not to woo; +Wooing light makes fickle troth, +Scorn of me recoils on you. + +Learn to win a lady's faith +Nobly, as the thing is high, +Bravely, as for life and death, +With a loyal gravity. + +Lead her from the festive boards, +Point her to the starry skies, +Guard her, by your truthful words, +Pure from courtship's flatteries. + +By your truth she shall be true, +Ever true, as wives of yore; +And her yes, once said to you, +SHALL be Yes for evermore. + +Elizabeth Barrett Browning [1806-1861] + + +SONG +From "The Miller's Daughter" + +It is the miller's daughter, +And she is grown so dear, so dear, +That I would be the jewel +That trembles in her ear; +For hid in ringlets day and night, +I'd touch her neck so warm and white. + +And I would be the girdle +About her dainty, dainty waist, +And her heart would beat against me, +In sorrow and in rest; +And I should know if it beat right, +I'd clasp it round so close and tight. + +And I would be the necklace, +And all day long to fall and rise +Upon her balmy bosom +With her laughter or her sighs; +And I would lie so light, so light, +I scarce should be unclasped at night. + +Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] + + +LILIAN + +Airy, fairy Lilian, +Flitting, fairy Lilian, +When I ask her if she love me, +Clasps her tiny hand above me, +Laughing all she can; +She'll not tell me if she love me, +Cruel little Lilian. + +When my passion seeks +Pleasance in love-sighs, +She, looking through and through me, +Thoroughly to undo me, +Smiling, never speaks: +So innocent-arch, so cunning-simple, +From beneath her gathered wimple +Glancing with black-beaded eyes, +Till the lightning laughters dimple +The baby-roses in her cheeks; +Then away she flies. + +Prithee weep, May Lilian! +Gaiety without eclipse +Wearieth me, May Lilian: +Through my very heart it thrilleth, +When from crimson-threaded lips +Silver-treble laughter thrilleth: +Prithee weep, May Lilian! + +Praying all I can, +If prayers will not hush thee, +Airy Lilian, +Like a rose-leaf I will crush thee, +Fairy Lilian. + +Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] + + +BUGLE SONG +From "The Princess" + +The splendor falls on castle walls +And snowy summits old in story: +The long light shakes across the lakes, +And the wild cataract leaps in glory. +Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, +Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. + +O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, +And thinner, clearer, farther going! +O sweet and far from cliff and scar +The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! +Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: +Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. + +O love, they die in yon rich sky, +They faint on hill or field or river: +Our echoes roll from soul to soul, +And grow for ever and for ever. +Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, +And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. + +Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] + + +RONSARD TO HIS MISTRESS + +"Quand vous serez bien vieille, le soir a la chandelle +Assise aupres du feu devisant et filant, +Direz, chantant mes vers en vous esmerveillant, +Ronsard m'a celebre du temps que j'etois belle." + +Some winter night, shut snugly in +Beside the fagot in the hall, +I think I see you sit and spin, +Surrounded by your maidens all. +Old tales are told, old songs are sung, +Old days come back to memory; +You say, "When I was fair and young, +A poet sang of me!" + +There's not a maiden in your hall, +Though tired and sleepy ever so, +But wakes, as you my name recall, +And longs the history to know. +And, as the piteous tale is said, +Of lady cold and lover true, +Each, musing, carries it to bed, +And sighs and envies you! + +"Our lady's old and feeble now," +They'll say: "she once was fresh and fair, +And yet she spurned her lover's vow, +And heartless left him to despair. +The lover lies in silent earth, +No kindly mate the lady cheers; +She sits beside a lonely hearth, +With threescore and ten years!" + +Ah! dreary thoughts and dreams are those, +But wherefore yield me to despair, +While yet the poet's bosom glows, +While yet the dame is peerless fair! +Sweet lady mine! while yet 'tis time +Requite my passion and my truth, +And gather in their blushing prime +The roses of your youth! + +William Makepeace Thackeray [1811-1863] + + +"WHEN YOU ARE OLD" +After Pierre de Ronsard + +When you are old and gray and full of sleep, +And nodding by the fire, take down this book, +And slowly read and dream of the soft look +Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; + +How many loved your moments of glad grace, +And loved your beauty with love false or true; +But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, +And loved the sorrows of your changing face. + +And bending down beside the glowing bars +Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled +And paced upon the mountains overhead +And hid his face amid a crowd of stars. + +William Butler Yeats [1865- + + +SONG +From "Pippa Passes" + +You'll love me yet - and I can tarry +Your love's protracted growing: +June reared that bunch of flowers you carry, +From seeds of April's sowing. + +I plant a heartfull now: some seed +At least is sure to strike, +And yield - what you'll not pluck indeed, +Not love, but, may be, like. + +You'll look at least on love's remains, +A grave's one violet: +Your look? - that pays a thousand pains. +What's death? You'll love me yet! + +Robert Browning [1812-1889] + + +LOVE IN A LIFE + +Room after room, +I hunt the house through +We inhabit together. +Heart, fear nothing, for, heart, thou shalt find her - +Next time, herself! - not the trouble behind her +Left in the curtain, the couch's perfume! +As she brushed it, the cornice-wreath blossomed anew: +Yon looking-glass gleamed at the wave of her feather. + +Yet the day wears, +And door succeeds door; +I try the fresh fortune - +Range the wide house from the wing to the center. +Still the same chance! she goes out as I enter. +Spend my whole day in the quest, - who cares? +But 'tis twilight, you see, - with such suites to explore, +Such closets to search, such alcoves to importune! + +Robert Browning [1812-1889] + + +LIFE IN A LOVE + +Escape me? +Never - +Beloved! +While I am I, and you are you, +So long as the world contains us both, +Me the loving and you the loth, +While the one eludes, must the other pursue. +My life is a fault at last, I fear: +It seems too much like a fate, indeed! +Though I do my best I shall scarce succeed. +But what if I fail of my purpose here? +It is but to keep the nerves at strain, +To dry one's eyes and laugh at a fall, +And, baffled, get up and begin again, - +So the chase takes up one's life, that's all. +While, look but once from your farthest bound +At me so deep in the dust and dark, +No sooner the old hope drops to ground +Than a new one, straight to the self-same mark, +I shape me - +Ever +Removed! + +Robert Browning [1812-1889] + + +THE WELCOME + +Come in the evening, or come in the morning; +Come when you're looked for, or come without warning: +Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you, +And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you! +Light is my heart since the day we were plighted; +Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted; +The green of the trees looks far greener than ever, +And the linnets are singing, "True lovers don't sever!" + +I'll pull you sweet flowers, to wear if you choose them, - +Or, after you've kissed them, they'll lie on my bosom; +I'll fetch from the mountain its breeze to inspire you; +I'll fetch from my fancy a tale that won't tire you. +Oh! your step's like the rain to the summer-vexed farmer, +Or saber and shield to a knight without armor; +I'll sing you sweet songs till the stars rise above me, +Then, wandering, I'll wish you in silence to love me. + +We'll look through the trees at the cliff and the eyrie; +We'll tread round the rath on the track of the fairy; +We'll look on the stars, and we'll list to the river, +Till you ask of your darling what gift you can give her: +Oh! she'll whisper you - "Love, as unchangeably beaming, +And trust, when in secret, most tunefully streaming; +Till the starlight of heaven above us shall quiver, +As our souls flow in one down eternity's river." + +So come in the evening, or come in the morning; +Come when you're looked for, or come without warning: +Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you, +And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you! +Light is my heart since the day we were plighted; +Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted; +The green of the trees looks far greener than ever, +And the linnets are singing, "True lovers don't sever!" + +Thomas Osborne Davis [1814-1845] + + +URANIA + +She smiles and smiles, and will not sigh, +While we for hopeless passion die; +Yet she could love, those eyes declare, +Were but men nobler than they are. + +Eagerly once her gracious ken +Was turned upon the sons of men; +But light the serious visage grew - +She looked, and smiled, and saw them through. + +Our petty souls, cur strutting wits, +Our labored, puny passion-fits - +Ah, may she scorn them still, till we +Scorn them as bitterly as she! + +Yet show her once, ye heavenly Powers, +One of some worthier race than ours! +One for whose sake she once might prove +How deeply she who scorns can love. + +His eyes be like the starry lights; +His voice like sounds of summer nights; +In all his lovely mien let pierce +The magic of the universe! + +And she to him will reach her hand, +And gazing in his eyes will stand, +And know her friend, and weep for glee, +And cry, Long, long I've looked for thee! + +Then will she weep - with smiles, till then +Coldly she mocks the sons of men. +Till then her lovely eyes maintain +Their pure, unwavering, deep disdain. + +Matthew Arnold [1822-1888] + + +THREE SHADOWS + +I looked and saw your eyes in the shadow of your hair, +As a traveler sees the stream in the shadow of the wood; - +And I said, "My faint heart sighs, ah me! to linger there, +To drink deep and to dream in that sweet solitude." + +I looked and saw your heart in the shadow of your eyes, +As a seeker sees the gold in the shadow of the stream; +And I said, Ah, me! what art should win the immortal prize, +Whose want must make life cold and Heaven a hollow dream?" + +I looked and saw your love in the shadow of your heart, +As a diver sees the pearl in the shadow of the sea; +And I murmured, not above my breath, but all apart, - +"Ah! you can love, true girl, and is your love for me?" + +Dante Gabriel Rossetti [1828-1882] + + +SINCE WE PARTED + +Since we parted yester eve, +I do love thee, love, believe, +Twelve times dearer, twelve hours longer, - +One dream deeper, one night stronger, +One sun surer, - thus much more +Than I loved thee, love, before. + +Edward Robert Bulwer Lytton [1831-1891] + + +A MATCH + +If love were what the rose is, +And I were like the leaf, +Our lives would grow together +In sad or singing weather, +Blown fields or flowerful closes, +Green pleasure or gray grief; +If love were what the rose is, +And I were like the leaf. + +If I were what the words are, +And love were like the tune, +With double sound and single +Delight our lips would mingle, +With kisses glad as birds are +That get sweet rain at noon; +If I were what the words are, +And love were like the tune. + +If you were life, my darling, +And I your love were death, +We'd shine and snow together +Ere March made sweet the weather +With daffodil and starling +And hours of fruitful breath; +If you were life, my darling, +And I your love were death. + +If you were thrall to sorrow, +And I were page to joy, +We'd play for lives and seasons +With loving looks and treasons +And tears of night and morrow +And laughs of maid and boy; +If you were thrall to sorrow, +And I were page to joy. + +If you were April's lady, +And I were lord in May, +We'd throw with leaves for hours +And draw for days with flowers, +Till day like night were shady +And night were bright like day; +If you were April's lady, +And I were lord in May. + +If you were queen of pleasure, +And I were king of pain, +We'd hunt down love together, +Pluck out his flying-feather, +And teach his feet a measure, +And find his mouth a rein; +If you were queen of pleasure, +And I were king of pain. + +Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909] + + +A BALLAD OF LIFE + +I found in dreams a place of wind and flowers, +Full of sweet trees and color of glad grass, +In midst whereof there was +A lady clothed like summer with sweet hours, +Her beauty, fervent as a fiery moon +Made my blood burn and swoon +Like a flame rained upon. +Sorrow had filled her shaken eyelids' blue, +And her mouth's sad red heavy rose all through +Seemed sad with glad things gone. + +She held a little cithern by the strings, +Shaped heartwise, strung with subtle-colored hair +Of some dead lute player +That in dead years had done delicious things. +The seven strings were named accordingly; +The first string charity, +The second tenderness, +The rest were pleasure, sorrow, sleep, and sin, +And loving kindness, that is pity's kin +And is most pitiless. + +There were three men with her, each garmented +With gold, and shod with gold upon the feet; +And with plucked ears of wheat. +The first man's hair was wound upon his head: +His face was red, and his mouth curled and sad; +All his gold garment had +Pale stains of dust and rust. +A riven hood was pulled across his eyes; +The token of him being upon this wise +Made for a sign of Lust. + +The next 'was Shame, with hollow heavy face +Colored like green wood when flame kindles it. +He hath such feeble feet +They may not well endure in any place. +His face was full of gray old miseries. +And all his blood's increase +Was even increase of pain. +The last was Fear, that is akin to Death; +He is Shame's friend, and always as Shame saith +Fear answers him again. + +My soul said in me: This is marvelous, +Seeing the air's face is not so delicate +Nor the sun's grace so great, +If sin and she be kin or amorous. +And seeing where maidens served her on their knees, +I bade one crave of these +To know the cause thereof. +Then Fear said: I am Pity that was dead. +And Shame said: I am Sorrow comforted. +And Lust said: I am Love. + +Thereat her hands began a lute-playing +And her sweet mouth a song in a strange tongue; +And all the while she sung +There was no sound but long tears following +Long tears upon men's faces, waxen white +With extreme sad delight. +But those three following men +Became as men raised up among the dead; +Great glad mouths open, and fair cheeks made red +With child's blood come again. + +Then I said: Now assuredly I see +My lady is perfect, and transfigureth +All sin and sorrow and death, +Making them fair as her own eyelids be, +Or lips wherein my whole soul's life abides; +Or as her sweet white sides +And bosom carved to kiss. +Now therefore, if her pity further me, +Doubtless for her sake all my days shall be +As righteous as she is. + +Forth, ballad, and take roses in both arms, +Even till the top rose touch thee in the throat +Where the least thornprick harms; +And girdled in thy golden singing-coat, +Come thou before my lady and say this: +Borgia, thy gold hair's color burns in me, +Thy mouth makes beat my blood in feverish rhymes; +Therefore so many as these roses be, +Kiss me so many times. +Then it may be, seeing how sweet she is, +That she will stoop herself none otherwise +Than a blown vine-branch doth, +And kiss thee with soft laughter on thine eyes, +Ballad, and on thy mouth. + +Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909] + + +A LEAVE-TAKING + +Let us go hence, my songs; she will not hear. +Let us go hence together without fear; +Keep silence now, for singing time is over, +And over all old things and all things dear. +She loves not you nor me as all we love her. +Yea, though we sang as angels in her ear, +She would not hear. + +Let us rise up and part; she will not know. +Let us go seaward as the great winds go, +Full of blown sand and foam; what help is there? +There is no help, for all these things are so, +And all the world is bitter as a tear, +And how these things are, though ye strove to show, +She would not know. + +Let us go home and hence; she will not weep. +We gave love many dreams and days to keep, +Flowers without scent, and fruits that would not grow, +Saying, "If thou wilt, thrust in thy sickle and reap." +All is reaped now; no grass is left to mow; +And we that sowed, though all we fell on sleep, +She would not weep. + +Let us go hence and rest; she will not love. +She shall not hear us if we sing hereof, +Nor see love's ways how sore they are and steep. +Come hence, let be, lie still; it is enough. +Love is a barren sea, bitter and deep; +And though she saw all heaven in flower above, +She would not love. + +Let us give up, go down; she will not care. +Though all the stars made gold of all the air, +And the sea moving saw before it move +One moon-flower making all the foam-flowers fair; +Though all those waves went over us, and drove +Deep down the stifling lips and drowning hair, +She would not care. + +Let us go hence, go hence; she will not see. +Sing all once more together; surely she, +She too, remembering days and words that were, +Will turn a little towards us, sighing; but we, +We are hence, we are gone, as though we had not been there. +Nay, and though all men seeing had pity on me, +She would not see. + +Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909] + + +A LYRIC + +There's nae lark loves the lift, my dear, +There's nae ship loves the sea, +There's nae bee loves the heather-bells, +That loves as I love thee, my love, +That loves as I love thee. + +The whin shines fair upon the fell, +The blithe broom on the lea: +The muirside wind is merry at heart: +It's a' for love of thee, my love, +It's a' for love of thee. + +Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909] + + +MAUREEN + +O, you plant the pain in my heart with your wistful eyes, +Girl of my choice, Maureen! +Will you drive me mad for the kisses your shy, sweet mouth denies, +Maureen? + +Like a walking ghost I am, and no words to woo, +White rose of the West, Maureen: +For it's pale you are, and the fear on you is over me too, +Maureen! + +Sure it's one complaint that's on us, asthore, this day, +Bride of my dreams, Maureen: +The smart of the bee that stung us his honey must cure, they say, +Maureen! + +I'll coax the light to your eyes, and the rose to your face, +Mavourneen, my own Maureen! +When I feel the warmth of your breast, and your nest is my arm's embrace, +Maureen! + +O where was the King o' the World that day - only me? +My one true love, Maureen! +And you the Queen with me there, and your throne in my heart, machree, +Maureen! + +John Todhunter [1839-?] + + +A LOVE SYMPHONY + +Along the garden ways just now +I heard the flowers speak; +The white rose told me of your brow, +The red rose of your cheek; +The lily of your bended head, +The bindweed of your hair; +Each looked its loveliest and said +You were more fair. + +I went into the wood anon, +And heard the wild birds sing, +How sweet you were, they warbled on, +Piped, trilled, the selfsame thing. +Thrush, blackbird, linnet, without pause +The burden did repeat, +And still began again because +You were more sweet. + +And then I went down to the sea, +And heard it murmuring too, +Part of an ancient mystery, +All made of me and you: +How many a thousand years ago +I loved, and you were sweet - +Longer I could not stay, and so +I fled back to your feet. + +Arthur O'Shaughnessy [1844-1881] + + +LOVE ON THE MOUNTAIN + +My love comes down from the mountain +Through the mists of dawn; +I look, and the star of the morning +From the sky is gone. + +My love comes down from the mountain, +At dawn, dewy sweet; +Did you step from the star to the mountain, +O little white feet? + +O whence came your twining tresses +And your shining eyes, +But out of the gold of the morning +And the blue of the skies? + +The misty mountain is burning +In the sun's red fire, +And the heart in my breast is burning +And lost in desire. + +I follow you into the valley +But no word can I say; +To the East or the West I will follow +Till the dusk of my day. + +Thomas Boyd [1867- + + +KATE TEMPLE'S SONG + +Only a touch, and nothing more; +Ah! but never so touched before! +Touch of lip, was it? Touch of hand? +Either is easy to understand. +Earth may be smitten with fire or frost - +Never the touch of true love lost. + +Only a word, was it? Scarce a word! +Musical whisper, softly heard, +Syllabled nothing - just a breath - +'Twill outlast life and 'twill laugh at death. +Love with so little can do so much - +Only a word, sweet! Only a touch! + +Mortimer Collins [1827-1876] + + +MY QUEEN + +When and how shall I earliest meet her? +What are the words she first will say? +By what name shall I learn to greet her? +I know not now; it will come some day! +With the selfsame sunlight shining upon her, +Shining down on her ringlets' sheen, +She is standing somewhere - she I shall honor, +She that I wait for, my queen, my queen! + +Whether her hair be golden or raven, +Whether her eyes be hazel or blue, +I know not now; but 'twill be engraven +Some day hence as my loveliest hue. +Many a girl I have loved for a minute, +Worshipped many a face I have seen: +Ever and aye there was something in it, +Something that could not be hers, my queen! + +I will not dream of her tall and stately, +She that I love may be fairy light; +I will not say she must move sedately, - +Whatever she does it will then be right. +She may be humble or proud, my lady, +Or that sweet calm which is just between; +And whenever she comes she will find me ready +To do her homage, my queen, my queen! + +But she must be courteous, she must be holy, +Pure in her spirit, this maiden I love; +Whether her birth be noble or lowly +I care no more than the spirits above. +But I'll give my heart to my lady's keeping, +And ever her strength on mine shall lean; +And the stars may fall, and the saints be weeping +Ere I cease to love her, my queen, my queen! + +Unknown + + +"DARLING, TELL ME YES" + +One little minute more, Maud, +One little whisper more; +I have a word to speak, Maud, +I never breathed before. +What can it be but love, Maud; +And do I rightly guess +'Tis pleasant to your ear, Maud? +O darling! tell me yes! + +The burden of my heart, Maud, +There's little need to tell; +There's little need to say, Maud, +I've loved you long and well. +There's language in a sigh, Maud, +One's meaning to express, +And yours - was it for me, Maud? +O darling! tell me yes! + +My eyes have told my love, Maud, +And on my burning cheek, +You've read the tender thought, Maud, +My lips refused to speak. +I gave you all my heart, Maud, +'Tis needless to confess; +And did you give me yours, Maud? +O darling! tell me yes! + +'Tis sad to starve a love, Maud, +So worshipful and true; +I know a little cot, Maud, +Quite large enough for two; +And you will be my wife, Maud? +So may you ever bless +Through all your sunny life, Maud, +The day you answered yes! + +John Godfrey Saxe [1816-1877] + + +"DO I LOVE THEE?" + +Do I love thee? Ask the bee +If she loves the flowery lea, +Where the honeysuckle blows +And the fragrant clover grows. +As she answers, Yes or No, +Darling! take my answer so. + +Do I love thee? Ask the bird +When her matin song is heard, +If she loves the sky so fair, +Fleecy cloud and liquid air. +As she answers, Yes, or No, +Darling! take my answer so. + +Do I love thee? Ask the flower +If she loves the vernal shower, +Or the kisses of the sun, +Or the dew, when day is done. +As she answers, Yes or No, +Darling! take my answer so. + +John Godfrey Saxe [1816-1887] + + +"O WORLD, BE NOBLER" + +O world be nobler, for her sake! +If she but knew thee what thou art, +What wrongs are borne, what deeds are done +In thee, beneath thy daily sun, +Know'st thou not that her tender heart +For pain and very shame would break? +O World, be nobler, for her sake! + +Laurence Binyon [1869- + + +"IN THE DARK, IN THE DEW" + +In the dark, in the dew, +I am smiling back at you; +But you cannot see the smile, +And you're thinking all the while +How I turn my face from you, +In the dark, in the dew. + +In the dark, in the dew, +All my love goes out to you, +Flutters like a bird in pain, +Dies and comes to life again; +While you whisper, "Sweetest, hark; +Someone's sighing in the dark, +In the dark, in the dew!" + +In the dark, in the dew, +All my heart cries out to you, +As I cast it at your feet, +Sweet indeed, but not too sweet; +Wondering will you hear it beat, +Beat for you, and bleed for you, +In the dark, in the dew! + +Mary Newmarch Prescott [1849-1888] + + +NANNY + +Oh, for an hour when the day is breaking, +Down by the shore where the tide is making, +Fair as white cloud, thou, love, near me, +None but the waves and thyself to hear me! +Oh, to my breast how these arms would press thee! +Wildly my heart in its joy would bless thee! +Oh, how the soul thou has won would woo thee, +Girl of the snow neck, closer to me! + +Oh, for an hour as the day advances, +Out where the breeze on the broom-bush dances, +Watching the lark, with the sun-ray o'er us, +Winging the notes of his Heaven-taught chorus! +Oh, to be there, and my love before me, +Soft as a moonbeam smiling o'er me! +Thou would'st but love, and I would woo thee, +Girl of the dark eye, closer to me! + +Oh, for an hour where the sun first found us, +Out in the eve with its red sheets round us, +Brushing the dew from the gale's soft winglets, +Pearly and sweet, with thy long dark ringlets! +Oh, to be there on the sward beside thee, +Telling my tale, though I know you'd chide me! +Sweet were thy voice, though it should undo me, - +Girl of the dark locks, closer to me! + +Oh, for an hour by night or by day, love, +Just as the Heavens and thou might say, love! +Far from the stare of the cold-eyed many, +Bound in the breath of my dove-souled Nanny! +Oh, for the pure chains that have bound me, +Warm from thy red lips circling round me! +Oh, in my soul, as the light above me, +Queen of the pure hearts, do I love thee! + +Francis Davis [1810-1885] + + +A TRIFLE + +I know not why, but even to me +My songs seem sweet when read to thee. + +Perhaps in this the pleasure lies - +I read my thoughts within thine eyes, + +And so dare fancy that my art +May sink as deeply as thy heart. + +Perhaps I love to make my words +Sing round thee like so many birds, + +Or, maybe, they are only sweet +As they seem offerings at thy feet. + +Or haply, Lily, when I speak, +I think, perchance, they touch thy cheek, + +Or with a yet more precious bliss, +Die on thy red lips in a kiss. + +Each reason here - I cannot tell - +Or all perhaps may solve the spell. + +But if she watch when I am by, +Lily may deeper see than I. + +Henry Timrod [1829-1867] + + +ROMANCE + +I will make you brooches and toys for your delight +Of bird-song at morning and star-shine at night. +I will make a palace fit for you and me, +Of green days in forests and blue days at sea. + +I will make my kitchen, and you shall keep your room, +Where white flows the river and bright blows the broom, +And you shall wash your linen and keep your body white +In rainfall at morning and dewfall at night. + +And this shall be for music when no one else is near +The fine song for singing, the rare song to hear! +That only I remember, that only you admire, +Of the broad road that stretches and the roadside fire. + +Robert Louis Stevenson [1850-1894] + + +"OR EVER THE KNIGHTLY YEARS WERE GONE" + +Or ever the knightly years were gone +With the old world to the grave, +I was a King in Babylon +And you were a Christian Slave. + +I saw, I took, I cast you by, +I bent and broke your pride. +You loved me well, or I heard them lie, +But your longing was denied. +Surely I knew that by and by +You cursed your gods and died. + +And a myriad suns have set and shone +Since then upon the grave +Decreed by the King in Babylon +To her that had been his Slave. + +The pride I trampled is now my scathe, +For it tramples me again. +The old resentment lasts like death, +For you love, yet you refrain. +I break my heart on your hard unfaith, +And I break my heart in vain. + +Yet not for an hour do I wish undone +The deed beyond the grave, +When I was a King in Babylon +And you were a Virgin Slave. + +William Ernest Henley [1849-1903] + + +RUS IN URBE + +Poets are singing the whole world over +Of May in melody, joys for June; +Dusting their feet in the careless clover, +And filling their hearts with the blackbird's tune. +The "brown bright nightingale" strikes with pity +The Sensitive heart of a count or clown; +But where is the song for our leafy city, +And where the rhymes for our lovely town? + +"O for the Thames, and its rippling reaches, +Where almond rushes, and breezes sport! +Take me a walk under Burnham Beeches, +Give me dinner at Hampton Court! +Poets, be still, though your hearts I harden; +We've flowers by day and have scents at dark, +The limes are in leaf in the cockney garden, +And lilacs blossom in Regent's Park. + +"Come for a blow," says a reckless fellow, +Burned red and brown by passionate sun; +"Come to the downs, where the gorse is yellow; +The season of kisses has just begun! +Come to the fields where bluebells shiver, +Hear cuckoo's carol, or plaint of dove; +Come for a row on the silent river; +Come to the meadows and learn to love!" + +Yes, I will come when this wealth is over +Of softened color and perfect tone - +The lilac's better than fields of clover; +I'll come when blossoming May has flown. +When dust and dirt of a trampled city +Have dragged the yellow laburnum down, +I'll take my holiday - more's the pity - +And turn my back upon London town. + +Margaret! am I so wrong to love it, +This misty town that your face shines through? +A crown of blossom is waved above it; +But heart and life of the whirl - 'tis you! +Margaret! pearl! I have sought and found you; +And, though the paths of the wind are free, +I'll follow the ways of the world around you, +And build my nest on the nearest tree! + +Clement Scott [1841-1904] + + +MY ROAD + +There's a road to heaven, a road to hell, +A road for the sick and one for the well; +There's a road for the false and a road for the true, +But the road for me is the road to you. + +There's a road through prairie and forest and glen, +A road to each place in human ken; +There's a road over earth and a road over sea, +But the road to you is the road for me. + +There's a road for animal, bird, and beast, +A road for the greatest, a road for the least; +There's a road that is old and a road that is new, +But the road for me is the road to you. + +There's a road for the heart and a road for the soul, +There's a road for a part and a road for the whole; +There's a road for love, - which few ever see, - +'Tis the road to you and the road for me. + +Oliver Opdyke [1878- + + +A WHITE ROSE + +The red rose whispers of passion, +And the white rose breathes of love; +Oh, the red rose is a falcon, +And the white rose is a dove. + +But I send you a cream white rosebud +With a flush on its petal tips; +For the love that is purest and sweetest +Has a kiss of desire on the lips. + +John Boyle O'Reilly [1844-1890] + + +"SOME DAY OF DAYS" + +Some day, some day of days, threading the street +With idle, heedless pace, +Unlooking for such grace +I shall behold your face! +Some day, some day of days, thus may we meet. + +Perchance the sun may shine from skies of May, +Or winter's icy chill +Touch whitely vale and hill. +What matter? I shall thrill +Through every vein with summer on that day. + +Once more life's perfect youth will all come back, +And for a moment there +I shall stand fresh and fair, +And drop the garment care; +Once more my perfect youth will nothing lack. + +I shut my eyes now, thinking how 'twill be - +How face to face each soul +Will slip its long control, +Forget the dismal dole +Of dreary Fate's dark, separating sea; + +And glance to glance, and hand to hand in greeting, +The past with all its fears, +Its silences and tears, +Its lonely, yearning years, +Shall vanish in the moment of that meeting. + +Nora Perry [1832-1896] + + +THE TELEPHONE + +"When I was just as far as I could walk +From here to-day, +There was an hour +All still +When leaning with my head against a flower +I heard you talk. +Don't say I didn't, for I heard you say - +You spoke from that flower on the window sill - +Do you remember what it was you said?" + +"First tell me what it was you thought you heard." + +"Having found the flower and driven a bee away, +I leaned my head, +And holding by the stalk, +I listened and I thought I caught the word - +What was it? Did you call me by my name? +Or did you say - +Someone said 'Come' - I heard it as I bowed." + +"I may have thought as much, but not aloud." + +"Well, so I came." + +Robert Frost [1875- + + +WHERE LOVE IS + +By the rosy cliffs of Devon, on a green hill's crest, +I would build me a house as a swallow builds its nest; +I would curtain it with roses, and the wind should breathe to me +The sweetness of the roses and the saltness of the sea. + +Where the Tuscan olives whiten in the hot blue day, +I would hide me from the heat in a little hut of gray, +While the singing of the husbandmen should scale my lattice green +From the golden rows of barley that the poppies blaze between. + +Narrow is the street, Dear, and dingy are the walls +Wherein you wait my coming as the twilight falls. +All day with dreams I gild the grime till at your step I start - +Ah Love, my country in your arms - my home upon your heart! + +Amelia Josephine Burr [1878- + + +THAT DAY YOU CAME + +Such special sweetness was about +That day God sent you here, +I knew the lavender was out, +And it was mid of year. + +Their common way the great winds blew, +The ships sailed out to sea; +Yet ere that day was spent I knew +Mine own had come to me. + +As after song some snatch of tune +Lurks still in grass or bough, +So, somewhat of the end o' June +Lurks in each weather now. + +The young year sets the buds astir, +The old year strips the trees; +But ever in my lavender +I hear the brawling bees. + +Lizette Woodworth Reese [1856-1935] + + +AMANTIUM IRAE + +When this, our rose, is faded, +And these, our days, are done, +In lands profoundly shaded +From tempest and from sun: +Ah, once more come together, +Shall we forgive the past, +And safe from worldly weather +Possess our souls at last? + +Or in our place of shadows +Shall still we stretch a hand +To green, remembered meadows, +Of that old pleasant land? +And vainly there foregathered, +Shall we regret the sun? +The rose of love, ungathered? +The bay, we have not won? + +Ah, child! the world's dark marges +May lead to Nevermore, +The stately funeral barges +Sail for an unknown shore, +And love we vow to-morrow, +And pride we serve to-day: +What if they both should borrow +Sad hues of yesterday? + +Our pride! Ah, should we miss it, +Or will it serve at last? +Our anger, if we kiss it, +Is like a sorrow past. +While roses deck the garden, +While yet the sun is high, +Doff sorry pride: for pardon, +Or ever love go by. + +Ernest Dowson [1867-1900] + + +IN A ROSE GARDEN + +A hundred years from now, dear heart, +We shall not care at all. +It will not matter then a whit, +The honey or the gall. +The summer days that we have known +Will all forgotten be and flown; +The garden will be overgrown +Where now the roses fall. + +A hundred years from now, dear heart, +We shall not mind the pain; +The throbbing crimson tide of life +Will not have left a stain. +The song we sing together, dear, +The dream we dream together here, +Will mean no more than means a tear +Amid a summer rain. + +A hundred years from now, dear heart, +The grief will all be o'er; +The sea of care will surge in vain +Upon a careless shore. +These glasses we turn down to-day +Here at the parting of the way - +We shall be wineless then as they, +And shall not mind it more. + +A hundred years from now, dear heart, +We'll neither know nor care +What came of all life's bitterness, +Or followed love's despair. +Then fill the glasses up again, +And kiss me through the rose-leaf rain; +We'll build one castle more in Spain, +And dream one more dream there. + +John Bennett [1865- + + +"GOD BLESS YOU, DEAR, TO-DAY" + +If there be graveyards in the heart +From which no roses spring, +A place of wrecks and old gray tombs +From which no birds take wing, +Where linger buried hopes and dreams +Like ghosts among the graves, +Why, buried hopes are dismal things, +And lonely ghosts are knaves! + +If there come dreary winter days, +When summer roses fall +And lie, forgot, in withered drifts +Along the garden wall; +If all the wreaths a lover weaves +Turn thorns upon the brow, - +Then out upon the silly fool +Who makes not merry now! + +For if we cannot keep the past, +Why care for what's to come? +The instant's prick is all that stings, +And then the place is numb. +If Life's a lie, and Love's a cheat, +As I have heard men say, +Then here's a health to fond deceit - +God bless you, dear, to-day! + +John Bennett [1865- + + +TO-DAY + +I bring you all my olden days, +My childhood's morning glow; +I love you down the meadow ways +Where early blossoms blow: +And up deep lanes of long-gone-by, +Shining with dew-drops yet, - +I wander still, till you and I +Over the world are met. + +I bring you all my lonely days, +My heart that hungered so; +I love you through the wistful haze +Of autumns burning low; +And on pale seas, beneath wan sky, +By weary tides beset, +I voyage still, till you and I +Over the world are met. + +I bring you all my happy days, - +Armfuls of flowers - oh, +I love you as the sunlight stays +On mountains heaped with snow: +And where the dearest dream-buds lie, +With tears and dew-drops wet, +I toss to-day; for you and I +Over the world are met! + +Benjamin R. C. Low [1880- + + +TO ARCADY + +Across the hills of Arcady +Into the Land of Song - +Ah, dear, if you will go with me +The way will not be long! + +It will not lead through solitudes +Of wind-blown woods or sea; +Dear, no! the city's weariest moods +May scarce veil Arcady. + +'Tis in no unfamiliar land +Lit by some distant star. +No! Arcady is where you stand, +And Song is where you are! + +So walk but hand in hand with me - +No road can lead us wrong; +These are the hills of Arcady - +Here is the Land of Song! + +Charles Buxton Going [1863- + + +WILD WISHES + +I wish, because the sweetness of your passing +Makes all the earth a garden where you tread, +That I might be the meanest of your roses, +To pave your path with petals passion-red! + +I wish, because the softness of your breathing +Stirs the white jasmine at your window frame, +That I might be the fragrance of a flower, +To stir the night breeze with your dearest name! + +I wish, because the glory of your dreaming +Strews all the field of heaven with throbbing stars, +That I might storm the portals of your slumber, +And soar with you beyond night's golden bars! + +I wish to be the day you die, Beloved, +Though at its close my foolish heart must break! +But most of all, I wish, my dearest darling, +To be the Blessed Morning when you wake! + +Ethel M. Hewitt [18 - + + +"BECAUSE OF YOU" + +Sweet have I known the blossoms of the morning +Tenderly tinted to their hearts of dew: +But now my flowers have found a fuller fragrance, +Because of you. + +Long have I worshiped in my soul's enshrining +High visions of the noble and the true - +Now all my aims and all my prayers are purer, +Because of you. + +Wise have I seen the uses of life's labor; +To all its puzzles found some answering clue. +But now my life has learned a nobler meaning, +Because of you. + +In the past days I chafed at pain and waiting, +Grasping at gladness as the children do; +Now it is sweet to wait and joy to suffer, +Because of you. + +In the long years of silences that part us +Dimmed by my tears and darkened to my view, +Close shall I hold my memories and my madness, +Because of you. + +Whether our lips shall touch or hands shall hunger, +Whether our love be fed or joys be few, +Life will be sweeter and more worth the living, +Because of you. + +Sophia Almon Hensley [1866- + + +THEN + +I give thee treasures hour by hour, +That old-time princes asked in vain, +And pined for in their useless power, +Or died of passion's eager pain. + +I give thee love as God gives light, +Aside from merit, or from prayer, +Rejoicing in its own delight, +And freer than the lavish air. + +I give thee prayers, like jewels strung +On golden threads of hope and fear; +And tenderer thoughts than ever hung +In a sad angel's pitying tear. + +As earth pours freely to the sea +Her thousand streams of wealth untold, +So flows my silent life to thee, +Glad that its very sands are gold. + +What care I for thy carelessness? +I give from depths that overflow, +Regardless that their power to bless +Thy spirit cannot sound or know. + +Far lingering on a distant dawn, +My triumph shines, more sweet than late; +When, from these mortal mists withdrawn, +Thy heart shall know me - I can wait. + +Rose Terry Cooke [1827-1892] + + +THE MISSIVE + +I that tremble at your feet +Am a rose; +Nothing dewier or more sweet +Buds or blows; +He that plucked me, he that threw me +Breathed in fire his whole soul through me. + +How the cold air is infused +With the scent! +See, this satin leaf is bruised - +Bruised and bent, +Lift me, lift the wounded blossom, +Soothe it at your rosier bosom! + +Frown not with averted eyes! +Joy's a flower +That is born a god, and dies +In an hour. +Take me, for the Summer closes, +And your life is but a rose's. + +Edmund Gosse [1849-1928] + + +PLYMOUTH HARBOR + +Oh, what know they of harbors +Who toss not on the sea! +They tell of fairer havens +But none so fair there be + +As Plymouth town outstretching +Her quiet arms to me; +Her breast's broad welcome spreading +From Mewstone to Penlee. + +Ah, with this home-thought, darling, +Come crowding thoughts of thee. +Oh, what know they of harbors +Who toss not on the sea! + +Mrs. Ernest Radford [1858- + + +THE SERF'S SECRET + +I know a secret, such a one +The hawthorn blossoms spider-spun, +The dew-damp daisies in the grass +Laugh up to greet me as I pass +To meet the upland sun. + +It is that I would rather be +The little page, on bended knee, +Who stoops to gather up her train +Beneath the porch-lamp's ruby rain +Than hold a realm in fee. + +It is that in her scornful eye, +Too hid for courtly sneer to spy, +I saw, one day, a look which said +That I, and only I, might shed +Love-light across her sky. + +I know a secret, such a one +The hawthorn blossoms spider-spun, +The dew-damp daisies in the grass +Laugh up to greet me as I pass +To meet the upland sun. + +William Vaughn Moody [1869-1910] + + +"O, INEXPRESSIBLE AS SWEET" + +O, inexpressible as sweet, +Love takes my voice away; +I cannot tell thee when we meet +What most I long to say. + +But hadst thou hearing in thy heart +To know what beats in mine, +Then shouldst thou walk, where'er thou art, +In melodies divine. + +So warbling birds lift higher notes +Than to our ears belong; +The music fills their throbbing throats, +But silence steals the song. + +George Edward Woodberry [1855-1930] + + +THE CYCLAMEN + +Over the plains where Persian hosts +Laid down their lives for glory +Flutter the cyclamens, like ghosts +That witness to their story. +Oh, fair! Oh, white! Oh, pure as snow! +On countless graves how sweet they grow! + +Or crimson, like the cruel wounds +From which the life-blood, flowing, +Poured out where now on grassy mounds +The low, soft winds are blowing: +Oh, fair! Oh, red! Like blood of slain; +Not even time can cleanse that stain. + +But when my dear these blossoms holds, +All loveliness her dower, +All woe and joy the past enfolds +In her find fullest flower. +Oh, fair! Oh, pure! Oh, white and red! +If she but live, what are the dead! + +Arlo Bates [1850-1918] + + +THE WEST-COUNTRY LOVER + +Then, lady, at last thou art sick of my sighing? +Good-bye! +So long as I sue, thou wilt still be denying? +Good-bye! +Ah, well! shall I vow then to serve thee forever, +And swear no unkindness our kinship can sever? +Nay, nay, dear my lass! here's an end of endeavor. +Good-bye! + +Yet let no sweet ruth for my misery grieve thee. +Good-bye! +The man who has loved knows as well how to leave thee. +Good-bye! +The gorse is enkindled, there's bloom on the heather, +And love is my joy, and so too is fair weather; +I still ride abroad, though we ride not together. +Good-bye! + +My horse is my mate; let the wind be my master. +Good-bye! +Though Care may pursue, yet my hound follows faster. +Good-bye! +The red deer's a-tremble in coverts unbroken. +He hears the hoof-thunder; he scents the death-token. +Shall I mope at home, under vows never spoken? +Good-bye! + +The brown earth's my book, and I ride forth to read it. +Good-bye! +The stream runneth fast, but my will shall outspeed it. +Good-bye! +I love thee, dear lass, but I hate the hag Sorrow. +As sun follows rain, and to-night has its morrow, +So I'll taste of joy, though I steal, beg, or borrow! +Good-bye! + +Alice Brown [1857- + + +"BE YE IN LOVE WITH APRIL-TIDE" + +Be ye in love with April-tide? +I' faith, in love am I! +For now 'tis sun, and now 'tis shower, +And now 'tis frost and now 'tis flower, +And now 'tis Laura laughing-eyed, +And now 'tis Laura shy! + +Ye doubtful days, O slower glide! +Still smile and frown, O sky! +Some beauty unforeseen I trace +In every change of Laura's face; - +Be ye in love with April-tide? +I' faith, in love am I! + +Clinton Scollard [1860-1932] + + +UNITY + +Heart of my heart, the world is young: +Love lies hidden in every rose! +Every song that the skylark sung +Once, we thought, must come to a close: +Now we know the spirit of song, +Song that is merged in the chant of the whole, +Hand in hand as we wander along, +What should we doubt of the years that roll? + +Heart of my heart, we can not die! +Love triumphant in flower and tree, +Every life that laughs at the sky +Tells us nothing can cease to be; +One, we are one with a song to-day, +One with the clover that scents the wold, +One with the Unknown, far away, +One with the stars, when earth grows old. + +Heart of my heart, we are one with the wind, +One with the clouds that are whirled o'er the lea, +One in many, O broken and blind, +One as the waves are at one with the sea! +Ay! when life seems scattered apart, +Darkens, ends as a tale that is told, +One, we are one, O heart of my heart, +One, still one, while the world grows old. + +Alfred Noyes [1880- + + +THE QUEEN + +He loves not well whose love is bold! +I would not have thee come too nigh: +The sun's gold would not seem pure gold +Unless the sun were in the sky: +To take him thence and chain him near +Would make his glory disappear. + +He keeps his state, - keep thou in thine, +And shine upon me from afar! +So shall I bask in light divine, +That falls from love's own guiding star; +So shall thy eminence be high, +And so my passion shall not die; + +But all my life shall reach its hands +Of lofty longing toward thy face, +And be as one who, speechless, stands +In rapture at some perfect grace! +My love, my hope, my all shall be +To look to heaven and look to thee! + +Thy eyes shall be the heavenly lights, +Thy voice the gentle summer breeze, - +What time it sways, on moonlit nights, +The murmuring tops of leafy trees; +And I shall touch thy beauteous form +In June's red roses, rich and warm. + +But thou thyself shall come not down +From that pure region far above; +But keep thy throne and wear thy crown, +Queen of my heart and queen of love! +A monarch in thy realm complete, +And I a monarch - at thy feet! + +William Winter [1836-1917] + + +A LOVER'S ENVY + +I envy every flower that blows +Beside the pathway where she goes, +And every bird that sings to her, +And every breeze that brings to her +The fragrance of the rose. + +I envy every poet's rhyme +That moves her heart at eventime, +And every tree that wears for her +Its brightest bloom, and bears for her +The fruitage of its prime. + +I envy every Southern night +That paves her path with moonbeams white, +And silvers all the leaves for her, +And in their shadow weaves for her +A dream of dear delight. + +I envy none whose love requires +Of her a gift, a task that tires: +I only long to live to her, +I only ask to give to her +All that her heart desires. + +Henry Van Dyke [1852-1933] + + +STAR SONG + +When sunset flows into golden glows +And the breath of the night is new, +Love, find afar eve's eager star - +That is my thought of you. + +O tear-wet eye that scans the sky +Your lonely lattice through: +Choose any one, from sun to sun - +That is my thought of you. + +And when you wake at the morning's break +To rival rose and dew, +The star that stays till the leaping rays - +That is my thought of you. + +Ay, though by day they seem away +Beyond or cloud or blue, +From dawn to night unquenched their light - +As are my thoughts of you. + +Robert Underwood Johnson [1853- + + +"MY HEART SHALL BE THY GARDEN" + +My heart shall be thy garden. Come, my own, +Into thy garden; thine be happy hours +Among my fairest thoughts, my tallest flowers, +From root to crowning petal, thine alone. +Thine is the place from where the seeds are sown +Up to the sky inclosed, with all its showers. +But ah, the birds, the birds! Who shall build bowers +To keep these thine? O friend, the birds have flown. + +For as these come and go, and quit our pine +To follow the sweet season, or, new-corners, +Sing one song only from our alder-trees, +My heart has thoughts, which, though thine eyes hold mine. +Flit to the silent world and other summers, +With wings that dip beyond the silver seas. + +Alice Meynell [1853-1922] + + +AT NIGHT + +Home, home from the horizon far and clear, +Hither the soft wings sweep; +Flocks of the memories of the day draw near +The dovecote doors of sleep. + +Oh which are they that come through sweetest light +Of all these homing birds? +Which with the straightest and the swiftest flight? +Your words to me, your words! + +Alice Meynell [1850-1922] + + +SONG + +Song is so old, +Love is so new - +Let me be still +And kneel to you. + +Let me be still +And breathe no word, +Save what my warm blood +Sings unheard. + +Let my warm blood +Sing low of you - +Song is so fair, +Love is so new! + +Hermann Hagedorn [1882- + + +"ALL LAST NIGHT" + +All last night I had quiet +In a fragrant dream and warm: +She had become my Sabbath, +And round my neck, her arm. + +I knew the warmth in my dreaming; +The fragrance, I suppose, +Was her hair about me, +Or else she wore a rose. + +Her hair, I think; for likest +Woodruffe 'twas, when Spring +Loitering down wet woodways +Treads it sauntering. + +No light, nor any speaking; +Fragrant only and warm. +Enough to know my lodging, +The white Sabbath of her arm. + +Lascelles Abercrombie [1881- + + +THE LAST WORD + +When I have folded up this tent +And laid the soiled thing by, +I shall go forth 'neath different stars, +Under an unknown sky. + +And yet whatever house I find +Beneath the grass or snow +Will ne'er be tenantless of love +Or lack the face I know. + +O lips - wild roses wet with rain! +Blown hair of drifted brown! +O passionate eyes! O panting heart - +When in that colder town + +I lie, the one inhabitant, +My hands across my breast, +How warm through all eternity +The summer of my rest! + +To each frail root beneath the ground +That thrusts its flower above, +I shall impart a fiercer sap - +I who have known your love! + +And growing things will lean to me +To learn what love hath won, +Till I shall whisper to the dust +That secret of the Sun. + +Yea, though my spirit never wake +To hear the voice I knew, +Even an endless sleep would be +Stirred by the dreams of You! + +Frederic Lawrence Knowles [1869-1905] + + +"HEART OF MY HEART" + +Heart of my heart, my life, my light! +If you were lost what should I do? +I dare not let you from my sight +Lest Death should fall in love with you. + +Such countless terrors lie in wait! +The gods know well how dear you are! +What if they left me desolate +And plucked and set you for their star! + +Then hold me close, the gods are strong, +And perfect joy so rare a flower +No man may hope to keep it long - +And I may lose you any hour. + +Then kiss me close, my star, my flower! +So shall the future grant me this: +That there was not a single hour +We might have kissed, and did not kiss! + +Unknown + + +MY LADDIE + +Oh, my laddie, my laddie, +I lo'e your very plaidie, +I lo'e your very bonnet +Wi' the silver buckle on it, +I lo'e your collie Harry, +I lo'e the kent ye carry; +But oh! it's past my power to tell +How much, how much I lo'e yoursel! + +Oh, my dearie, my dearie, +I could luik an' never weary +At your een sae blue an' iaughin', +That a heart o' stane wad saften, +While your mouth sae proud an' curly +Gars my heart gang tirlie-wirlie; +But oh! yoursel, your very sel, +I lo'e ten thousand times as well! + +Oh! my darlin', my darlin', +Let's flit whaur flits the starlin', +Let's loll upo' the heather +A' this bonny, bonny weather; +Ye shall fauld me in your plaidie, +My luve, my luve, my laddie; +An' close, an' close into your ear +I'll tell ye how I lo'e ye, dear. + +Amelie Rives [1863- + + +THE SHADED POOL + +A laughing knot of village maids +Goes gaily tripping to the brook, +For water-nymphs they mean to be, +And seek some still, secluded nook. +Here Laura goes, my own delight, +And Colin's love, the madcap Jane, +And half a score of goddesses +Trip over daisies in the plain: +Already now they loose their hair +And peep from out the tangled gold, +Or speed the flying foot to reach +The brook that's only summer-cold; +The lovely locks stream out behind +The shepherdesses on the wing, +And Laura's is the wealth I love, +And Laura's is the gold I sing. + +A-row upon the bank they pant, +And all unlace the country shoe; +Their fingers tug the garter-knots +To loose the hose of varied hue. +The flashing knee at last appears, +The lower curves of youth and grace, +Whereat the girls intently scan +The mazy thickets of the place. +But who's to see except the thrush +Upon the wild crab-apple tree? +Within his branchy haunt he sits - +A very Peeping Tom is he! +Now music bubbles in his throat, +And now he pipes the scene in song - +The virgins slipping from their robes, +The cheated stockings lean and long, +The swift-descending petticoat, +The breasts that heave because they ran, +The rounded arms, the brilliant limbs, +The pretty necklaces of tan. +Did ever amorous God in Greece, +In search of some young mouth to kiss, +By any river chance upon +A sylvan scene as bright as this? +But though each maid is pure and fair, +For one alone my heart I bring, +And Laura's is the shape I love, +And Laura's is the snow I sing. + +And now upon the brook's green brink, +A milk-white bevy, lo, they stand, +Half shy, half frightened, reaching back +The beauty of a poising hand! +How musical their little screams +When ripples kiss their shrinking feet! +And then the brook embraces all +Till gold and white and water meet! +Within the streamlet's soft cool arms +Delight and love and gracefulness +Sport till a flock of tiny waves +Swamps all the beds of floating cress; +And on his shining face are seen +Great yellow lilies drifting down +Beyond the ringing apple-tree, +Beyond the empty homespun gown. +Did ever Orpheus with his lute, +When making melody of old, +E'er find a stream in Attica +So ripely full of pink and gold? + +At last they climb the sloping bank +And shake upon the thirsty soil +A treasury of diamond-drops +Not gained by aught of grimy toil. +Again the garters clasp the hose, +Again the velvet knee is hid, +Again the breathless babble tells +What Colin said, what Colin did. +In grace upon the grass they lie +And spread their tresses to the sun, +And rival, musical as they, +The blackbird's alto shake and run. +Did ever Love, on hunting bent, +Come idly humming through the hay, +And, to his sudden joyfulness, +Find fairer game at close of day? +Though every maid's a lily-rose, +And meet to sway a sceptred king, +Yet Laura's is the face I love, +And Laura's are the lips I sing. + +Norman Gale [1862- + +GOOD-NIGHT + +Good-night. Good-night. Ah, good the night +That wraps thee in its silver light. +Good-night. No night is good for me +That does not hold a thought of thee. +Good-night. + +Good-night. Be every night as sweet +As that which made our love complete, +Till that last night when death shall be +One brief "Good-night," for thee and me. +Good-night. + +S. Weir Mitchell [1829-1914] + + +THE MYSTIC + +By seven vineyards on one hill +We walked. The native wine +In clusters grew beside us two, +For your lips and for mine, + +When, "Hark!" you said, - "Was that a bell +Or a bubbling spring we heard?" +But I was wise and closed my eyes +And listened to a bird; + +For as summer leaves are bent and shake +With singers passing through, +So moves in me continually +The winged breath of you. + +You tasted from a single vine +And took from that your fill - +But I inclined to every kind, +All seven on one hill. + +Witter Bynner [1881- + + +"I AM THE WIND" + +I am the wind that wavers, +You are the certain land; +I am the shadow that passes +Over the sand. + +I am the leaf that quivers, +You the unshaken tree; +You are the stars that are steadfast, +I am the sea. + +You are the light eternal, +Like a torch I shall die... +You are the surge of deep music, +I - but a cry! + +Zoe Akins [1886- + + +"I LOVE MY LIFE, BUT NOT TOO WELL" + +I love my life, but not too well +To give it to thee like a flower, +So it may pleasure thee to dwell +Deep in its perfume but an hour. +I love my life, but not too well. + +I love my life, but not too well +To sing it note by note away, +So to thy soul the song may tell +The beauty of the desolate day. +I love my life, but not too well. + +I love my life, but not too well +To cast it like a cloak on thine, +Against the storms that sound and swell +Between thy lonely heart and mine. +I love my life, but not too well. + +Harriet Monroe [1860-1936] + + +"THIS IS MY LOVE FOR YOU" + +I have brought the wine +And the folded raiment fine, +Pilgrim staff and shoe - +This is my love for you. + +I will smooth your bed, +Lay away your coverlid, +Sing the whole day through. +This is my love for you. + +Mayhap in the night, +When the dark beats back the light, +I shall struggle too . . . +This is my love for you. + +In your dream, once more, +Will a star lead to my door? +To stars and dreams be true +This is my love for you . . . + +Grace Fallow Norton [1876- + + + + + + + +MY LADY'S LIPS + + + + + + +LIPS AND EYES +From "Blurt, Master Constable" + +Love for such a cherry lip +Would be glad to pawn his arrows; +Venus here to take a sip +Would sell her doves and team of sparrows. +But they shall not so; +Hey nonny, nonny no! +None but I this lip must owe; +Hey nonny, nonny no! + +Did Jove see this wanton eye, +Ganymede must wait no longer; +Phoebe here one night did lie, +Would change her face and look much younger. +But they shall not so; +Hey nonny, nonny no! +None but I this lip must owe; +Hey nonny, nonny no! + +Thomas Middleton [1570?-1627] + + +THE KISS +From "Cynthia's Revels" + +O that joy so soon should waste! +Or so sweet a bliss +As a kiss +Might not for ever last! +So sugared, so melting, so soft, so delicious, +The dew that lies on roses, +When the morn herself discloses, +Is not so precious. +O, rather than I would it smother, +Were I to taste such another, +It should be my wishing +That I might die with kissing. + +Ben Jonson [1573?-1637] + + +"TAKE, O TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY" + +Take, O take those lips away, +That so sweetly were forsworn, +And those eyes, the break of day, +Lights that do mislead the morn; +But my kisses bring again, +Seals of love, but sealed in vain. + +Hide, O hide those hills of snow, +Which thy frozen bosom bears, +On whose tops the pinks that grow +Are of those that April wears! +But first set my poor heart free, +Bound in those icy chains by thee. + +The first stanza from " Measure for Measure," by +William Shakespeare [1564-1616] +The second stanza from "The Bloody Brothers," by +John Fletcher [1579-1625] + + +A STOLEN KISS + +Now gentle sleep hath closed up those eyes +Which, waking, kept my boldest thoughts in awe; +And free access unto that sweet lip lies, +From which I long the rosy breath to draw. +Methinks no wrong it were, if I should steal +From those two melting rubies one poor kiss; +None sees the theft that would the thief reveal, +Nor rob I her of aught that she can miss; +Nay, should I twenty kisses take away, +There would be little sign I had done so; +Why then should I this robbery delay? +O, she may wake, and therewith angry grow! +Well if she do, I'll back restore that one, +And twenty hundred thousand more for loan. + +George Wither [1588-1667] + + +SONG + +My Love bound me with a kiss +That I should no longer stay; +When I felt so sweet a bliss +I had less power to part away: +Alas! that women do not know +Kisses make men loath to go. + +Yes, she knows it but too well, +For I heard when Venus' dove +In her ear did softly tell +That kisses were the seals of love: +O muse not then though it be so, +Kisses make men loath to go. + +Wherefore did she thus inflame +My desires, heat my blood, +Instantly to quench the same +And starve whom she had given food? +Ay, ay, the common sense can show, +Kisses make men loath to go. + +Had she bid me go at first +I would ne'er have grieved my heart +Hope delayed had been the worst; +But ah to kiss and then to part! +How deep it struck, speak, gods! you know +Kisses make men loath to go. + +Unknown + + +TO ELECTRA + +I dare not ask a kiss, +I dare not beg a smile, +Lest having that, or this, +I might grow proud the while. + +No, no, the utmost share +Of my desire shall be +Only to kiss that air +That lately kissed thee. + +Robert Herrick [1591-1674] + + +"COME, CHLOE, AND GIVE ME SWEET KISSES" + +Come, Chloe, and give me sweet kisses, +For sweeter sure never girl gave; +But why in the midst of my blisses, +Do you ask me how many I'd have? +I'm not to be stinted in pleasure, +Then, prithee, my charmer, be kind, +For whilst I love thee above measure, +To numbers I'll ne'er be confined. + +Count the bees that on Hybla are playing, +Count the flowers that enamel its fields, +Count the flocks that on Tempe are straying, +Or the grain that rich Sicily yields, +Go number the stars in the heaven, +Count how many sands on the shore, +When so many kisses you've given, +I still shall be craving for more. + +To a heart full of love, let me hold thee, +To a heart that, dear Chloe, is thine; +In my arms I'll for ever enfold thee, +And twist round thy limbs like a vine. +What joy can be greater than this is? +My life on thy lips shall be spent! +But the wretch that can number his kisses, +With few will be ever content. + +Charles Hanbury Williams [1708-1759] + + +A RIDDLE + +I am just two and two, I am warm, I am cold, +And the parent of numbers that cannot be told, +I am lawful, unlawful - a duty, a fault - +I am often sold dear, good for nothing when bought; +An extraordinary boon, and a matter of course, +And yielded with pleasure when taken by force. + +William Cowper [1731-1800] + + +TO A KISS + +Soft child of love, thou balmy bliss, +Inform me, O delicious kiss, +Why thou so suddenly art gone, +Lost in the moment thou art won? + +Yet go! For wherefore should I sigh? +On Delia's lips, with raptured eye, +On Delia's blushing lips I see +A thousand full as sweet as thee. + +John Wolcot [1738-1819] + + +SONG + +Often I have heard it said +That her lips are ruby-red. +Little heed I what they say, +I have seen as red as they. +Ere she smiled on other men, +Real rubies were they then. + +When she kissed me once in play, +Rubies were less bright than they, +And less bright than those which shone +In the palace of the Sun. +Will they be as bright again? +Not if kissed by other men. + +Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864] + + +THE FIRST KISS OF LOVE + +Away with your fictions of flimsy romance, +Those tissues of falsehood which folly has wove! +Give me the mild beam of the soul-breathing glance, +Or the rapture which dwells on the first kiss of love. + +Ye rhymers, whose bosoms with phantasy glow, +Whose pastoral passions are made for the grove; +From what blest inspiration your sonnets would flow, +Could you ever have tasted the first kiss of love! + +If Apollo should e'er his assistance refuse, +Or the Nine be disposed from your service to rove, +Invoke them no more, bid adieu to the muse, +And try the effect of the first kiss of love. + +I hate you, ye cold compositions of art! +Though prudes may condemn me, and bigots reprove, +I court the effusions that spring from the heart, +Which throbs with delight to the first kiss of love. + +Your shepherds, your flocks, those fantastical themes, +Perhaps may amuse, yet they never can move: +Arcadia displays but a region of dreams; +What are visions like these to the first kiss of love? + +Oh! cease to affirm that man, since his birth, +From Adam till now, has with wretchedness strove; +Some portion of Paradise still is on earth, +And Eden revives in the first kiss of love. + +When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past - +For years fleet away with the wings of the dove - +The dearest remembrance will still be the last, +Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love. + +George Gordon Byron [1788-1824] + + +"JENNY KISSED ME" + +Jenny kissed me when we met, +Jumping from the chair she sat in; +Time, you thief, who love to get +Sweets into your list, put that in! +Say I'm weary, say I'm sad, +Say that health and wealth have missed me, +Say I'm growing old, but add, +Jenny kissed me. + +Leigh Hunt [1784-1859] + + +"I FEAR THY KISSES, GENTLE MAIDEN" + +I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden; +Thou needest not fear mine; +My spirit is too deeply laden +Ever to burthen thine. + +I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion; +Thou needest not fear mine; +Innocent is the heart's devotion +With which I worship thine. + +Percy Bysshe Shelley [1792-1822] + + +LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY + +The fountains mingle with the river, +And the rivers with the ocean, +The winds of heaven mix forever +With a sweet emotion; +Nothing in the world is single; +All things by a law divine +In one another's being mingle; - +Why not I with thine? + +See the mountains kiss high heaven, +And the waves clasp one another; +No sister flower would be forgiven +If it disdained its brother; +And the sunlight clasps the earth, +And the moonbeams kiss the sea; +What are all these kissings worth, +If thou kiss not me? + +Percy Bysshe Shelley [1792-1822] + + +SONG +From "In a Gondola" + +The moth's kiss, first! +Kiss me as if you made believe +You were not sure, this eve, +How my face, your flower, had pursed +Its petals up; so, here and there +You brush it, till I grow aware +Who wants me, and wide ope I burst. + +The bee's kiss, now! +Kiss me as if you entered gay +My heart at some noonday, +A bud that dares not disallow +The claim, so all is rendered up, +And passively its shattered cup +Over your head to sleep I bow. + +Robert Browning [1812-1889] + + +SUMMUM BONUM + +All the breath and the bloom of the year in the bag of one bee: +All the wonder and wealth of the mine in the heart of one gem: +In the core of one pearl all the shade and the shine of the sea: +Breath and bloom, shade and shine, - wonder, wealth, + and - how far above them - +Truth, that's brighter than gem, +Trust, that's purer than pearl, - +Brightest truth, purest trust in the universe - all were for me +In the kiss of one girl. + +Robert Browning [1812-1889] + + +THE FIRST KISS + +If only in dreams may man be fully blest, +Is heaven a dream? Is she I clasped a dream? +Or stood she here even now where dewdrops gleam +And miles of furze shine golden down the West? +I seem to clasp her still - still on my breast +Her bosom beats, - I see the blue eyes beam: - +I think she kissed these lips, for now they seem +Scarce mine: so hallowed of the lips they pressed! +Yon thicket's breath - can that be eglantine? +Those birds - can they be morning's choristers? +Can this be earth? Can these be banks of furze? +Like burning bushes fired of God they shine! +I seem to know them, though this body of mine +Passed into spirit at the touch of hers! + +Theodore Watts-Dunton [1836-1914] + + +TO MY LOVE + +Kiss me softly and speak to me low; +Malice has ever a vigilant ear; +What if Malice were lurking near? +Kiss me, dear! +Kiss me softly and speak to me low. + +Kiss me softly and speak to me low; +Envy, too, has a watchful ear; +What if Envy should chance to hear? +Kiss me, dear! +Kiss me softly and speak to me low, + +Kiss me softly and speak to me low; +Trust me, darling, the time is near +When lovers may love with never a fear; +Kiss me, dear! +Kiss me softly and speak to me low. + +John Godfrey Saxe [1816-1887] + + +TO LESBIA + +Give me kisses! Do not stay, +Counting in that careful way. +All the coins your lips can print +Never will exhaust the mint. +Kiss me, then, +Every moment - and again! + +Give me kisses! Do not stop, +Measuring nectar by the drop. +Though to millions they amount, +They will never drain the fount. +Kiss me, then, +Every moment - and again! + +Give me kisses! All is waste +Save the luxury we taste; +And for kissing, - kisses live +Only when we take or give. +Kiss me, then, +Every moment - and again! + +Give me kisses! Though their worth +Far exceeds the gems of earth, +Never pearls so rich and pure +Cost so little, I am sure. +Kiss me, then, +Every moment - and again! + +Give me kisses! Nay, 'tis true +I am just as rich as you; +And for every kiss I owe, +I can pay you back, you know, +Kiss me, then, +Every moment - and again! + +John Godfrey Saxe [1816-1887] + + +MAKE BELIEVE + +Kiss me, though you make believe; +Kiss me, though I almost know +You are kissing to deceive: +Let the tide one moment flow +Backward ere it rise and break, +Only for poor pity's sake! + +Give me of your flowers one leaf, +Give me of your smiles one smile, +Backward roll this tide of grief +Just a moment, though, the while, +I should feel and almost know +You are trifling with my woe. + +Whisper to me sweet and low; +Tell me how you sit and weave +Dreams about me, though I know +It is only make believe! +Just a moment, though 'tis plain +You are jesting with my pain. + +Alice Cary [1820-1871] + + +KISSING'S NO SIN + +Some say that kissing's a sin; +But I think it's nane ava, +For kissing has wonn'd in this warld +Since ever that there was twa. + +O, if it wasna lawfu' +Lawyers wadna allow it; +If it wasna holy, +Ministers wadna do it. + +If it wasna modest, +Maidens wadna tak' it; +If it wasna plenty, +Puir folk wadna get it. + +Unknown + + +TO ANNE + +How many kisses do I ask? +Now you set me to my task. +First, sweet Anne, will you tell me +How many waves are in the sea? +How many stars are in the sky? +How many lovers you make sigh? +How many sands are on the shore? +I shall want just one kiss more. + +William Stirling-Maxwell [1818-1878] + + +SONG + +There is many a love in the land, my love, +But never a love like this is; +Then kill me dead with your love, my love, +And cover me up with kisses. + +So kill me dead and cover me deep +Where never a soul discovers; +Deep in your heart to sleep, to sleep, +In the darlingest tomb of lovers. + +Joaquin Miller [1839-1913] + + +PHILLIS AND CORYDON + +Phillis took a red rose from the tangles of her hair, - +Time, the Golden Age; the place, Arcadia, anywhere, - + +Phillis laughed, the saucy jade: "Sir Shepherd, wilt have this, +Or" - Bashful god of skipping lambs and oaten reeds! - "a kiss?" + +Bethink thee, gentle Corydon! A rose lasts all night long, +A kiss but slips from off your lips like a thrush's evening song. + +A kiss that goes, where no one knows! A rose, a crimson rose! +Corydon made his choice and took - Well, which do you suppose? + +Arthur Colton [1868- + + + + + + + +AT HER WINDOW + + + + + + +"HARK, HARK, THE LARK" +From "Cymbeline" + +Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, +And Phoebus 'gins arise, +His steeds to water at those springs +On chaliced flowers that lies; +And winking Mary-buds begin +To ope their golden eyes: +With everything that pretty bin, +My lady sweet, arise: +Arise, arise. + +William Shakespeare [1564-1616] + + +"SLEEP, ANGRY BEAUTY" + +Sleep, angry beauty, sleep and fear not me! +For who a sleeping lion dares provoke? +It shall suffice me here to sit and see +Those lips shut up, that never kindly spoke: +What sight can more content a lover's mind +Than beauty seeming harmless, if not kind? + +My words have charmed her, for secure she sleeps, +Though guilty much of wrong done to my love; + +And in her slumber, see! she close-eyed weeps: +Dreams often more than waking passions move. +Plead, Sleep, my cause, and make her soft like thee: +That she is peace may wake and pity me. + +Thomas Campion [? -1619] + + +MATIN SONG + +Rise, Lady Mistress, rise! +The night hath tedious been; +No sleep hath fallen into mine eyes +Nor slumbers made me sin. +Is not she a saint then, say, +Thoughts of whom keep sin away? + +Rise, Madam! rise and give me light, +Whom darkness still will cover, +And ignorance, darker than night, +Till thou smile on thy lover. +All want day till thy beauty rise; +For the gray morn breaks from thine eyes. + +Nathaniel Field [1587-1633] + + +THE NIGHT-PIECE: TO JULIA + +Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, +The shooting stars attend thee; +And the elves also, +Whose little eyes glow +Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. + +No Will-o'-the-wisp mislight thee, +Nor snake or slow-worm bite thee; +But on, on thy way +Not making a stay, +Since ghost there's none to affright thee. + +Let not the dark thee cumber: +What though the moon does slumber? +The stars of the night +Will lend thee their light +Like tapers clear without number. + +Then, Julia, let me woo thee, +Thus, thus to come unto me; +And when I shall meet +Thy silvery feet, +My soul I'll pour into thee. + + +Robert Herrick [1591-1674] + + +MORNING + +The lark now leaves his watery nest, +And climbing shakes his dewy wings, +He takes your window for the east, +And to implore your light, he sings; +Awake, awake, the morn will never rise, +Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes. + +The merchant bows unto the seaman's star, +The ploughman from the sun his season takes; +But still the lover wonders what they are, +Who look for day before his mistress wakes; +Awake, awake, break through your veils of lawn! +Then draw your curtains and begin the dawn. + +William D'Avenant [1606-1668] + + +MATIN-SONG +From "The Rape of Lucrece" + +Pack, clouds, away, and welcome, day, +With night we banish sorrow. +Sweet air, blow soft; mount, lark, aloft +To give my Love good-morrow! +Wings from the wind to please her mind +Notes from the lark I'll borrow: +Bird, prune thy wing, nightingale, sing, +To give my Love good-morrow; +To give my Love good-morrow +Notes from them both I'll borrow. + +Wake from thy nest, Robin-red-breast, +Sing, birds, in every furrow; +And from each hill, let music shrill +Give my fair Love good-morrow! +Blackbird and thrush in every bush, +Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow, +You pretty elves, amongst yourselves +Sing my fair Love good-morrow; +To give my Love good-morrow +Sing, birds, in every furrow! + +Thomas Heywood [? -1650?] + + +THE ROSE + +Sweet, serene, sky-like flower, +Haste to adorn her bower; +From thy long-cloudy bed, +Shoot forth thy damask head. + +New-startled blush of Flora, +The grief of pale Aurora +(Who will contest no more), +Haste, haste to strew her floor! + +Vermilion ball that's given +From lip to lip in Heaven; +Love's couch's coverled, +Haste, haste to make her bed. + +Dear offspring of pleased Venus +And jolly, plump Silenus, +Haste, haste to deck the hair +Of the only sweetly fair! + +See! rosy is her bower, +Her floor is all this flower +Her bed a rosy nest +By a bed of roses pressed. + +But early as she dresses, +Why fly you her bright tresses? +Ah! I have found, I fear, - +Because her cheeks are near. + +Richard Lovelace [1618-1658] + + +SONG + +See, see, she wakes! Sabina wakes! +And now the sun begins to rise; +Less glorious is the morn that breaks +From his bright beams, than her fair eyes. + +With light united, day they give; +But different fates ere night fulfil; +How many by his warmth will live! +How many will her coldness kill! + +William Congreve [1670-1729] + + +MARY MORISON + +O Mary, at thy window be, +It is the wished, the trysted hour! +Those smiles and glances let me see, +That make the miser's treasure poor: +How blithely wad I bide the stour +A weary slave frae sun to sun, +Could I the rich reward secure, +The lovely Mary Morison! + +Yestreen, when to the trembling string +The dance gaed through the lighted ha', +To thee my fancy took its wing, +I sat, but neither heard nor saw: +Though this was fair, and that was braw, +And yon the toast of a' the town, +I sighed, and said amang them a', +"Ye arena Mary Morison." + +O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, +Wha for thy sake wad gladly die? +Or canst thou break that heart of his, +Whase only faut is loving thee? +If love for love thou wiltna gie, +At least be pity to me shown; +A thought ungentle canna be +The thought o' Mary Morison. + +Robert Burns [1759-1796] + + +WAKE, LADY! + +Up! quit thy bower! late wears the hour, +Long have the rooks cawed round the tower; +O'er flower and tree loud hums the bee, +And the wild kid sports merrily. +The sun is bright, the sky is clear: +Wake, lady, wake! and hasten here. + +Up! maiden fair, and bind thy hair, +And rouse thee in the breezy air! +The lulling stream that soothed thy dream +Is dancing in the sunny beam. +Waste not these hours, so fresh and gay; +Leave thy soft couch, and haste away! + +Up! Time will tell the morning bell +Its service-sound has chimed well; +The aged crone keeps house alone, +The reapers to the fields are gone. +Lose not these hours, so cool and gay: +Lo! while thou sleep'st they haste away! + +Joanna Baillie [1762-1851] + + +THE SLEEPING BEAUTY + +Sleep on, and dream of Heaven awhile - +Though shut so close thy laughing eyes, +Thy rosy lips still wear a smile +And move, and breathe delicious sighs! + +Ah, now soft blushes tinge her cheeks +And mantle o'er her neck of snow: +Ah, now she murmurs, now she speaks +What most I wish - and fear to know! + +She starts, she trembles, and she weeps! +Her fair hands folded on her breast: +- And now, how like a saint she sleeps! +A seraph in the realms of rest! + +Sleep on secure! Above control +Thy thoughts belong to Heaven and thee: +And may the secret of thy soul +Remain within its sanctuary! + +Samuel Rogers [1763-1855] + + +"THE YOUNG MAY MOON" + +The young May moon is beaming, love, +The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love; +How sweet to rove +Through Morna's grove, +When the drowsy world is dreaming, love! +Then awake! - the heavens look bright, my dear, +'Tis never too late for delight, my dear; +And the best of all ways +To lengthen our days +Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear! + +Now all the world is sleeping, love, +But the Sage, his star-watch keeping, love, +And I, whose star +More glorious far +Is the eye from that casement peeping, love. +Then awake! - till rise of sun, my dear, +The Sage's glass we'll shun, my dear, +Or in watching the flight +Of bodies of light +He might happen to take thee for one, my dear! + +Thomas Moore [1779-1852] + + +"ROW GENTLY HERE" + +Row gently here, +My gondolier, +So softly wake the tide, +That not an ear, +On earth, may hear, +But hers to whom we glide. +Had Heaven but tongues to speak, as well +As starry eyes to see, +Oh think what tales 'twould have to tell +Of wandering youths like me! + +Now rest thee here, +My gondolier; +Hush, hush, for up I go, +To climb yon light +Balcony's height, +While thou keep'st watch below. +Ah! did we take for Heaven above +But half such pains as we +Take, day and night, for woman's love, +What angels we should be! + +Thomas Moore [1779-1852] + + +MORNING SERENADE + +Awake! the dawn is on the hills! +Behold, at her cool throat a rose, +Blue-eyed and beautiful she goes, +Leaving her steps in daffodils. - +Awake! arise! and let me see +Thine eyes, whose deeps epitomize +All dawns that were or are to be, +O love, all Heaven in thine eyes! - +Awake! arise! come down to me! + +Behold! the dawn is up: behold! +How all the birds around her float, +Wild rills of music, note on note, +Spilling the air with mellow gold. - +Arise! awake! and, drawing near, +Let me but hear thee and rejoice! +Thou, who keep'st captive, sweet and clear, +All song, O love, within thy voice! +Arise! awake! and let me hear! + +See, where she comes, with limbs of day, +The dawn! with wild-rose hands and feet, +Within whose veins the sunbeams beat, +And laughters meet of wind and ray. +Arise! come down! and, heart to heart, +Love, let me clasp in thee all these - +The sunbeam, of which thou art part, +And all the rapture of the breeze! - +Arise! come down! loved that thou art! + +Madison Cawein [1865-1914] + + +SERENADE + +Softly, O midnight Hours! +Move softly o'er the bowers +Where lies in happy sleep a girl so fair! +For ye have power, men say, +Our hearts in sleep to sway, +And cage cold fancies in a moonlight snare. +Round ivory neck and arm +Enclasp a separate charm; +Hang o'er her poised, but breathe nor sigh nor prayer: +Silently ye may smile, +But hold your breath the while, +And let the wind sweep back your cloudy hair! + +Bend down your glittering urns, +Ere yet the dawn returns, +And star with dew the lawn her feet shall tread; +Upon the air rain balm, +Bid all the woods be calm, +Ambrosial dreams with healthful slumbers wed; +That so the Maiden may +With smiles your care repay, +When from her couch she lifts her golden head; +Waking with earliest birds, +Ere yet the misty herds +Leave warm 'mid the gray grass their dusky bed. + +Aubrey Thomas De Vere [1814-1902] + + +LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR + +I arise from dreams of thee +In the first sweet sleep of night, +When the winds are breathing low, +And the stars are shining bright. +I arise from dreams of thee, +And a spirit in my feet +Has led me - who knows how? +To thy chamber window, sweet! + +The wandering airs they faint +On the dark, the silent stream; +The champak odors fail +Like sweet thoughts in a dream; +The nightingale's complaint, +It dies upon her heart, +As I must die on thine, +O beloved as thou art! + +O lift me from the grass! +I die, I faint, I fail! +Let thy love in kisses rain +On my lips and eyelids pale. +My cheek is cold and white, alas! +My heart beats loud and fast; +Oh! press it close to thine again, +Where it must break at last. + +Percy Bysshe Shelley [1792-1822] + + +GOOD-NIGHT + +Good-night? ah! no; the hour is ill +Which severs those it should unite; +Let us remain together still, +Then it will be good night. + +How can I call the lone night good, +Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight? +Be it not said, thought, understood, +Then it will be good night. + +To hearts which near each other move +From evening close to morning light, +The night is good; because, my love, +They never say good-night. + +Percy Bysshe Shelley [1792-1822] + + +SERENADE +From "Sylvia" + +Awake thee, my lady-love, +Wake thee and rise! +The sun through the bower peeps +Into thine eyes! + +Behold how the early lark +Springs from the corn! +Hark, hark how the flower-bird +Winds her wee horn! + +The swallow's glad shriek is heard +All through the air; +The stock-dove is murmuring +Loud as she dare! + +Apollo's winged bugleman +Cannot contain, +But peals his loud trumpet-call +Once and again! + +Then wake thee, my lady-love - +Bird of my bower! +The sweetest and sleepiest +Bird at this hour! + +George Darley [1795-1846] + + +SERENADE + +Ah, sweet, thou little knowest how +I wake and passionate watches keep; +And yet, while I address thee now, +Methinks thou smilest in thy sleep. +'Tis sweet enough to make me weep, +That tender thought of love and thee, +That while the world is hushed so deep, +Thy soul's perhaps awake to me! + +Sleep on, sleep on, sweet bride of sleep! +With golden visions for thy dower, +While I this midnight vigil keep, +And bless thee in thy silent bower; +To me 'tis sweeter than the power +Of sleep, and fairy dreams unfurled, +That I alone, at this still hour, +In patient love outwatch the world. + +Thomas Hood [1799-1845] + + +SERENADE + +Look out upon the stars, my love, +And shame them with thine eyes, +On which, than on the lights above, +There hang more destinies. +Night's beauty is the harmony +Of blending shades and light: +Then, lady, up, - look out, and be +A sister to the night! + +Sleep not! - thine image wakes for aye +Within my watching breast; +Sleep not! - from her soft sleep should fly, +Who robs all hearts of rest. +Nay, lady, from thy slumbers break, +And make this darkness gay, +With looks whose brightness well might make +Of darker nights a day. + +Edward Coote Pinkney [1802-1828] + + +SERENADE + +Hide, happy damask, from the stars, +What sleep enfolds behind your veil, +But open to the fairy cars +On which the dreams of midnight sail; +And let the zephyrs rise and fall +About her in the curtained gloom, +And then return to tell me all +The silken secrets of the room. + +Ah! dearest! may the elves that sway +Thy fancies come from emerald plots, +Where they have dozed and dreamed all day +In hearts of blue forget-me-nots. +And one perhaps shall whisper thus: +Awake! and light the darkness, Sweet! +While thou art reveling with us, +He watches in the lonely street. + +Henry Timrod [1829-1867] + + +SERENADE +From "The Spanish Student" + +Stars of the summer night! +Far in yon azure deeps, +Hide, hide your golden light! +She sleeps! +My lady sleeps! +Sleeps! + +Moon of the summer night! +Far down yon western steeps, +Sink, sink in silver light! +She sleeps! +My lady sleeps! +Sleeps! + +Wind of the summer night! +Where yonder woodbine creeps, +Fold, fold thy pinions light! +She sleeps! +My lady sleeps! +Sleeps! + +Dreams of the summer night! +Tell her, her lover keeps +Watch! while in slumbers light +She sleeps! +My lady sleeps! +Sleeps! + +Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807-1882] + + +"COME INTO THE GARDEN, MAUD" +From "Maud" + +Come into the garden, Maud, +For the black bat, night, has flown, +Come into the garden, Maud, +I am here at the gate alone; +And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, +And the musk of the rose is blown. + +For a breeze of morning moves, +And the planet of Love is on high, +Beginning to faint in the light that she loves +On a bed of daffodil sky, +To faint in the light of the sun she loves, +To faint in his light, and to die. + +All night have the roses heard +The flute, violin, bassoon; +All night has the casement jessamine stirred +To the dancers dancing in tune; +Till a silence fell with the waking bird, +And a hush with the setting moon. + +I said to the lily, "There is but one +With whom she has heart to be gay. +When will the dancers leave her alone? +She is weary of dance and play." +Now half to the setting moon are gone, +And half to the rising day; +Low on the sand and loud on the stone +The last wheel echoes away. + +I said to the rose, "The brief night goes +In babble and revel and wine. +O young lord-lover, what sighs are those, +For one that will never be thine? +But mine, but mine," so I sware to the rose, +"For ever and ever, mine." + +And the soul of the rose went into my blood, +As the music clashed in the hall: +And long by the garden lake I stood, +For I heard your rivulet fall +From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood, +Our wood, that is dearer than all; + +From the meadow your walks have left so sweet +That whenever a March-wind sighs +He sets the jewel-print of your feet +In violets blue as your eyes, +To the woody hollows in which we meet +And the valleys of Paradise. + +The slender acacia would not shake +One long milk-bloom on the tree; +The white lake-blossom fell into the lake +As the pimpernel dozed on the lea; +But the rose was awake all night for your sake, +Knowing your promise to me; +The lilies and roses were all awake, +They sighed for the dawn and thee. + +Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls, +Come hither, the dances are done, +In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls, +Queen lily and rose in one; +Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls, +To the flowers, and be their sun. + +There has fallen a splendid tear +From the passion-flower at the gate. +She is coming, my dove, my dear; +She is coming, my life, my fate; +The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near"; +And the white rose weeps, "She is late"; +The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear"; +And the lily whispers, "I wait." + +She is coming my own, my sweet; +Were it ever so airy a tread, +My heart would hear her and beat, +Were it earth in an earthy bed; +My dust would hear her and beat, +Had I lain for a century dead; +Would start and tremble under her feet, +And blossom in purple and red. + +Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] + + +AT HER WINDOW + +Ah, Minstrel, how strange is +The carol you sing! +Let Psyche, who ranges +The garden of spring, +Remember the changes +December will bring. + +Beating Heart! we come again +Where my Love reposes: +This is Mabel's window-pane; +These are Mabel's roses. + +Is she nested? Does she kneel +In the twilight stilly, +Lily clad from throat to heel, +She, my virgin Lily? + +Soon the wan, the wistful stars, +Fading, will forsake her; +Elves of light, on beamy bars, +Whisper then, and wake her. + +Let this friendly pebble plead +At her flowery grating; +If she hear me will she heed? +Mabel, I am waiting. + +Mabel will be decked anon, +Zoned in bride's apparel; +Happy zone! Oh hark to yon +Passion-shaken carol! + +Sing thy song, thou tranced thrush, +Pipe thy best, thy clearest; - +Hush, her lattice moves, oh hush - +Dearest Mabel! - dearest.... + +Frederick Locker-Lampson [1821-1895] + + +BEDOUIN SONG + +From the Desert I come to thee +On a stallion shod with fire; +And the winds are left behind +In the speed of my desire. +Under thy window I stand, +And the midnight hears my cry: +I love thee, I love but thee, +With a love that shall not die +Till the sun grows cold, +And the stars are old, +And the leaves of the Judgment +Book unfold! + +Look from thy window and see +My passion and my pain; +I lie on the sands below, +And I faint in thy disdain. +Let the night-winds touch thy brow +With the heat of my burning sigh, +And melt thee to hear the vow +Of a love that shall not die +Till the sun grows cold, +And the stars are old, +And the leaves of the Judgment +Book unfold! + +My steps are nightly driven, +By the fever in my breast, +To hear from thy lattice breathed +The word that shall give me rest. +Open the door of thy heart, +And open thy chamber door, +And my kisses shall teach thy lips +The love that shall fade no more +Till the sun grows cold, +And the stars are old, +And the leaves of the Judgment +Book unfold! + +Bayard Taylor [1825-1878] + + +NIGHT AND LOVE +From "Ernest Maltravers" + +When stars are in the quiet skies, +Then most I pine for thee; +Bend on me, then, thy tender eyes, +As stars look on the sea! + +For thoughts, like waves that glide by night, +Are stillest when they shine; +Mine earthly love lies hushed in light +Beneath the heaven of thine. + +There is an hour when angels keep +Familiar watch o'er men, +When coarser souls are wrapped in sleep - +Sweet spirit, meet me then + +There is an hour when holy dreams +Through slumber fairest glide; +And in that mystic hour it seems +Thou shouldst be by my side. + +My thoughts of thee too sacred are +For daylight's common beam: +I can but know thee as my star, +My angel and my dream! + +Edward George Earle Bulwer Lytton [1803-1873] + + +NOCTURNE + +Up to her chamber window +A slight wire trellis goes, +And up this Romeo's ladder +Clambers a bold white rose. + +I lounge in the ilex shadows, +I see the lady lean, +Unclasping her silken girdle, +The curtain's folds between. + +She smiles on her white-rose lover, +She reaches out her hand +And helps him in at the window - +I see it where I stand! + +To her scarlet lip she holds him, +And kisses him many a time - +Ah, me! it was he that won her +Because he dared to climb! + +Thomas Bailey Aldrich [1837-1907] + + +PALABRAS CARINOSAS +Spanish Air + +Good-night! I have to say good-night +To such a host of peerless things! +Good-night unto the slender hand +All queenly with its weight of rings; +Good-night to fond, uplifted eyes, +Good-night to chestnut braids of hair, +Good-night unto the perfect mouth, +And all the sweetness nestled there - +The snowy hand detains me, then +I'll have to say Good-night again! + +But there will come a time, my love, +When, if I read our stars aright, +I shall not linger by this porch +With my farewells. Till then, good-night! +You wish the time were now? And I. +You do not blush to wish it so? +You would have blushed yourself to death +To own so much a year ago - +What, both these snowy hands! ah, then +I'll have to say Good-night again! + +Thomas Bailey Aldrich [1837-1907] + + +SERENADE + +The western wind is blowing fair +Across the dark Aegean sea, +And at the secret marble stair +My Tyrian galley waits for thee. +Come down! the purple sail is spread, +The watchman sleeps within the town; +O leave thy lily-flowered bed, +O Lady mine, come down, come down! + +She will not come, I know her well, +Of lover's vows she hath no care, +And little good a man can tell +Of one so cruel and so fair. +True love is but a woman's toy, +They never know the lover's pain, +And I, who love as loves a boy, +Must love in vain, must love in vain. + +O noble pilot, tell me true, +Is that the sheen of golden hair? +Or is it but the tangled dew +That binds the passion-flowers there? +Good sailor, come and tell me now, +Is that my Lady's lily hand? +Or is it but the gleaming prow, +Or is it but the silver sand? + +No! no! 'tis not the tangled dew, +'Tis not the silver-fretted sand, +It is my own dear Lady true +With golden hair and lily hand! +O noble pilot, steer for Troy! +Good sailor, ply the laboring oar! +This is the Queen of life and joy +Whom we must bear from Grecian shore! + +The waning sky grows faint and blue; +It wants an hour still of day; +Aboard! aboard! my gallant crew, +O Lady mine, away! away! +O noble pilot, steer for Troy! +Good sailor, ply the laboring oar! +O loved as only loves a boy! +O loved for ever, evermore! + +Oscar Wilde [1856-1900] + + +THE LITTLE RED LARK + +O swan of slenderness, +Dove of tenderness, +Jewel of joys, arise! +The little red lark, +Like a soaring spark +Of song, to his sunburst flies; +But till thou art arisen, +Earth is a prison, +Full of my lonesome sighs: +Then awake and discover, +To thy fond lover, +The morn of thy matchless eyes. +The dawn is dark to me, +Hark! oh, hark to me, + +Pulse of my heart, I pray! +And out of thy hiding +With blushes gliding, +Dazzle me with thy day. +Ah, then once more to thee +Flying I'll pour to thee +Passion so sweet and gay, +The larks shall listen, +And dew-drops glisten, +Laughing on every spray. + + +Alfred Perceval Graves [1846-1931] + + +SERENADE + +By day my timid passions stand +Like begging children at your gate, +Each with a mute, appealing hand +To ask a dole of Fate; +But when night comes, released from doubt, +Like merry minstrels they appear, +The stars ring out their hopeful shout, +Beloved, can you hear? + +They dare not sing to you by day +Their all-desirous song, or take +The world with their adventurous lay +For your enchanted sake. +But when the night-wind wakes and thrills +The shadows that the night unbars, +Their music fills the dreamy hills, +And folds the friendly stars. + +Beloved, can you hear? They sing +Words that no mortal lips can sound; +Love through the world has taken wing, +My passions are unbound. +And now, and now, my lips, my eyes, +Are stricken dumb with hope and fear, +It is my burning soul that cries, +Beloved, can you hear? + +Richard Middleton [1882-1911] + + + + + + + +THE COMEDY OF LOVE + + + + + +A LOVER'S LULLABY + +Sing lullaby, as women do, +Wherewith they bring their babes to rest; +And lullaby can I sing too, +As womanly as can the best. +With lullaby they still the child; +And if I be not much beguiled, +Full many a wanton babe have I, +Which must be stilled with lullaby. + +First lullaby my youthful years, +It is now time to go to bed: +For crooked age and hoary hairs +Have won the haven within my head. +With lullaby, then, youth be still; +With lullaby content thy will; +Since courage quails and comes behind, +Go sleep, and so beguile thy mind! + +Next lullaby my gazing eyes, +Which wonted were to glance apace; +For every glass may now suffice +To show the furrows in thy face. +With lullaby then wink awhile; +With lullaby your looks beguile; +Let no fair face, nor beauty bright, +Entice you eft with vain delight. + +And lullaby my wanton will; +Let reason's rule now reign thy thought; +Since all too late I find by skill +How dear I have thy fancies bought; +With lullaby now take thine ease, +With lullaby thy doubts appease; +For trust to this, if thou be still, +My body shall obey thy will. + +Thus lullaby my youth, mine eyes, +My will, my ware, and all that was: +I can no more delays devise; +But welcome pain, let pleasure pass. +With lullaby now take your leave; +With lullaby your dreams deceive; +And when you rise with waking eye, +Remember then this lullaby. + +George Gascoigne [1525?-1577] + + +PHILLIDA AND CORIDON + +In the merry month of May, +In a morn by break of day, +Forth I walked by the wood-side +When as May was in his pride: +There I spied all alone +Phillida and Coridon. +Much ado there was, God wot! +He would love and she would not. +She said, Never man was true; +He said, None was false to you. +He said, He had loved her long; +She said, Love should have no wrong. +Coridon would kiss her then; +She said, Maids must kiss no men +Till they did for good and all; +Then she made the shepherd call +All the heavens to witness truth +Never loved a truer youth. +Thus with many a pretty oath, +Yea and nay, and faith and troth, +Such as silly shepherds use +When they will not Love abuse, +Love, which had been long deluded, +Was with kisses sweet concluded; +And Phillida, with garlands gay, +Was made the Lady of the May. + +Nicholas Breton [1545?-1626?] + + +"CRABBED AGE AND YOUTH" +From "The Passionate Pilgrim" + +Crabbed Age and Youth +Cannot live together: +Youth is full of pleasance, +Age is full of care; +Youth like summer morn, +Age like winter weather; +Youth like summer brave, +Age like winter bare. +Youth is full of sport, +Age's breath is short; +Youth is nimble, Age is lame; +Youth is hot and bold, +Age is weak and cold; +Youth is wild, and Age is tame. +Age, I do abhor thee; +Youth, I do adore thee; +O, my Love, my Love is young! +Age, I do defy thee: +O, sweet shepherd, hie thee! +For methinks thou stay'st too long. + +William Shakespeare [1564-1616] + + +"IT WAS A LOVER AND HIS LASS" +From "As You Like It" + +It was a lover and his lass, +With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, +That o'er the green corn-field did pass, +In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, +When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding; +Sweet lovers love the spring. + +Between the acres of the rye, +With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, +These pretty country folks would lie, +In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, +When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding; +Sweet lovers love the spring. + +This carol they began that hour, +With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, +How that life was but a flower +In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, +When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding; +Sweet lovers love the spring. + +And, therefore, take the present time +With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, +For love is crowned with the prime +In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, +When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding; +Sweet lovers love the spring. + +William Shakespeare [1564-1616] + + +"I LOVED A LASS" + + +I loved a lass, a fair one, +As fair as e'er was seen; +She was indeed a rare one, +Another Sheba Queen: +But, fool as then I was, +I thought she loved me too: +But now, alas! she's left me, +Falero, lero, loo! + +Her hair like gold did glister, +Each eye was like a star, +She did surpass her sister, +Which passed all others far; +She would me honey call, +She'd - O she'd kiss me too! +But now, alas! she's left me, +Falero, lero, loo! + +Many a merry meeting +My love and I have had; +She was my only sweeting, +She made my heart full glad; +The tears stood in her eyes +Like to the morning dew: +But now, alas! she's left me, +Falero, lero, loo! + +Her cheeks were like the cherry, +Her skin was white as snow; +When she was blithe and merry +She angel-like did show; +Her waist exceeding small, +The fives did fit her shoe: +But now, alas! she's left me, +Falero, lero, loo! + +In summer time or winter +She had her heart's desire; +I still did scorn to stint her +From sugar, sack, or fire; +The world went round about, +No cares we ever knew: +But now, alas! she's left me, +Falero, lero, loo! + +To maidens' vows and swearing +Henceforth no credit give; +You may give them the hearing, +But never them believe; +They are as false as fair, +Unconstant, frail, untrue: +For mine, alas! hath left me, +Falero, lero, loo! + +George Wither [1588-1667] + + +TO CHLORIS + +Ah, Chloris! that I now could sit +As unconcerned as when +Your infant beauty could beget +No pleasure, nor no pain! +When I the dawn used to admire, +And praised the coming day, +I little thought the growing fire +Must take my rest away. + +Your charms in harmless childhood lay +Like metals in the mine; +Age from no face took more away +Than youth concealed in thine. +But as your charms insensibly +To their perfection pressed, +Fond love as unperceived did fly, +And in my bosom rest. + +My passion with your beauty grew, +And Cupid at my heart, +Still as his mother favored you, +Threw a new flaming dart: +Each gloried in their wanton part; +To make a lover, he +Employed the utmost of his art - +To make a beauty, she. + +Charles Sedley [1639?-1701] + + +SONG + +The merchant, to secure his treasure, +Conveys it in a borrowed name: +Euphelia serves to grace my measure; +But Chloe is my real flame. + +My softest verse, my darling lyre, +Upon Euphelia's toilet lay; +When Chloe noted her desire +That I should sing, that I should play. + +My lyre I tune, my voice I raise; +But with my numbers mix my sighs: +And while I sing Euphelia's praise, +I fix my soul on Chloe's eyes. + +Fair Chloe blushed: Euphelia frowned: +I sung, and gazed: I played, and trembled: +And Venus to the Loves around +Remarked, how ill we all dissembled. + +Matthew Prior [1664-1721] + + +PIOUS SELINDA + +Pious Selinda goes to prayers, +If I but ask her favor; +And yet the silly fool's in tears +If she believes I'll leave her; +Would I were free from this restraint, +Or else had hopes to win her: +Would she could make of me a saint, +Or I of her a sinner. + +William Congreve [1670-1729] + + +FAIR HEBE + +Fair Hebe I left, with a cautious design +To escape from her charms, and to drown them in wine, +I tried it; but found, when I came to depart, +The wine in my head, and still love in my heart. + +I repaired to my Reason, entreated her aid; +Who paused on my case and each circumstance weighed, +Then gravely pronounced, in return to my prayer, +That "Hebe was fairest of all that was fair!" + +"That's a truth," replied I, "I've no need to be taught; +I came for your counsel to find out a fault." +"If that's all," quoth Reason, "return as you came; +To find fault with Hebe, would forfeit my name." + +What hopes then, alas! of relief from my pain, +While, like lightning, she darts through each throbbing vein? +My Senses surprised, in her favor took arms; +And Reason confirms me a slave to her charms. + +John West [1693-1766] + + +A MAIDEN'S IDEAL OF A HUSBAND +From "The Contrivances" + +Genteel in personage, +Conduct, and equipage, +Noble by heritage, +Generous and free: +Brave, not romantic; +Learned, not pedantic; +Frolic, not frantic; +This must he be. + +Honor maintaining, +Meanness disdaining, +Still entertaining, +Engaging and new. +Neat, but not finical; +Sage, but not cynical; +Never tyrannical, +But ever true. + +Henry Carey [? -1743] + + +"PHILLADA FLOUTS ME" + +O what a plague is love! +How shall I bear it? +She will inconstant prove, +I greatly fear it. +She so torments my mind +That my strength faileth, +And wavers with the wind +As a ship saileth. +Please her the best I may, +She loves still to gainsay; +Alack and well-a-day! +Phillada flouts me. + +At the fair yesterday +She did pass by me; +She looked another way +And would not spy me: +I wooed her for to dine, +But could not get her; +Will had her to the wine - +He might entreat her. +With Daniel she did dance, +On me she looked askance: +O thrice unhappy chance! +Phillada flouts me. + +Fair maid, be not so coy, +Do not disdain me! +I am my mother's joy: +Sweet, entertain me! +She'll give me, when she dies, +All that is fitting: +Her poultry and her bees, +And her goose sitting, +A pair of mattress beds, +And a bag full of shreds; +And yet, for all this guedes, +Phillada flouts me! + +She hath a clout of mine +Wrought with blue coventry, +Which she keeps for a sign +Of my fidelity: +But i' faith, if she flinch +She shall not wear it; +To Tib, my t'other wench, +I mean to bear it. +And yet it grieves my heart +So soon from her to part: +Death strike me with his dart! +Phillada flouts me. + +Thou shalt eat crudded cream +All the year lasting, +And drink the crystal stream +Pleasant in tasting; +Whig and whey whilst thou lust, +And bramble-berries, +Pie-lid and pastry-crust, +Pears, plums, and cherries. +Thy raiment shall be thin, +Made of a weevil's skin - +Yet all's not worth a pin! +Phillada flouts me. + +In the last month of May +I made her posies; +I heard her often say +That she loved roses. +Cowslips and gillyflowers +And the white lily +I brought to deck the bowers +For my sweet Philly. +But she did all disdain, +And threw them back again; +Therefore 'tis flat and plain +Phillada flouts me. + +Fair maiden, have a care, +And in time take me; +I can have those as fair +If you forsake me: +For Doll the dairy-maid +Laughed at me lately, +And wanton Winifred +Favors me greatly. +One throws milk on my clothes, +T'other plays with my nose; +What wanting signs are those? +Phillada flouts me. + +I cannot work nor sleep +At all in season: +Love wounds my heart so deep +Without all reason +I 'gin to pine away +In my love's shadow, +Like as a fat beast may, +Penned in a meadow, +I shall be dead, I fear, +Within this thousand year: +And all for that my dear +Phillada flouts me. + +Unknown + + +"WHEN MOLLY SMILES" + +When Molly smiles beneath her cow, +I feel my heart - I can't tell how; +When Molly is on Sunday dressed, +On Sundays I can take no rest. + +What can I do? On worky days +I leave my work on her to gaze. +What shall I say? At sermons, I +Forget the text when Molly's by. + +Good master curate, teach me how +To mind your preaching and my plow: +And if for this you'll raise a spell, +A good fat goose shall thank you well. + +Unknown + + +CONTENTIONS + +It was a lordling's daughter, the fairest one of three, +That liked of her master as well as well might be; +Till looking on an Englishman, the fair'st that eye could see +Her fancy fell a-turning. + +Long was the combat doubtful that love with love did fight, +To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant knight: +To put in practice either, alas! it was a spite +Unto the silly damsel. + +But one must be refused: more mickle was the pain, +That nothing could be used to turn them both to gain; +For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with disdain: +Alas! she could not help it. + +Thus art with arms contending was victor of the day, +Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid away; +Then lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady gays +For now my song is ended. + +Unknown + + +"I ASKED MY FAIR, ONE HAPPY DAY" +After Lessing + +I asked my fair, one happy day, +What I should call her in my lay; +By what sweet name from Rome or Greece; +Lalage, Neaera, Chloris, +Sappho, Lesbia, or Doris, +Arethusa or Lucrece. + +"Ah!" replied my gentle fair, +"Beloved, what are names but air? +Choose thou whatever suits the line; +Call me Sappho, call me Chloris, +Call me Lalage or Doris, +Only - only call me thine." + +Samuel Taylor Coleridge [1772-1834] + + +THE EXCHANGE + +We pledged our hearts, my love and I, - +I in my arms the maiden clasping: +I could not tell the reason why, +But oh! I trembled like an aspen. + +Her father's love she bade me gain; +I went, and shook like any reed! +I strove to act the man - in vain! +We had exchanged our hearts indeed. + +Samuel Taylor Coleridge [1772-1834] + + +"COMIN' THROUGH THE RYE" + +Comin' through the rye, poor body, +Comin' through the rye, +She draiglet a' her petticoatie, +Comin' through the rye. + +Oh Jenny's a' wat poor body, +Jenny's seldom dry; +She draiglet a' her petticoatie, +Comin' through the rye. + +Gin a body meet a body, +Comin' through the rye, +Gin a body kiss a body, +Need a body cry? + +Gin a body meet a body +Comin' through the glen, +Gin a body kiss a body, +Need the warld ken? + +Robert Burns [1759-1796] + + +"GREEN GROW THE RASHES, O!" + +There's naught but care on every han', +In every hour that passes, O! +What signifies the life o' man, +An' 'twere na for the lasses, O? + +Green grow the rashes, O! +Green grow the rashes, O! +The sweetest hours that e'er I spend, +Are spent amang the lasses, O! + +The warl'ly race may riches chase, +An' riches still may fly them, O! +An' though at last they catch them fast, +Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O! + +Gie me a canny hour at e'en; +My arms about my dearie, O! +An' warl'ly cares, an' warl'ly men, +May a' gae tapsalteerie, O! + +For you sae douce, ye sneer at this; +Ye'er naught but senseless asses, O! +The wisest man the warl' e'er saw +He dearly loved the lasses, O! + +Auld Nature swears the lovely dears +Her noblest work she classes, O! +Her 'prentice han' she tried on man, +An' then she made the lasses, O! + +Robert Burns [1759-1796] + + +DEFIANCE + +Catch her and hold her if you can - +See, she defies you with her fan, +Shuts, opens, and then holds it spread +In threatening guise above your head. +Ah! why did you not start before +She reached the porch and closed the door? +Simpleton! will you never learn +That girls and time will not return; +Of each you should have made the most; +Once gone, they are forever lost. +In vain your knuckles knock your brow, +In vain will you remember how +Like a slim brook the gamesome maid +Sparkled, and ran into the shade. + +Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864] + + +OF CLEMENTINA + +In Clementina's artless mien +Lucilla asks me what I see, +And are the roses of sixteen +Enough for me? + +Lucilla asks, if that be all, +Have I not culled as sweet before: +Ah yes, Lucilla! and their fall +I still deplore. + +I now behold another scene, +Where Pleasure beams with Heaven's own light, +More pure, more constant, more serene, +And not less bright. + +Faith, on whose breast the Loves repose, +Whose chain of flowers no force can sever, +And Modesty who, when she goes, +Is gone for ever. + +Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864] + + +"THE TIME I'VE LOST IN WOOING" + +The time I've lost in wooing, +In watching and pursuing +The light that lies +In woman's eyes, +Has been my heart's undoing. +Though Wisdom oft has sought me, +I scorned the lore she brought me, - +My only books +Were women's looks, +And folly's all they taught me. + +Her smile when Beauty granted, +I hung with gaze enchanted, +Like him the sprite +Whom maids by night +Oft meet in glen that's haunted. +Like him, too, Beauty won me; +But when the spell was on me, +If once their ray +Was turned away, +O! winds could not outrun me. + +And are those follies going? +And is my proud heart growing +Too cold or wise +For brilliant eyes +Again to set it glowing? +No - vain, alas! th' endeavor +From bonds so sweet to sever; - +Poor Wisdom's chance +Against a glance +Is now as weak as ever. + +Thomas Moore [1779-1852] + + +DEAR FANNY + +"She has beauty, but you must keep your heart cool; +She has wit, but you mustn't be caught so": +Thus Reason advises, but Reason's a fool, +And 'tis not the first time I have thought so, +Dear Fanny, +'Tis not the first time I have thought so. + +"She is lovely; then love her, nor let the bliss fly; +'Tis the charm of youth's vanishing season"; +Thus Love has advised me, and who will deny +That Love reasons better than Reason, +Dear Fanny +Love reasons much better than Reason. + +Thomas Moore [1779-1852] + + +A CERTAIN YOUNG LADY + +There's a certain young lady, +Who's just in her hey-day, +And full of all mischief, I ween; +So teasing! so pleasing! +Capricious! delicious! +And you know very well whom I mean. + +With an eye dark as night, +Yet than noonday more bright, +Was ever a black eye so keen? +It can thrill with a glance, +With a beam can entrance, +And you know very well whom I mean. + +With a stately step - such as +You'd expect in a duchess - +And a brow might distinguish a queen, +With a mighty proud air, +That says "touch me who dare," +And you know very well whom I mean. + +With a toss of the head +That strikes one quite dead, +But a smile to revive one again; +That toss so appalling! +That smile so enthralling! +And you know very well whom I mean. + +Confound her! de'il take her! - +A cruel heart-breaker - +But hold! see that smile so serene. +God love her! God bless her! +May nothing distress her! +You know very well whom I mean. + +Heaven help the adorer +Who happens to bore her, +The lover who wakens her spleen; +But too blest for a sinner +Is he who shall win her, +And you know very well whom I mean. + +Washington Irving [1783-1859] + + +"WHERE BE YOU GOING, YOU DEVON MAID" + +Where be you going, you Devon maid? +And what have ye there in the basket? +Ye tight little fairy, just fresh from the dairy, +Will ye give me some cream if I ask it? + +I love your hills and I love your dales, +And I love your flocks a-bleating; +But oh, on the heather to lie together, +With both our hearts a-beating! + +I'll put your basket all safe in a nook; +Your shawl I'll hang on a willow; +And we will sigh in the daisy's eye, +And kiss on a grass-green pillow. + +John Keats [1795-1821] + + +LOVE IN A COTTAGE + +They may talk of love in a cottage, +And bowers of trellised vine, - +Of nature bewitchingly simple, +And milkmaids half divine; +They may talk of the pleasure of sleeping +In the shade of a spreading tree, +And a walk in the fields at morning, +By the side of a footstep free! + +But give me a sly flirtation +By the light of a chandelier, - +With music to play in the pauses, +And nobody very near; +Or a seat on a silken sofa, +With a glass of pure old wine, +And mamma too blind to discover +The small white hand in mine. + +Your love in a cottage is hungry, +Your vine is a nest for flies, - +Your milkmaid shocks the Graces, +And simplicity talks of pies! +You lie down to your shady slumber +And wake with a bug in your ear, +And your damsel that walks in the morning +Is shod like a mountaineer. + +True love is at home on a carpet, +And mightily likes his ease; - +And true love has an eye for a dinner, +And starves beneath shady trees. +His wing is the fan of a lady, +His foot's an invisible thing, +And his arrow is tipped with a jewel, +And shot from a silver string. + +Nathaniel Parker Willis [1806-1867] + + +SONG OF THE MILKMAID +From "Queen Mary" + +Shame upon you, Robin, +Shame upon you now! +Kiss me would you? with my hands +Milking the cow? +Daisies grow again, +Kingcups blow again, +And you came and kissed me milking the cow. + +Robin came behind me, +Kissed me well, I vow; +Cuff him could I? with my hands +Milking the cow? +Swallows fly again, +Cuckoos cry again, +And you came and kissed me milking the cow. + +Come, Robin, Robin, +Come and kiss me now; +Help it can I? with my hands +Milking the cow? +Ringdoves coo again, +All things woo again, +Come behind and kiss me milking the cow! + +Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] + + +"WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO KNOW" + +I know a girl with teeth of pearl, +And shoulders white as snow; +She lives, - ah well, +I must not tell, - +Wouldn't you like to know? + +Her sunny hair is wondrous fair, +And wavy in its flow; +Who made it less +One little tress, - +Wouldn't you like to know? + +Her eyes are blue (celestial hue!) +And dazzling in their glow; +On whom they beam +With melting gleam, - +Wouldn't you like to know? + +Her lips are red and finely wed, +Like roses ere they blow; +What lover sips +Those dewy lips, - +Wouldn't you like to know? + +Her fingers are like lilies fair +When lilies fairest grow; +Whose hand they press +With fond caress, - +Wouldn't you like to know? + +Her foot is small, and has a fall +Like snowflakes on the snow; +And where it goes +Beneath the rose, - +Wouldn't you like to know? + +She has a name, the sweetest name +That language can bestow. +'Twould break the spell +If I should tell, - +Wouldn't you like to know? + +John Godfrey Saxe [1816-1887] + + +"SING HEIGH-HO!" + +There sits a bird on every tree; +Sing heigh-ho! +There sits a bird on every tree, +And courts his love as I do thee; +Sing heigh-ho, and heigh-ho! +Young maids must marry. + +There grows a flower on every bough; +Sing heigh-ho! +There grows a flower on every bough, +Its petals kiss - I'll show you how: +Sing heigh-ho, and heigh-ho! +Young maids must marry. + +From sea to stream the salmon roam; +Sing heigh-ho! +From sea to stream the salmon roam; +Each finds a mate and leads her home; +Sing heigh-ho, and heigh-ho! +Young maids must marry. + +The sun's a bridegroom, earth a bride; +Sing heigh-ho! +They court from morn till eventide: +The earth shall pass, but love abide. +Sing heigh-ho, and heigh-ho! +Young maids must marry. + +Charles Kingsley [1819-1875] + + +THE GOLDEN FISH + +Love is a little golden fish, +Wondrous shy . . . ah, wondrous shy . . . +You may catch him if you wish; +He might make a dainty dish . . . +But I . . . +Ah, I've other fish to fry! + +For when I try to snare this prize, +Earnestly and patiently, +All my skill the rogue defies, +Lurking safe in Aimee's eyes . . . +So, you see, +I am caught and Love goes free! + +George Arnold [1834-1865] + + +THE COURTIN' + +God makes sech nights, all white an' still +Fur 'z you can look or listen, +Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill, +All silence an' all glisten. + +Zekle crep' up quite unbeknown +An' peeked in thru' the winder, +An' there sot Huldy all alone, +'ith no one nigh to hender. + +A fireplace filled the room's one side, +With half a cord o' wood in - +There warn't no stoves (tell comfort died) +To bake ye to a puddin'. + +The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out +Towards the pootiest, bless her! +An' leetle flames danced all about +The chiny on the dresser. + +Agin the chimbley crook-necks hung, +An' in amongst 'em rusted +The ole queen's-arm thet gran'ther Young +Fetched back f'om Concord busted. + +The very room, coz she was in, +Seemed warm f'om floor to ceilin', +An' she looked full ez rosy agin +Ez the apples she was peelin. + +'Twas kin' o' kingdom-come to look +On sech a blessed cretur, +A dogrose blushin' to a brook +Ain't modester nor sweeter. + +He was six foot o' man, A I, +Clear grit an' human natur'; +None couldn't quicker pitch a ton, +Nor dror a furrer straighter. + +He'd sparked it with full twenty gals, +He'd squired 'em, danced 'em, druv 'em, +Fust this one, an' then thet, by spells - +All is, he couldn't love 'em. + +But long o' her his veins 'ould run +All crinkly like curled maple, +The side she breshed felt full o' sun +Ez a south slope in Ap'il. + +She thought no v'ice hed sech a swing +Ez hisn in the choir; +My! when he made Ole Hundred ring, +She knowed the Lord was nigher. + +An' she'd blush scarlit, right in prayer, +When her new meetin'-bunnet +Felt somehow thru' its crown a pair +O' blue eyes sot upun it. + +Thet night, I tell ye, she looked some! +She seemed to've gut a new soul, +For she felt sartin-sure he'd come, +Down to her very shoe-sole. + +She heered a foot, an' knowed it tu, +A-raspin' on the scraper, - +All ways to once her feelin's flew +Like sparks in burnt-up paper. + +He kin' o' l'itered on the mat, +Some doubtfle o' the sekle, +His heart kep' goin' pitty-pat, +But hern went pity Zekle. + +An' yit she gin her cheer a jerk +Ez though she wished him furder, +An' on her apples kep' to work, +Parin' away like murder. + +"You want to see my Pa, I s'pose?" +"Wal . . . no . . . I come dasignin" +"To see my Ma? She's sprinklin' clo'es +Agin to-morrer's i'nin'." + +To say why gals acts so or so, +Or don't, 'ould be presumin'; +Mebby to mean yes an' say no +Comes nateral to women. + +He stood a spell on one foot fust, +Then stood a spell on t'other, +An' on which one he felt the wust +He couldn't ha' told ye nuther. + +Says he, "I'd better call ag'in"; +Says she, "Think likely, Mister"; +Thet last word pricked him like a pin, +An' . . . Wal, he up an' kissed her. + +When Ma bimeby upon 'em slips, +Huldy sot pale ez ashes, +All kin' o' smily roun' the lips +An' teary roun' the lashes. + +For she was jes' the quiet kind +Whose naturs never vary, +Like streams that keep a summer mind +Snow-hid in Jenooary. + +The blood clost roun' her heart felt glued +Too tight for all expressin', +Tell mother see how metters stood +And gin 'em both her blessin'. + +Then her red come back like the tide +Down to the Bay o' Fundy, +An' all I know is they was cried +In meetin' come nex' Sunday. + +James Russell Lowell [1819-1891] + + +L'EAU DORMANTE + +Curled up and sitting on her feet, +Within the window's deep embrasure, +Is Lydia; and across the street, +A lad, with eyes of roguish azure, +Watches her buried in her book. +In vain he tries to win a look, +And from the trellis over there +Blows sundry kisses through the air, +Which miss the mark, and fall unseen, +Uncared for. Lydia is thirteen. + +My lad, if you, without abuse, +Will take advice from one who's wiser, +And put his wisdom to more use +Than ever yet did your adviser; +If you will let, as none will do, +Another's heartbreak serve for two, +You'll have a care, some four years hence, +How you lounge there by yonder fence +And blow those kisses through that screen - +For Lydia will be seventeen. + +Thomas Bailey Aldrich [1837-1907] + + +A PRIMROSE DAME + +She has a primrose at her breast, +I almost wish I were a Tory. +I like the Radicals the best; +She has a primrose at her breast; +Now is it chance she so is dressed, +Or must I tell a story? +She has a primrose at her breast, +I almost wish I were a Tory. + +Gleeson White [1851-1898] + + +IF + +Oh, if the world were mine, Love, +I'd give the world for thee! +Alas! there is no sign, Love, +Of that contingency. + +Were I a king, - which isn't +To be considered now, - +A diadem had glistened +Upon that lovely brow. + +Had fame with laurels crowned me, - +She hasn't, up to date, - +Nor time nor change had found me +To love and thee ingrate. + +If Death threw down his gage, Love, +Though life is dear to me, +I'd die, e'en of old age, Love, +To win a smile from thee. + +But being poor, we part, dear, +And love, sweet love, must die; +Thou wilt not break thy heart, dear, +No more, I think, shall I! + +James Jeffrey Roche [1847-1908] + + +DON'T + +Your eyes were made for laughter: +Sorrow befits them not; +Would you be blithe hereafter, +Avoid the lover's lot. + +The rose and lily blended +Possess your cheeks so fair; +Care never was intended +To leave his furrows there. + +Your heart was not created +To fret itself away, +By being unduly mated +To common human clay. + +But hearts were made for loving - +Confound philosophy! +Forget what I've been proving, +Sweet Phyllis, and love me! + +James Jeffrey Roche [1847-1908] + + +AN IRISH LOVE-SONG + +In the years about twenty +(When kisses are plenty) +The love of an Irish lass fell to my fate - +So winsome and sightly, +So saucy and sprightly, +The priest was a prophet that christened her Kate. + +Soft gray of the dawning, +Bright blue of the morning, +The sweet of her eye there was nothing to mate; +A nose like a fairy's, +A cheek like a cherry's, +And a smile - well, her smile was like - nothing but Kate. + +To see her was passion, +To love her, the fashion; +What wonder my heart was unwilling to wait! +And, daring to love her, +I soon did discover +A Katherine masking in mischievous Kate. + +No Katy unruly +But Katherine, truly - +Fond, serious, patient, and even sedate; +With a glow in her gladness +That banishes sadness - +Yet stay! Should I credit the sunshine to Kate? + +Love cannot outlive it, +Wealth cannot o'ergive it - +The saucy surrender she made at the gate. +O Time, be but human, +Spare the girl in the woman! +You gave me my Katherine - leave me my Kate! + +Robert Underwood Johnson [1853- + + +GROWING OLD + +Sweet sixteen is shy and cold, +Calls me "sir," and thinks me old; +Hears in an embarrassed way +All the compliments I pay; + +Finds my homage quite a bore, +Will not smile on me, and more +To her taste she finds the noise +And the chat of callow boys. + +Not the lines around my eye, +Deepening as the years go by; +Not white hairs that strew my head, +Nor my less elastic tread; + +Cares I find, nor joys I miss, +Make me feel my years like this: - +Sweet sixteen is shy and cold, +Calls me "sir," and thinks me old. + +Walter Learned [1847-1915] + + +TIME'S REVENGE + +When I was ten and she fifteen - +Ah, me! how fair I thought her. +She treated with disdainful mien +The homage that I brought her, +And, in a patronizing way, +Would of my shy advances say: +"It's really quite absurd, you see; +He's very much too young for me." + +I'm twenty now, she twenty-five - +Well, well! how old she's growing. +I fancy that my suit might thrive +If pressed again; but, owing +To great discrepancy in age, +Her marked attentions don't engage +My young affections, for, you see, +She's really quite too old for me. + +Walter Learned [1847-1915] + + +IN EXPLANATION + +Her lips were so near +That - what else could I do? +You'll be angry, I fear. +But her lips were so near - +Well, I can't make it clear, +Or explain it to you. +But - her lips were so near +That - what else could I do? + +Walter Learned [1847-1915] + + +OMNIA VINCIT + +Long from the lists of love I stood aloof +My heart was steeled and I was beauty-proof; +Yet I, unscathed in many a peril past, +Lo! here am I defeated at the last. + +My practice was, in easy-chair reclined, +Superior-wise to speak of womankind, +Waving away the worn-out creed of love +To join the smoke that wreathed itself above. + +Love, I said in my wisdom, Love is dead, +For all his fabled triumphs - and instead +We find a calm affectionate respect, +Doled forth by Intellect to Intellect. + +Yet when Love, taking vengeance, smote me sore, +My Siren called me from no classic shore; +It was no Girton trumpet that laid low +The walls of this Platonic Jericho. + +For when my peace of mind at length was stole, +I thought no whit of Intellect or Soul, +Nay! I was cast in pitiful distress +By brown eyes wide with truth and tenderness. + +Alfred Cochrane [1865- + + +A PASTORAL + +Along the lane beside the mead +Where cowslip-gold is in the grass +I matched the milkmaid's easy speed, +A tall and springing country lass: +But though she had a merry plan +To shield her from my soft replies, +Love played at Catch-me-if-you-Can +In Mary's eyes. + +A mile or twain from Varley bridge +I plucked a dock-leaf for a fan, +And drove away the constant midge, +And cooled her forehead's strip of tan. +But though the maiden would not spare +My hand her pretty finger-tips, +Love played at Kiss-me-if-you-Dare +On Mary's lips. + +Since time was short and blood was bold, +I drew me closer to her side, +And watched her freckles change from gold +To pink beneath a blushing tide. +But though she turned her face away, +How much her panting heart confessed! +Love played at Find-me-for-you-May +In Mary's breast. + +Norman Gale [1862- + + +A ROSE + +'Twas a Jacqueminot rose +That she gave me at parting; +Sweetest flower that blows, +'Twas a Jacqueminot rose. +In the love garden close, +With the swift blushes starting, +'Twas a Jacqueminot rose +That she gave me at parting. + +If she kissed it, who knows - +Since I will not discover, +And love is that close, +If she kissed it, who knows? +Or if not the red rose +Perhaps then the lover! +If she kissed it, who knows, +Since I will not discover. + +Yet at least with the rose +Went a kiss that I'm wearing! +More I will not disclose, +Yet at least with the rose +Went whose kiss no one knows, - +Since I'm only declaring, +"Yet at least with the rose +Went a kiss that I'm wearing." + +Arlo Bates [1850-1918] + + +"WOOED AND MARRIED AND A'" + +The bride cam' out o' the byre, +And oh, as she dighted her cheeks: +"Sirs, I'm to be married the night, +And ha'e neither blankets nor sheets; +Ha'e neither blankets nor sheets, +Nor scarce a coverlet too; +The bride that has a' thing to borrow, +Has e'en right muckle ado!" +Wooed and married, and a', +Married and wooed and a'! +And was she nae very weel aff, +That was wooed and married and a'? + +Out spake the bride's father, +As he cam' in frae the pleugh: +"Oh, haud your tongue, my dochter, +And ye'se get gear eneugh; +The stirk stands i' the tether, +And our braw bawsint yaud, +Will carry ye hame your corn - +What wad ye be at, ye jaud?" + +Out spake the bride's mither: +"What deil needs a' this pride? +I had nae a plack in my pouch +That night I was a bride; +My gown was linsey woolsey, +And ne'er a sark ava; +And ye ha'e ribbons and buskins, +Mair than ane or twa." + +Out spake the bride's brither, +As he cam' in wi' the kye: +"Poor Willie wad ne'er ha'e ta'en ye, +Had he kent ye as weel as I; +For ye're baith proud and saucy +And no for a puir man's wife; +Gin I canna get a better, +I'se ne'er tak' ane i' my life." + +Out spake the bride's sister, +As she cam' in frae the byre: +"O gin I were but married, +It's a' that I desire; +But we puir folk maun live single, +And do the best we can; +I dinna ken what I should want, +If I could get but a man!" + +Alexander Ross [1699-1784] + + +"OWRE THE MUIR AMANG THE HEATHER" + +Comin' though the craigs o' Kyle, +Amang the bonnie bloomin' heather, +There I met a bonnie lassie, +Keepin' a' her ewes thegither. + +Owre the muir amang the heather, +Owre the muir amang the heather; +There I met a bonnie lassie, +Keepin' a' her ewes thegither. + +Says I, My dear, where is thy hame, - +In muir or dale, pray tell me whether? +She says, I tent the fleecy flocks +That feed amang the bloomin' heather. + +We laid us down upon a bank, +Sae warm and sunny was the weather: +She left her flocks at large to rove +Amang the bonnie bloomin' heather. + +While thus we lay, she sung a sang, +Till echo rang a mile and farther; +And aye the burden of the sang +Was, Owre the muir amang the heather. + +She charmed my heart, and aye sinsyne +I couldna think on ony ither: +By sea and sky! she shall be mine, +The bonnie lass amang the heather. + +Jean Glover [1758-1801] + + +MARRIAGE AND THE CARE O'T + +Quoth Rab to Kate, My sonsy dear, +I've wooed ye mair than ha' a year, +An' if ye'd wed me ne'er cou'd speer, +Wi' blateness, an' the care o't. +Now to the point: sincere I'm wi't: +Will ye be my ha'f-marrow, sweet? +Shake han's, and say a bargain be't +An' ne'er think on the care o't. + +Na, na, quo' Kate, I winna wed, +O' sic a snare I'll aye be rede; +How mony, thochtless, are misled +By marriage, an' the care o't! +A single life's a life o' glee, +A wife ne'er think to mak' o' me, +Frae toil an' sorrow I'll keep free, +An' a' the dool an' care o't. + +Weel, weel, said Robin, in reply, +Ye ne'er again shall me deny, +Ye may a toothless maiden die +For me, I'll tak' nae care o't. +Fareweel for ever! - aff I hie; - +Sae took his leave without a sigh; +Oh! stop, quo' Kate, I'm yours, I'll try +The married life, an' care o't. + +Rab wheel't about, to Kate cam' back, +An' ga'e her mou' a hearty smack, +Syne lengthened out a lovin' crack +'Bout marriage an' the care o't. +Though as she thocht she didna speak, +An' lookit unco mim an' meek, +Yet blithe was she wi' Rab to cleek, +In marriage, wi' the care o't. + +Robert Lochore [1762-1852] + + +THE WOMEN FOLK + +O sairly may I rue the day +I fancied first the womenkind; +For aye sinsyne I ne'er can ha'e +Ae quiet thought or peace o' mind! +They ha'e plagued my heart, an' pleased my e'e, +An' teased an' flattered me at will, +But aye, for a' their witchery, +The pawky things! I lo'e them still. +O, the women folk! O, the women folk, +But they ha'e been the wreck o' me; +O, weary fa' the women folk, +For they winna let a body be! + +I ha'e thought an' thought, but darena tell, +I've studied them wi' a' my skill, +I've lo'ed them better than mysel', +I've tried again to like them ill. +Wha sairest strives, will sairest rue, +To comprehend what nae man can; +When he has done what man can do, +He'll end at last where he began. +That they ha'e gentle forms an' meet, +A man wi' half a look may see; +An' gracefu' airs, an' faces sweet, +An' waving curls aboon the bree! +An' smiles as saft as the young rose-bud, +An' e'en sae pawky, bright, an' rare, +Wad lure the laverock frae the clud - +But, laddie, seek to ken nae mair! + +James Hogg [1770-1835] + + +"LOVE IS LIKE A DIZZINESS" + +I lately lived in quiet ease, +An' never wished to marry, O! +But when I saw my Peggy's face, +I felt a sad quandary, O! +Though wild as ony Athol deer, +She has trepanned me fairly, O! +Her cherry cheeks an' een sae clear +Torment me late an' early, O! +O, love, love, love! +Love is like a dizziness; +It winna let a poor body +Gang about his biziness! + +To tell my feats this single week +Wad mak a daft-like diary, O! +I drave my cart out owre a dike, +My horses in a miry, O! +I wear my stockings white an' blue, +My love's sae fierce an' fiery, O! +I drill the land that I should pleugh, +An' pleugh the drills entirely, O! + +Ae morning, by the dawn o' day, +I rase to theek the stable, O! +I cuist my coat, an' plied away +As fast as I was able, O! +I wrought that morning out an' out, +As I'd been redding fire, O! +When I had done an' looked about, +Gudefaith, it was the byre, O! + +Her wily glance I'll ne'er forget, +The dear, the lovely blinkin' o't +Has pierced me through an' through the heart, +An' plagues me wi' the prinkling o't. +I tried to sing, I tried to pray, +I tried to drown 't wi' drinkin' o't, +I tried wi' sport to drive 't away, +But ne'er can sleep for thinkin' o't. + +Nae man can tell what pains I prove, +Or how severe my pliskie, O! +I swear I'm sairer drunk wi' love +Than ever I was wi' whiskey, O! +For love has raked me fore an' aft, +I scarce can lift a leggie, O! +I first grew dizzy, then gaed daft, +An' soon I'll dee for Peggy, O! + +James Hogg [1770-1835] + + +"BEHAVE YOURSEL' BEFORE FOLK" + +Behave yoursel' before folk, +Behave yoursel' before folk, +And dinna be sae rude to me, +As kiss me sae before folk. + +It wadna gi'e me meikle pain, +Gin we were seen and heard by nane, +To tak' a kiss, or grant you ane; +But guidsake! no before folk. +Behave yoursel' before folk. +Behave yoursel' before folk; +Whate'er ye do, when out o' view, +Be cautious aye before folk. + +Consider, lad, how folk will crack, +And what a great affair they'll mak' +O' naething but a simple smack, +That's gi'en or ta'en before folk. +Behave yoursel' before folk, +Behave yoursel' before folk; +Nor gi'e the tongue o' auld or young +Occasion to come o'er folk. + +It's no through hatred o' a kiss, +That I sae plainly tell you this; +But, losh! I tak' it sair amiss +To be sae teased before folk. +Behave yoursel' before folk, +Behave yoursel' before folk; +When we're our lane ye may tak' ane, +But fient a ane before folk. + +I'm sure wi' you I've been as free +As ony modest lass should be; +But yet it doesna do to see +Sic freedom used before folk. +Behave yoursel' before folk, +Behave yoursel' before folk; +I'll ne'er submit again to it - +So mind you that - before folk. + +Ye tell me that my face is fair; +It may be sae - I dinna care - +But ne'er again gar't blush sae sair +As ye ha'e done before folk. +Behave yoursel' before folk, +Behave yoursel' before folk; +Nor heat my cheeks wi' your mad freaks, +But aye be douce before folk. + +Ye tell me that my lips are sweet, +Sic tales, I doubt, are a' deceit; +At ony rate, it's hardly meet +To pree their sweets before folk. +Behave yoursel' before folk, +Behave yoursel' before folk; +Gin that's the case, there's time, and place, +But surely no before folk. + +But, gin you really do insist +That I should suffer to be kissed, +Gae, get a license frae the priest, +And mak' me yours before folk. +Behave yoursel' before folk, +Behave yoursel' before folk; +And when we're ane, baith flesh and bane, +Ye may tak' ten - before folk. + +Alexander Rodger [1784-1846] + + +RORY O'MORE; OR, GOOD OMENS + +Young Rory O'More courted Kathleen bawn, +He was bold as a hawk, - she as soft as the dawn; +He wished in his heart pretty Kathleen to please, +And he thought the best way to do that was to tease. +"Now, Rory, be aisy," sweet Kathleen would cry +(Reproof on her lip, but a smile in her eye), +"With your tricks I don't know, in troth, what I'm about, +Faith, you've teased till I've put on my cloak inside out." +"Och! jewel," says Rory, "that same is the way +You've thrated my heart for this many a day; +And 'tis plazed that I am, and why not, to be sure? +For 'tis all for good luck," says bold Rory O'More. + +"Indeed, then," says Kathleen, "don't think of the like, +For I half gave a promise to soothering Mike; +The ground that I walk on he loves, I'll be bound." +"Faith," says Rory, "I'd rather love you than the ground." +"Now, Rory, I'll cry if you don't let me go; +Sure I drame ev'ry night that I'm hating you so!" +"Oh," says Rory, "that same I'm delighted to hear, +For drames always go by conthrairies, my dear; +So, jewel, keep draming that same till you die, +And bright mornin' will give dirty night the black lie! +And 'tis plazed that I am, and why not, to be sure? +Since 'tis all for good luck," says bold Rory O'More. + +"Arrah, Kathleen, my darlint, you've teased me enough, +Sure I've thrashed for your sake Dinny Grimes and Jim Duff; +And I've made myself, drinkin' your health, quite a baste, +So I think, after that, I may talk to the praste." +Then Rory, the rogue, stole his arm round her neck, +So soft and so white, without freckle or speck, +And he looked in her eyes that were beaming with light, +And he kissed her sweet lips; - don't you think he was right? +"Now, Rory, leave off, sir: you'll hug me no more; +That's eight times to-day that you've kissed me before." +"Then here goes another," says he, "to make sure, +For there's luck in odd numbers," says Rory O'More. + +Samuel Lover [1797-1868] + + +ASK AND HAVE + +"Oh, 'tis time I should talk to your mother, +Sweet Mary," says I; +"Oh, don't talk to my mother," says Mary, +Beginning to cry: +"For my mother says men are deceivers, +And never, I know, will consent; +She says girls in a hurry to marry, +At leisure repent." + +"Then, suppose I would talk to your father, +Sweet Mary," says I; +"Oh, don't talk to my father," says Mary, +Beginning to cry: +"For my father he loves me so dearly, +He'll never consent I should go - +If you talk to my father," says Mary, +"He'll surely say, 'No.'" + +"Then how shall I get you, my jewel? +Sweet Mary," says I; +"If your father and mother's so cruel, +Most surely I'll die!" +"Oh, never say die, dear," says Mary; +"A way now to save you I see; +Since my parents are both so contrary - +You'd better ask me!" + +Samuel Lover [1797-1868] + + +KITTY OF COLERAINE + +As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping, +With a pitcher of milk, from the fair of Coleraine, +When she saw me she stumbled, the pitcher down tumbled, +And all the sweet buttermilk watered the plain. + +"Oh! what shall I do now - 'twas looking at you, now; +Sure, sure, such a pitcher I'll ne'er meet again! +'Twas the pride of my dairy! Oh! Barney MacCleary, +You're sent as a plague to the girls of Coleraine." + +I sat down beside her and gently did chide her, +That such a misfortune should give her such pain; +A kiss then I gave her, and, ere I did leave her, +She vowed for such pleasure she'd break it again. + +'Twas hay-making season - I can't tell the reason - +Misfortunes will never come single, 'tis plain; +For very soon after poor Kitty's disaster +The devil a pitcher was whole in Coleraine. + +Charles Dawson Shanly [1811-1875] + + +THE PLAIDIE + +Upon ane stormy Sunday, +Coming adoon the lane, +Were a score of bonnie lassies - +And the sweetest I maintain, +Was Caddie, +That I took un'neath my plaidie, +To shield her from the rain. + +She said the daisies blushed +For the kiss that I had ta'en; +I wadna hae thought the lassie +Wad sae of a kiss complain; +"Now, laddie! +I winna stay under your plaidie, +If I gang hame in the rain!" + +But, on an after Sunday, +When cloud there was not ane, +This self-same winsome lassie +(We chanced to meet in the lane) +Said, "Laddie, +Why dinna ye wear your plaidie? +Wha kens but it may rain?" + +Charles Sibley [ ? ] + + +KITTY NEIL + +"Ah, sweet Kitty Neil, rise up from that wheel, +Your neat little foot will be weary from spinning; +Come trip down with me to the sycamore-tree, +Half the parish is there, and the dance is beginning. +The sun is gone down, but the full harvest-moon +Shines sweetly and cool on the dew-whitened valley, +While all the air rings with the soft, loving things +Each little bird sings in the green shaded alley." + +With a blush and a smile, Kitty rose up the while, +Her eye in the glass, as she bound her hair, glancing; +'Tis hard to refuse when a young lover sues, +So she couldn't but choose to go off to the dancing. +And now on the green the glad groups are seen, +Each gay-hearted lad with the lass of his choosing; +And Pat, without fail, leads out sweet Kitty Neil, - +Somehow, when he asked, she ne'er thought of refusing. + +Now, Felix Magee puts his pipes to his knee, +And with flourish so free sets each couple in motion; +With a cheer and a bound, the lads patter the ground, +The maids move around just like swans on the ocean: +Cheeks bright as the rose - feet light as the doe's, +Now coyly retiring, now boldly advancing - +Search the world all around, from the sky to the ground, +No such sight can be found as an Irish lass dancing! + +Sweet Kate! who could view your bright eyes of deep blue, +Beaming humidly through their dark lashes so mildly, +Your fair-turned arm, heaving breast, rounded form, +Nor feel his heart warm, and his pulses throb wildly? +Young Pat feels his heart, as he gazes, depart, +Subdued by the smart of such painful yet sweet love; +The sight leaves his eye, as he cries with a sigh, +"Dance light, for my heart it lies under your feet, love!" + +John Francis Waller [1810-1894] + + +"THE DULE'S I' THIS BONNET O' MINE" + +The dule's i' this bonnet o' mine; +My ribbins'll never be reet; +Here, Mally, aw'm like to be fine, +For Jamie'll be comin' to-neet; +He met me i' th' lone t'other day, - +Aw're gooin' for wayter to th' well, - +An' he begged that aw'd wed him i' May; - +Bi th' mass, iv he'll let me, aw will! + +When he took my two honds into his, +Good Lord, heaw they trembled between; +An' aw durstn't look up in his face, +Becose on him seein' my e'en; +My cheek went as red as a rose; - +There's never a mortal can tell +Heaw happy aw felt; for, thea knows, +One couldn't ha' axed him theirsel'. + +But th' tale wur at th' end o' my tung, - +To let it eawt wouldn't be reet, - +For aw thought to seem forrud wur wrung, +So aw towd him aw'd tell him to-neet; +But Mally, thae knows very weel, - +Though it isn't a thing one should own, - +Iv aw'd th' pikein' o' th' world to mysel', +Aw'd oather ha' Jamie or noan. + +Neaw, Mally, aw've towd tho my mind; +What would to do iv't wur thee? +"Aw'd tak him just while he're inclined, +An' a farrantly bargain he'd be; +For Jamie's as gradely a lad +As ever stepped eawt into th' sun; - +Go, jump at thy chance, an' get wed, +An' mak th' best o' th' job when it's done!" + +Eh, dear, but it's time to be gwon, - +Aw shouldn't like Jamie to wait; +Aw connut for shame be too soon, +An' aw wouldn't for th' world be too late; +Aw'm a' ov a tremble to th' heel, - +Dost think 'at my bonnet'll do? - +"Be off, lass, - thae looks very weel; +He wants noan o' th' bonnet, thae foo!" + +Edwin Waugh [1817-1890] + + +THE OULD PLAID SHAWL + +Not far from old Kinvara, in the merry month of May, +When birds were singing cheerily, there came across my way, +As if from out the sky above an angel chanced to fall, +A little Irish cailin in an ould plaid shawl. + +She tripped along right joyously, a basket on her arm; +And oh! her face; and oh! her grace, the soul of saint would charm: +Her brown hair rippled o'er her brow, but greatest charm of all +Was her modest blue eyes beaming 'neath her ould plaid shawl. + +I courteously saluted her - "God save you, miss," says I; +"God save you kindly, sir," said she, and shyly passed me by; +Off went my heart along with her, a captive in her thrall, +Imprisoned in the corner of her ould plaid shawl. + +Enchanted with her beauty rare, I gazed in pure delight, +Till round an angle of the road she vanished from my sight; +But ever since I sighing say, as I that scene recall, +"The grace of God about you and your ould plaid shawl." + +I've heard of highway robbers that with pistols and with knives, +Make trembling travelers yield them up their money or their lives, +But think of me that handed out my heart and head and all +To a simple little cailin in an ould plaid shawl. + +Oh! graceful the mantillas that the signorinas wear, +And tasteful are the bonnets of Parisian ladies fair, +But never cloak, or hood, or robe, in palace, bower, or hall, +Clad half such witching beauty as that ould plaid shawl. + +Oh! some men sigh for riches, and some men live for fame, +And some on history's pages hope to win a glorious name: +My aims are not ambitious, and my wishes are but small - +You might wrap them all together in an ould plaid shawl. + +I'll seek her all through Galway, and I'll seek her all through Clare, +I'll search for tale or tidings of my traveler everywhere, +For peace of mind I'll never find until my own I call +That little Irish cailin in her ould plaid shawl. + +Francis A. Fahy [1854- + + +LITTLE MARY CASSIDY + +Oh, 'tis little Mary Cassidy's the cause of all my misery, +And the raison that I am not now the boy I used to be; +Oh, she bates the beauties all that we read about in history, +And sure half the country-side is as hot for her as me. +Travel Ireland up and down, hill, village, vale and town - +Fairer than the Cailin Donn, you're looking for in vain; +Oh, I'd rather live in poverty with little Mary Cassidy +Than emperor, without her, be of Germany or Spain. + +'Twas at the dance at Darmody's that first I caught a sight of her, +And heard her sing the "Droighnean Donn," till tears came in my eyes, +And ever since that blessed hour I'm dreaming day and night of her; +The devil a wink of sleep at all I get from bed to rise. +Cheeks like the rose in June, song like the lark in tune, +Working, resting, night or noon, she never leaves my mind; +Oh, till singing by my cabin fire sits little Mary Cassidy, +'Tis little aise or happiness I'm sure I'll ever find. + +What is wealth, what is fame, what is all that people fight about +To a kind word from her lips or a love-glance from her eye? +Oh, though troubles throng my breast, sure they'd soon go to the right-about +If I thought the curly head of her would rest there by and by. +Take all I own to-day, kith, kin, and care away, +Ship them all across the say, or to the frozen zone: +Lave me an orphan bare - but lave me Mary Cassidy, +I never would feel lonesome with the two of us alone. + +Francis A. Fahy [1854- + + +THE ROAD + +"Now where are ye goin'," ses I, "wid the shawl +An' cotton umbrella an' basket an' all? +Would ye not wait for McMullen's machine, +Wid that iligant instep befittin' a queen? +Oh, you wid the wind-soft gray eye wid a wile in it, +You wid the lip wid the troublesome smile in it, +Sure, the road's wet, ivery rain-muddied mile in it -" +"Ah, the Saints'll be kapin' me petticoats clean!" + +"But," ses I, "would ye like it to meet Clancy's bull, +Or the tinks poachin' rabbits above Slieve-na-coul? +An' the ford at Kilmaddy is big wid the snows, +An' the whisht Little People that wear the green close, +They'd run from the bog to be makin' a catch o' ye, +The king o' them's wishful o' weddin' the match o' ye, +'Twould be long, if they did, ere ye lifted the latch o' ye -" +"What fairy's to touch her that sings as she goes!" + +"Ah, where are ye goin', ses I, "wid the shawl, +An' the gray eyes a-dreamin' beneath it an' all? +The road by the mountain's a long one, depend +Ye'll be done for, alannah, ere reachin' the end; +Ye'll be bate wid the wind on each back-breakin' bit on it, +Wet wid the puddles and lamed wid the grit on it, - +Since lonesome ye're layin' yer delicut fit on it -" +"Sure whin's a road lonesome that's stepped wid a friend?" + +That's stepped wid a friend? +Who did Bridgy intend? +Still 'twas me that went wid her right on to the end! + +Patrick R. Chalmers [18 + + +TWICKENHAM FERRY + +"Ahoy! and O-ho! and it's who's for the ferry?" +(The briar's in bud and the sun going down) +"And I'll row ye so quick and I'll row ye so steady, +And 'tis but a penny to Twickenham Town." +The ferryman's slim and the ferryman's young, +With just a soft tang in the turn of his tongue; +And he's fresh as a pippin and brown as a berry, +And 'tis but a penny to Twickenham Town. + +"Ahoy! and O-ho! and it's I'm for the ferry," +(The briar's in bud and the sun going down) +"And it's late as it is and I haven't a penny - +Oh! how can I get me to Twickenham Town?" +She'd a rose in her bonnet, and oh! she looked sweet +As the little pink flower that grows in the wheat, +With her cheeks like a rose and her lips like a cherry - +It's sure but you're welcome to Twickenham Town. + +"Ahoy! and O-ho!"- You're too late for the ferry, +(The briar's in bud and the sun has gone down) +And he's not rowing quick and he's not rowing steady; +It seems quite a journey to Twickenham Town. +"Ahoy! and O-ho!" you may call as you will; +The young moon is rising o'er Petersham Hill; +And, with Love like a rose in the stern of the wherry, +There's danger in crossing to Twickenham Town. + +Theophile Marzials [1850- + + + + + + + +THE HUMOR OF LOVE + + + + + + +SONG + +I prithee send me back my heart, +Since I cannot have thine: +For if from yours you will not part, +Why then shouldst thou have mine? + +Yet now I think on't, let it lie, +To find it were in vain, +For thou hast a thief in either eye +Would steal it back again. + +Why should two hearts in one breast lie, +And yet not lodge together? +O love, where is thy sympathy, +If thus our breasts thou sever? + +But love is such a mystery, +I cannot find it out: +For when I think I'm best resolved, +I then am most in doubt. + +Then farewell care, and farewell woe! +I will no longer pine; +For I'll believe I have her heart, +As much as she hath mine. + +John Suckling [1609-1642] + + +A BALLAD UPON A WEDDING + +I tell thee, Dick, where I have been, +Where I the rarest things have seen; +Oh, things without compare! +Such sights again cannot be found +In any place on English ground, +Be it at wake or fair. + +At Charing Cross, hard by the way +Where we (thou know'st) do sell our hay, +There is a house with stairs; +And there did I see coming down +Such folk as are not in our town, +Forty at least, in pairs. + +Amongst the rest, one pest'lent fine +(His beard no bigger, though, than thine) +Walked on before the rest; +Our landlord looks like nothing to him; +The king (God bless him!) 'twould undo him +Should he go still so drest. + +At Course-a-park, without all doubt, +He should have first been taken out +By all the maids i' th' town: +Though lusty Roger there had been, +Or little George upon the green, +Or Vincent of the Crown. + +But wot you what? The youth was going +To make an end of all his wooing; +The parson for him staid: +Yet by his leave (for all his haste), +He did not so much wish all past, +(Perchance) as did the maid. + +The maid (and thereby hangs a tale) +For such a maid no Whitsun-ale +Could ever yet produce: +No grape that's kindly ripe, could be +So round, so plump, so soft, as she, +Nor half so full of juice. + +Her finger was so small, the ring +Would not stay on which they did bring; +It was too wide a peck: +And to say truth (for out it must) +It looked like the great collar (just) +About our young colt's neck. + +Her feet beneath her petticoat +Like little mice stole in and out, +As if they feared the light: +But oh, she dances such a way! +No sun upon an Easter-day +Is half so fine a sight. + +Her cheeks so rare a white was on, +No daisy makes comparison; +Who sees them is undone; +For streaks of red were mingled there, +Such as are on a Cath'rine pear, +The side that's next the sun. + +Her lips were red; and one was thin +Compared to that was next her chin +(Some bee had stung it newly); +But, Dick, her eyes so guard her face, +I durst no more upon them gaze, +Than on the sun in July. + +Her mouth so small, when she does speak, +Thou'dst swear her teeth her words did break, +That they might passage get; +But she so handled still the matter, +They came as good as ours, or better, +And are not spent a whit. + +Passion o' me! how I run on! +There's that that would be thought upon, +I trow, besides the bride: +The business of the kitchen's great, +For it is fit that men should eat; +Nor was it there denied. + +Just in the nick the cook knocked thrice, +And all the waiters in a trice +His summons did obey; +Each serving-man, with dish in hand, +Marched boldly up, like our trained-band, +Presented and away. + +When all the meat was on the table, +What man of knife, or teeth, was able +To stay to be intreated? +And this the very reason was, +Before the parson could say grace, +The company was seated. + +Now hats fly off, and youths carouse; +Healths first go round, and then the house, +The bride's come thick and thick; +And when 'twas named another's health, +Perhaps he made it hers by stealth, +(And who could help it, Dick?) + +O' th' sudden up they rise and dance; +Then sit again, and sigh, and glance; +Then dance again, and kiss. +Thus sev'ral ways the time did pass, +Till ev'ry woman wished her place, +And ev'ry man wished his. + +By this time all were stol'n aside +To counsel and undress the bride; +But that he must not know: +But yet 'twas thought he guessed her mind, +And did not mean to stay behind +Above an hour or so. + +John Suckling [1609-1642] + + +TO CHLOE JEALOUS + +Dear Chloe, how blubbered is that pretty face! +Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hair all uncurled: +Prithee quit this caprice; and (as old Falstaff says), +Let us e'en talk a little like folks of this world. + +How canst thou presume thou hast leave to destroy +The beauties which Venus but lent to thy keeping? +Those looks were designed to inspire love and joy: +More ordinary eyes may serve people for weeping. + +To be vexed at a trifle or two that I writ, +Your judgment at once, and my passion you wrong: +You take that for fact, which will scarce be found wit: +Od's life! must one swear to the truth of a song? + +What I speak, my fair Chloe, and what I write, shows +The difference there is betwixt nature and art: +I court others in verse, but I love thee in prose: +And they have my whimsies, but thou hast my heart. + +The god of us verse-men (you know, Child) the sun, +How after his journeys he sets up his rest; +If at morning o'er earth 'tis his fancy to run; +At night he reclines on his Thetis's breast. + +So when I am wearied with wandering all day, +To thee, my delight, in the evening I come: +No matter what beauties I saw in my way: +They were but my visits, but thou art my home. + +Then finish, dear Chloe, this pastoral war; +And let us, like Horace and Lydia, agree: +For thou art a girl as much brighter than her, +As he was a poet sublimer than me. + +Matthew Prior [1664-1721] + + +JACK AND JOAN + +Jack and Joan they think no ill, +But loving live, and merry still; +Do their week-days' work, and pray +Devoutly on the holy day: +Skip and trip it on the green, +And help to choose the Summer Queen; +Lash out, at a country feast, +Their silver penny with the best. + +Well can they judge of nappy ale, +And tell at large a winter tale; +Climb up to the apple loft, +And turn the crabs till they be soft. +Tib is all the father's joy, +And little Tom the mother's boy. +All their pleasure is content; +And care, to pay their yearly rent. + +Joan can call by name her cows, +And deck her windows with green boughs; +She can wreaths and tuttyes make, +And trim with plums a bridal cake. +Jack knows what brings gain or loss; +And his long flail can stoutly toss: +Makes the hedge which others break; +And ever thinks what he doth speak. + +Now, you courtly dames and knights, +That study only strange delights; +Though you scorn the home-spun gray, +And revel in your rich array: +Though your tongues dissemble deep, +And can your heads from danger keep; +Yet, for all your pomp and train, +Securer lives the silly swain. + +Thomas Campion [ ? -1619] + + +PHILLIS AND CORYDON + +Phillis kept sheep along the western plains, +And Corydon did feed his flocks hard by: +This shepherd was the flower of all the swains +That traced the downs of fruitful Thessaly; +And Phillis, that did far her flocks surpass +In silver hue, was thought a bonny lass. + +A bonny lass, quaint in her country 'tire, +Was lovely Phillis, - Corydon swore so; +Her locks, her looks, did set the swain on fire, +He left his lambs, and he began to woo; +He looked, he sighed, he courted with a kiss, +No better could the silly swad than this. + +He little knew to paint a tale of love, +Shepherds can fancy, but they cannot say: +Phillis 'gan smile, and wily thought to prove +What uncouth grief poor Corydon did pay; +She asked him how his flocks or he did fare, +Yet pensive thus his sighs did tell his care. + +The shepherd blushed when Phillis questioned so, +And swore by Pan it was not for his flocks: +"'Tis love, fair Phillis, breedeth all this woe, +My thoughts are trapped within thy lovely locks; +Thine eye hath pierced, thy face hath set on fire; +Fair Phillis kindleth Corydon's desire." + +"Can shepherds love?" said Phillis to the swain. +"Such saints as Phillis," Corydon replied. +"Men when they lust can many fancies feign," +Said Phillis. This not Corydon denied, +That lust had lies; "But love," quoth he, "says truth: +Thy shepherd loves, then, Phillis, what ensu'th?" + +Phillis was won, she blushed and hung her head; +The swain stepped to, and cheered her with a kiss: +With faith, with troth, they struck the matter dead; +So used they when men thought not amiss: +Thus love begun and ended both in one; +Phillis was loved, and she liked Corydon. + +Robert Greene [1560?-1592] + + +SALLY IN OUR ALLEY + +Of all the girls that are so smart +There's none like pretty Sally; +She is the darling of my heart, +And she lives in our alley. +There is no lady in the land +Is half so sweet as Sally; +She is the darling of my heart, +And she lives in our alley. + +Her father he makes cabbage-nets, +And through the streets does cry 'em; +Her mother she sells laces long +To such as please to buy 'em; +But sure such folks could ne'er beget +So sweet a girl as Sally! +She is the darling of my heart, +And she lives in our alley. + +When she is by, I leave my work, +I love her so sincerely; +My master comes like any Turk, +And bangs me most severely: +But let him bang his bellyful, +I'll bear it all for Sally; +She is the darling of my heart, +And she lives in our alley. + +Of all the days that's in the week +I dearly love but one day - +And that's the day that comes betwixt +A Saturday and Monday; +For then I'm dressed all in my best +To walk abroad with Sally; +She is the darling of my heart, +And she lives in our alley. + +My master carries me to church, +And often am I blamed +Because I leave him in the lurch +As soon as text is named; +I leave the church in sermon-time +And slink away to Sally; +She is the darling of my heart, +And she lives in our alley. + +When Christmas comes about again, +O, then I shall have money; +I'll hoard it up, and box it all, +I'll give it to my honey: +I would it were ten thousand pound, +I'd give it all to Sally; +She is the darling of my heart, +And she lives in our alley. + +My master and the neighbors all +Make game of me and Sally, +And, but for her, I'd better be +A slave and row a galley; +But when my seven long years are out, +O, then I'll marry Sally; +O, then we'll wed, and then we'll bed - +But not in our alley! + +Henry Carey [? -1743] + + +THE COUNTRY WEDDING + +Well met, pretty nymph, says a jolly young swain +To a lovely young shepherdess crossing the plain; +Why so much in haste? - now the month it was May - +May I venture to ask you, fair maiden, which way? +Then straight to this question the nymph did reply, +With a blush on her cheek, and a smile in her eye, +I came from the village, and homeward I go, +And now, gentle shepherd, pray why would you know? + +I hope, pretty maid, you won't take it amiss, +If I tell you my reason for asking you this; +I would see you safe home - (now the swain was in love!) +Of such a companion if you would approve. +Your offer, kind shepherd, is civil, I own; +But I see no great danger in going alone; +Nor yet can I hinder, the road being free +For one as another, for you as for me. + +No danger in going alone, it is true, +But yet a companion is pleasanter, too; +And if you could like - (now the swain he took heart) - +Such a sweetheart as me, why we never would part. +O that's a long word, said the shepherdess then, +I've often heard say there's no minding you men. +You'll say and unsay, and you'll flatter, 'tis true! +Then to leave a young maiden's the first thing you do. + +O judge not so harshly, the shepherd replied, +To prove what I say, I will make you my bride. +To-morrow the parson - (well-said, little swain!) - +Shall join both our hands, and make one of us twain. +Then what the nymph answered to this isn't said, +The very next morn, to be sure, they were wed. +Sing hey-diddle, - ho-diddle, - hey-diddle-down, - +Now when shall we see such a wedding in town? + +Unknown + + +"O MERRY MAY THE MAID BE" + +O merry may the maid be +That marries wi' the miller, +For, foul day and fair day, +He's aye bringing till her, - +Has aye a penny in his purse +For dinner or for supper; +And, gin she please, a good fat cheese +And lumps of yellow butter. + +When Jamie first did woo me, +I speired what was his calling; +"Fair maid," says he, "O come and see, +Ye're welcome to my dwalling." +Though I was shy, yet could I spy +The truth o' what he told me, +And that his house was warm and couth, +And room in it to hold me. + +Behind the door a bag o' meal, +And in the kist was plenty +O' guid hard cakes his mither bakes, +And bannocks werena scanty. +A guid fat sow, a sleeky cow +Was standing in the byre, +Whilst lazy puss with mealy mouse +Was playing at the fire. + +"Guid signs are these," my mither says, +And bids me tak' the miller; +For, fair day and foul day, +He's aye bringing till her; +For meal and maut she doesna want, +Nor anything that's dainty; +And now and then a kecking hen, +To lay her eggs in plenty. + +In winter, when the wind and rain +Blaws o'er the house and byre, +He sits beside a clean hearth-stane, +Before a rousing fire. +With nut-brown ale he tells his tale, +Which rows him o'er fu' nappy: - +Wha'd be a king - a petty thing, +When a miller lives so happy? + +John Clerk [1684-1755] + + +THE LASS O' GOWRIE + +'Twas on a simmer's afternoon, +A wee afore the sun gaed doun, +A lassie wi' a braw new goun +Cam' owre the hills to Gowrie. +The rosebud washed in simmer's shower +Bloomed fresh within the sunny bower; +But Kitty was the fairest flower +That e'er was seen in Gowrie. + +To see her cousin she cam' there; +And oh! the scene was passing fair, +For what in Scotland can compare +Wi' the Carse o' Gowrie? +The sun was setting on the Tay, +The blue hills melting into gray, +The mavis and the blackbird's lay +Were sweetly heard in Gowrie. + +O lang the lassie I had wooed, +And truth and constancy had vowed, +But could nae speed wi' her I lo'ed +Until she saw fair Gowrie. +I pointed to my faither's ha' - +Yon bonnie bield ayont the shaw, +Sae loun that there nae blast could blaw: - +Wad she no bide in Gowrie? + +Her faither was baith glad and wae; +Her mither she wad naething say; +The bairnies thocht they wad get play +If Kitty gaed to Gowrie. +She whiles did smile, she whiles did greet; + +The blush and tear were on her cheek; +She naething said, and hung her head; - +But now she's Leddy Gowrie. + +Carolina Nairne [1766-1845] + + +THE CONSTANT SWAIN AND VIRTUOUS MAID + +Soon as the day begins to waste, +Straight to the well-known door I haste, +And rapping there, I'm forced to stay +While Molly hides her work with care, +Adjusts her tucker and her hair, +And nimble Becky scours away. + +Entering, I see in Molly's eyes +A sudden smiling joy arise, +As quickly checked by virgin shame: +She drops a curtsey, steals a glance, +Receives a kiss, one step advance. - +If such I love, am I to blame? + +I sit, and talk of twenty things, +Of South Sea stock, or death of kings, +While only "Yes" or "No," says Molly; +As cautious she conceals her thoughts, +As others do their private faults: - +Is this her prudence, or her folly? + +Parting, I kiss her lip and cheek, +I hang about her snowy neck, +And cry, "Farewell, my dearest Molly!" +Yet still I hang and still I kiss, +Ye learned sages, say, is this +In me the effect of love, or folly? + +No - both by sober reason move, - +She prudence shows, and I true love - +No charge of folly can be laid. +Then (till the marriage-rites proclaimed +Shall join our hands) let us be named +The constant swain, the virtuous maid. + +Unknown + + +"WHEN THE KYE COMES HAME" + +Come, all ye jolly shepherds +That whistle through the glen, +I'll tell ye of a secret +That courtiers dinna ken: +What is the greatest bliss +That the tongue o' man can name? +'Tis to woo a bonnie lassie +When the kye comes hame. +When the kye comes hame, +When the kye comes hame, +'Tween the gloamin and the mirk, +When the kye comes hame. + +'Tis not beneath the coronet, +Nor canopy of state, +'Tis not on couch of velvet, +Nor arbor of the great - +'Tis beneath the spreading birk, +In the glen without the name, +Wi' a bonnie, bonnie lassie, +When the kye comes hame. + +There the blackbird bigs his nest +For the mate he lo'es to see, +And on the topmost bough, +O, a happy bird is he! +Then he pours his melting ditty, +And love is a' the theme, +And he'll woo his bonnie lassie +When the kye comes hame. + +When the blewart bears a pearl, +And the daisy turns a pea, +And the bonnie lucken gowan +Has fauldit up her e'e, +Then the laverock frae the blue lift +Draps down, and thinks nae shame +To woo his bonnie lassie +When the kye comes hame. + +See yonder pawkie shepherd +That lingers on the hill - +His ewes are in the fauld, +And his lambs are lying still; +Yet he downa gang to bed, +For his heart is in a flame +To meet his bonnie lassie +When the kye comes hame. + +When the little wee bit heart +Rises high in the breast, +And the little wee bit starn +Rises red in the east, +O there's a joy sae dear, +That the heart can hardly frame, +Wi' a bonnie, bonnie lassie, +When the kye comes hame. + +Then since all nature joins +In this love without alloy, +O, wha wad prove a traitor +To Nature's dearest joy? +Or wha wad choose a crown, +Wi' its perils and its fame, +And miss his bonnie lassie +When the kye comes hame? +When the kye comes hame, +When the kye comes hame +'Tween the gloamin' and the mirk, +When the kye comes hame! + +James Hogg [1770-1835] + + +THE LOW-BACKED CAR + +When first I saw sweet Peggy, +'Twas on a market day, +A low-backed car she drove, and sat +Upon a truss of hay; +But when that hay was blooming grass +And decked with flowers of Spring, +No flower was there that could compare +With the blooming girl I sing. +As she sat in the low-backed car, +The man at the turnpike bar +Never asked for the toll, +But just rubbed his ould poll, +And looked after the low-backed car. + +In battle's wild commotion, +The proud and mighty Mars, +With hostile scythes, demands his tithes +Of death - in warlike cars: +While Peggy, peaceful goddess, +Has darts in her bright eye, +That knock men down in the market town, +As right and left they fly; - +While she sits in her low-backed car, +Than battle more dangerous far, - +For the doctor's art +Cannot cure the heart +That is hit from that low-backed car. + +Sweet Peggy round her car, sir, +Has strings of ducks and geese, +But the scores of hearts she slaughters +By far outnumber these; +While she among her poultry sits, +Just like a turtle-dove, +Well worth the cage, I do engage, +Of the blooming god of Love! +While she sits in her low-backed car, +The lovers come near and far, +And envy the chicken +That Peggy is pickin', +As she sits in her low-backed car. + +O, I'd rather own that car, sir, +With Peggy by my side, +Than a coach-and-four, and goold galore, +And a lady for my bride; +For the lady would sit forninst me, +On a cushion made with taste, +While Peggy would sit beside me, +With my arm around her waist, - +While we drove in the low-backed car, +To be married by Father Mahar, +O, my heart would beat high +At her glance and her sigh, - +Though it beat in a low-backed car! + +Samuel Lover [1797-1868] + + +THE PRETTY GIRL OF LOCH DAN + +The shades of eve had crossed the glen +That frowns o'er infant Avonmore, +When, nigh Loch Dan, two weary men, +We stopped before a cottage door. + +"God save all here!" my comrade cries, +And rattles on the raised latch-pin; +"God save you kindly!" quick replies +A clear sweet voice, and asks us in. + +We enter; from the wheel she starts, +A rosy girl with soil black eyes, +Her fluttering curtsey takes our hearts, +Her blushing grace and pleased surprise. + +Poor Mary, she was quite alone, +For, all the way to Glenmalure, +Her mother had that morning gone, +And left the house in charge with her. + +But neither household cares, nor yet +The shame that startled virgins feel, +Could make the generous girl forget +Her wonted hospitable zeal. + +She brought us, in a beechen bowl, +Sweet milk that smacked of mountain thyme, +Oat cake, and such a yellow roll +Of butter, - it gilds all my rhyme! + +And, while we ate the grateful food +(With weary limbs on bench reclined), +Considerate and discreet, she stood +Apart, and listened to the wind. + +Kind wishes both our souls engaged, +From breast to breast spontaneous ran +The mutual thought, - we stood and pledged +The modest rose above Loch Dan. + +"The milk we drink is not more pure, +Sweet Mary, - bless those budding charms! - +Than your own generous heart, I'm sure, +Nor whiter than the breast it warms!" + +She turned and gazed, unused to hear +Such language in that homely glen; +But, Mary, you have naught to fear, +Though smiled on by two stranger-men. + +Not for a crown would I alarm +Your virgin pride by word or sign, +Nor need a painful blush disarm +My friend of thoughts as pure as mine. + +Her simple heart could not but feel +The words we spoke were free from guile; +She stooped, she blushed, she fixed her wheel, - +'Tis all in vain, - she can't but smile! + +Just like sweet April's dawn appears +Her modest face, - I see it yet, - +And though I lived a hundred years +Methinks I never could forget + +The pleasure that, despite her heart, +Fills all her downcast eyes with light; +The lips reluctantly apart, +The white teeth struggling into sight, + +The dimples eddying o'er her cheek, - +The rosy cheek that won't be still: - +O, who could blame what flatterers speak, +Did smiles like this reward their skill? + +For such another smile, I vow, +Though loudly beats the midnight rain, +I'd take the mountain-side e'en now, +And walk to Luggelaw again! + +Samuel Ferguson [1810-1886] + + +MUCKLE-MOUTH MEG + +Frowned the Laird on the Lord: "So, red-handed I catch thee? +Death-doomed by our Law of the Border! +We've a gallows outside and a chiel to dispatch thee: +Who trespasses - hangs: all's in order." + +He met frown with smile, did the young English gallant: +Then the Laird's dame: "Nay, Husband, I beg! +He's comely: be merciful! Grace for the callant +- If he marries our Muckle-mouth Meg!" + +"No mile-wide-mouthed monster of yours do I marry: +Grant rather the gallows!" laughed he. +"Foul fare kith and kin of you - why do you tarry?" +"To tame your fierce temper!" quoth she. + +"Shove him quick in the Hole, shut him fast for a week: +Cold, darkness, and hunger work wonders: +Who lion-like roars, now mouse-fashion will squeak, +And 'it rains' soon succeed to 'it thunders.'" + +A week did he bide in the cold and dark +- Not hunger: for duly at morning +In flitted a lass, and a voice like a lark +Chirped, "Muckle-mouth Meg still ye're scorning? + +"Go hang, but here's parritch to hearten ye first!" +"Did Meg's muckle-mouth boast within some +Such music as yours, mine should match it or burst: +No frog-jaws! So tell folk, my Winsome!" + +Soon week came to end, and, from Hole's door set wide, +Out he marched, and there waited the lassie: +"Yon gallows, or Muckle-mouth Meg for a bride! +Consider! Sky's blue and turf's grassy: + +"Life's sweet; shall I say ye wed Muckle-mouth Meg?" +"Not I," quoth the stout heart: "too eerie +The mouth that can swallow a bubblyjock's egg: +Shall I let it munch mine? Never, Dearie!" + +"Not Muckle-mouth Meg? Wow, the obstinate man! +Perhaps he would rather wed me!" +"Ay, would he - with just for a dowry your can!" +"I'm Muckle-mouth Meg," chirruped she. + +"Then so - so - so - so -" as he kissed her apace - +"Will I widen thee out till thou turnest +From Margaret Minnikin-mou', by God's grace, +To Muckle-mouth Meg in good earnest!" + +Robert Browning [1812-1889] + + +MUCKLE-MOU'D MEG + +"Oh, what hae ye brought us hame now, my brave lord, +Strappit flaught owre his braid saddle-bow? +Some bauld Border reiver to feast at our board, +An' harry our pantry, I trow. +He's buirdly an' stalwart in lith an' in limb; +Gin ye were his master in war +The field was a saft eneugh litter for him, +Ye needna hae brought him sae far. +Then saddle an' munt again, harness an' dunt again, +An' when ye gae hunt again, strike higher game." + +"Hoot, whisht ye, my dame, for he comes o' gude kin, +An' boasts o' a lang pedigree; +This night he maun share o' our gude cheer within, +At morning's gray dawn he maun dee. +He's gallant Wat Scott, heir o' proud Harden Ha', +Wha ettled our lands clear to sweep; +But now he is snug in auld Elibank's paw, +An' shall swing frae our donjon-keep. +Though saddle an' munt again, harness an' dunt again, +I'll ne'er when I hunt again strike higher game." + +"Is this young Wat Scott? an' wad ye rax his craig, +When our daughter is fey for a man? +Gae, gaur the loun marry our muckle-mou'd Meg +Or we'll ne'er get the jaud aff our han'!" +"Od! hear our gudewife, she wad fain save your life; +Wat Scott, will ye marry or hang?" +But Meg's muckle mou set young Wat's heart agrue. +Wat swore to the woodie he'd gang. +Ne'er saddle nor munt again, harness nor dunt again, +Wat ne'er shall hunt again, ne'er see his hame. + +Syne muckle-mou'd Meg pressed in close to his side, +An' blinkit fu' sleely and kind, +But aye as Wat glowered at his braw proffered bride, +He shook like a leaf in the wind. +"A bride or a gallows, a rope or a wife!" +The morning dawned sunny and clear - +Wat boldly strode forward to part wi' his life, +Till he saw Meggy shedding a tear; +Then saddle an' munt again, harness an' dunt again, +Fain wad Wat hunt again, fain wad be hame. + +Meg's tear touched his bosom, the gibbet frowned high, +An' slowly Wat strode to his doom; +He gae a glance round wi' a tear in his eye, +Meg shone like a star through the gloom. +She rushed to his arms, they were wed on the spot, +An' lo'ed ither muckle and lang; +Nae bauld border laird had a wife like Wat Scott; +'Twas better to marry than hang. +So saddle an' munt again, harness an' dunt again, +Elibank hunt again, Wat's snug at hame. + +James Ballantine [1808-1877] + + +GLENLOGIE + +Threescore o' nobles rade to the king's ha', +But bonnie Glenlogie's the flower o' them a', +Wi' his milk-white steed and his bonnie black e'e, +"Glenlogie, dear mither, Glenlogie for me!" + +"O haud your tongue, dochter, ye'll get better than he"; +"O say na sae, mither, for that canna be; +Though Doumlie is richer, and greater than he. +Yet if I maun tak' him, I'll certainly dee. + +"Where will I get a bonnie boy, to win hose and shoon, +Will gae to Glenlogie, and come again soon?" +"O here am I, a bonnie boy, to win hose and shoon, +Will gae to Glenlogie and come again soon." + +When he gaed to Glenlogie, 'twas "Wash and go dine"; +'Twas "Wash ye, my pretty boy, wash and go dine." +"O 'twas ne'er my father's fashion, and it ne'er shall be mine +To gar a lady's errand wait till I dine. + +"But there is, Glenlogie, a letter for thee." +The first line that he read, a low smile ga'e he; +The next line that he read, the tear blindit his e'e: +But the last line he read, he gart the table flee. + +"Gar saddle the black horse, gar saddle the brown; +Gar saddle the swiftest steed e'er rade frae a town"; +But lang ere the horse was brought round to the green, +O bonnie Glenlogie was two mile his lane. + +When he cam' to Glenfeldy's door, sma' mirth was there; +Bonnie Jean's mither was tearing her hair; +"Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, ye're welcome," said she, +"Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, your Jeanie to see." + +Pale and wan was she, when Glenlogie gaed ben, +But red rosy grew she whene'er he sat down; +She turned awa' her head, but the smile was in her e'e, +"O binna feared, mither, I'll maybe no dee." + +Unknown + + +LOCHINVAR +From "Marmion" + +O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, +Through all the wide Border his steed was the best; +And, save his good broadsword, he weapon had none, +He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. +So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, +There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. + +He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone, +He swam the Eske river where ford there was none; +But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, +The bride had consented, the gallant came late; +For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, +Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. + +So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, +Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all. +Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, +(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word), +"O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, +Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?" + +"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied; - +Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide, - +And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, +To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. +There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, +That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." + +The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up, +He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. +She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, +With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. +He took her soft hand, era her mother could bar, - +"Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar. + +So stately his form, and so lovely her face, +That never a hall such a galliard did grace; +While her mother did fret, and her father did fume. +And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; +And the bride-maidens whispered, "'Twere better by far, +To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." + +One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, +When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near; +So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, +So light to the saddle before her he sprung! +"She is won! we are gone! over bank, bush, and scaur; +They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. + +There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; +Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran: +There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, +But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. +So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, +Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar? + +Walter Scott [1771-1832] + + +JOCK OF HAZELDEAN + +"Why weep ye by the tide, ladie? +Why weep ye by the tide? +I'll wed ye to my youngest son, +And ye sall be his bride: +And ye sall be his bride, ladie, +Sae comely to be seen" - +But aye she loot the tears down fa' +For Jock of Hazeldean. + +"Now let this wilfu' grief be done, +And dry that cheek so pale; +Young Frank is chief of Errington +And lord of Langley-dale; +His step is first in peaceful ha', +His sword in battle keen" - +But aye she loot the tears down fa' +For Jock of Hazeldean. + +"A chain of gold ye sall not lack, +Nor braid to bind your hair, +Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, +Nor palfrey fresh and fair; +And you the foremost o' them a' +Shall ride our forest-queen" - +But aye she loot the tears down fa' +For Jock of Hazeldean. + +The kirk was decked at morning-tide, +The tapers glimmered fair; +The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, +And dame and knight are there: +They sought her baith by bower and ha'; +The ladie was not seen! +She's o'er the Border, and awa' +Wi' Jock of Hazeldean. + +Walter Scott [1771-1832] + + +CANDOR +October - A Wood + +I know what you're going to say," she said, +And she stood up, looking uncommonly tall: +"You are going to speak of the hectic fall, +And say you're sorry the summer's dead, +And no other summer was like it, you know, +And can I imagine what made it so. +Now aren't you, honestly?" "Yes," I said. + +"I know what you're going to say," she said: +"You are going to ask if I forget +That day in June when the woods were wet, +And you carried me" - here she drooped her head - +"Over the creek; you are going to say, +Do I remember that horrid day. +Now aren't you, honestly?" "Yes," I said. + +"I know what you're going to say," she said: +"You are going to say that since that time +You have rather tended to run to rhyme, +And" - her clear glance fell, and her cheek grew red - +"And have I noticed your tone was queer. +Why, everybody has seen it here! +Now aren't you, honestly?" "Yes," I said. + +"I know what you're going to say," I said: +"You're going to say you've been much annoyed; +And I'm short of tact - you will say, devoid - +And I'm clumsy and awkward; and call me Ted; +And I bear abuse like a dear old lamb; +And you'll have me, anyway, just as I am. +Now aren't you, honestly?" "Ye-es," she said. + +Henry Cuyler Bunner [1855-1896] + + +"DO YOU REMEMBER" + +Do you remember when you heard +My lips breathe love's first faltering word? +You do, sweet - don't you? +When, having wandered all the day, +Linked arm in arm, I dared to say, +"You'll love me - won't you?" + +And when you blushed and could not speak, +I fondly kissed your glowing cheek, +Did that affront you? +Oh, surely not - your eye expressed +No wrath - but said, perhaps in jest, +"You'll love me - won't you?" + +I'm sure my eyes replied, "I will." +And you believe that promise still, +You do, sweet - don't you? +Yes, yes! when age has made our eyes +Unfit for questions or replies, +You'll love me - won't you? + +Thomas Haynes Bayly [1797-1839] + + +BECAUSE + +Sweet Nea! - for your lovely sake +I weave these rambling numbers, +Because I've lain an hour awake, +And can't compose my slumbers; +Because your beauty's gentle light +Is round my pillow beaming, +And flings, I know not why, to-night, +Some witchery o'er my dreaming! + +Because we've passed some joyous days, +And danced some merry dances; +Because we love old Beaumont's plays, +And old Froissart's romances! +Because whene'er I hear your words +Some pleasant feeling lingers; +Because I think your heart has cords +That vibrate to your fingers. + +Because you've got those long, soft curls, +I've sworn should deck my goddess; +Because you're not, like other girls, +All bustle blush, and bodice! +Because your eyes are deep and blue, +Your fingers long and rosy; +Because a little child and you +Would make one's home so cosy! + +Because your little tiny nose +Turns up so pert and funny; +Because I know you choose your beaux +More for their mirth than money; +Because I think you'd rather twirl +A waltz, with me to guide you, +Than talk small nonsense with an earl, +And a coronet beside you! + +Because you don't object to walk, +And are not given to fainting; +Because you have not learned to talk +Of flowers, and Poonah-painting; +Because I think you'd scarce refuse +To sew one on a button; +Because I know you sometimes choose +To dine on simple mutton! + +Because I think I'm just so weak +As, some of those fine morrows, +To ask you if you'll let me speak +My story - and my sorrows; +Because the rest's a simple thing, +A matter quickly over +A church - a priest - a sigh - a ring - +And a chaise-and-four to Dover. + +Edward Fitzgerald [1809-1883] + + +LOVE AND AGE +From "Gryll Grange" + +I played with you 'mid cowslips blowing, +When I was six and you were four; +When garlands weaving, flower-balls throwing, +Were pleasures soon to please no more. +Through groves and meads, o'er grass and heather, +With little playmates, to and fro, +We wandered hand in hand together; +But that was sixty years ago. + +You grew a lovely roseate maiden, +And still our early love was strong; +Still with no care our days were laden, +They glided joyously along; +And I did love you very dearly - +How dearly, words want power to show; +I thought your heart was touched as nearly; +But that was fifty years ago. + +Then other lovers came around you, +Your beauty grew from year to year, +And many a splendid circle found you +The center of its glittering sphere. +I saw you then, first vows forsaking, +On rank and wealth, your hand bestow; +O, then, I thought my heart was breaking, - +But that was forty years ago. + +And I lived on, to wed another: +No cause she gave me to repine; +And when I heard you were a mother, +I did not wish the children mine. +My own young flock, in fair progression, +Made up a pleasant Christmas row: +My joy in them was past expression; - +But that was thirty years ago. + +You grew a matron plump and comely, +You dwelt in fashion's brightest blaze; +My earthly lot was far more homely; +But I too had my festal days. +No merrier eyes have ever glistened +Around the hearth-stone's wintry glow, +Than when my youngest child was christened: - +But that was twenty years ago. + +Time passed. My eldest girl was married, +And I am now a grandsire gray; +One pet of four years old I've carried +Among the wild-flowered meads to play. +In our old fields of childish pleasure, +Where now, as then, the cowslips blow, +She fills her basket's ample measure, - +And that is not ten years ago. + +But though first love's impassioned blindness +Has passed away in colder light, +I still have thought of you with kindness, +And shall do, till our last good-night. +The ever-rolling silent hours +Will bring a time we shall not know, +When our young days of gathering flowers +Will be an hundred years ago. + +Thomas Love Peacock [1785-1866] + + +TO HELEN + +If wandering in a wizard's car +Through yon blue ether, I were able +To fashion of a little star +A taper for my Helen's table; - +"What then?" she asks me with a laugh - +Why, then, with all heaven's luster glowing, +It would not gild her path with half +The light her love o'er mine is throwing! + +Winthrop Mackworth Praed [1802-1839] + + +AT THE CHURCH GATE +From "Pendennis" + +Although I enter not, +Yet round about the spot +Ofttimes I hover; +And near the sacred gate, +With longing eyes I wait, +Expectant of her. + +The Minster bell tolls out +Above the city's rout, +And noise and humming; +They've hushed the Minster bell: +The organ 'gins to swell; +She's coming, she's coming! + +My lady comes at last, +Timid, and stepping fast +And hastening hither, +With modest eyes downcast; +She comes - she's here - she's past! +May heaven go with her! + +Kneel undisturbed, fair Saint! +Pour out your praise or plaint +Meekly and duly; +I will not enter there, +To sully your pure prayer +With thoughts unruly. + +But suffer me to pace +Round the forbidden place, +Lingering a minute, +Like outcast spirits, who wait, +And see, through heaven's gate, +Angels within it. + +William Makepeace Thackeray [1811-1863] + + +MABEL, IN NEW HAMPSHIRE + +Fairest of the fairest, rival of the rose, +That is Mabel of the Hills, as everybody knows. + +Do you ask me near what stream this sweet floweret grows? +That's an ignorant question, sir, as everybody knows. + +Ask you what her age is, reckoned as time goes? +Just the age of beauty, as everybody knows. + +Is she tall as Rosalind, standing on her toes? +She is just the perfect height, as everybody knows. + +What's the color of her eyes, when they ope or close? +Just the color they should be, as everybody knows. + +Is she lovelier dancing, or resting in repose? +Both are radiant pictures, as everybody knows. + +Do her ships go sailing on every wind that blows? +She is richer far than that, as everybody knows. + +Has she scores of lovers, heaps of bleeding beaux? +That question's quite superfluous, as everybody knows. + +I could tell you something, if I only chose! - +But what's the use of telling what everybody knows? + +James Thomas Fields [1816-1881] + + +TOUJOURS AMOUR + +Prithee tell me, Dimple-Chin, +At what age does Love begin? +Your blue eyes have scarcely seen +Summers three, my fairy queen, +But a miracle of sweets, +Soft approaches, sly retreats, +Show the little archer there, +Hidden in your pretty hair; +When didst learn a heart to win? +Prithee tell me, Dimple-Chin! + +"Oh!" the rosy lips reply, +"I can't tell you if I try. +'Tis so long I can't remember: +Ask some younger lass than I!" + +Tell, O tell me, Grizzled-Face, +Do your heart and head keep pace? +When does hoary Love expire, +When do frosts put out the fire? +Can its embers burn below +All that chill December snow? +Care you still soft hands to press, +Bonny heads to smooth and bless? +When does Love give up the chase? +Tell, O tell me, Grizzled-Face! + +"Ah!" the wise old lips reply, +"Youth may pass and strength may die; +But of Love I can't foretoken: +Ask some older sage than I!" + +Edmund Clarence Stedman [1833-1908] + + +THE DOORSTEP + +The conference-meeting through at last, +We boys around the vestry waited +To see the girls come tripping past, +Like snow-birds willing to be mated. + +Not braver he that leaps the wall +By level musket-flashes bitten, +Than I, that stepped before them all +Who longed to see me get the mitten. + +But no! she blushed and took my arm: +We let the old folks have the highway, +And started toward the Maple Farm +Along a kind of lovers' by-way. + +I can't remember what we said, - +'Twas nothing worth a song or story; +Yet that rude path by which we sped +Seemed all transformed and in a glory. + +The snow was crisp beneath our feet, +The moon was full, the fields were gleaming; +By hood and tippet sheltered sweet, +Her face with youth and health was beaming. + +The little hand outside her muff +(O sculptor! if you could but mold it) +So lightly touched my jacket-cuff, +To keep it warm I had to hold it. + +To have her with me there alone, - +'Twas love and fear and triumph blended; +At last we reached the foot-worn stone +Where that delicious journey ended. + +The old folks, too, were almost home: +Her dimpled hand the latches fingered, +We heard the voices nearer come, +Yet on the doorstep still we lingered. + +She shook her ringlets from her hood, +And with a "Thank you, Ned!" dissembled; +But yet I knew she understood +With what a daring wish I trembled. + +A cloud passed kindly overhead, +The moon was slyly peeping through it, +Yet hid its face, as if it said - +"Come, now or never! do it! do it!" + +My lips till then had only known +The kiss of mother and of sister, - +But somehow, full upon her own +Sweet, rosy, darling mouth, - I kissed her! + +Perhaps 'twas boyish love: yet still, +O listless woman! weary lover! +To feel once more that fresh, wild thrill +I'd give - but who can live youth over? + +Edmund Clarence Stedman [1833-1908] + + +THE WHITE FLAG + +I sent my love two roses, - one +As white as driven snow, +And one a blushing royal red, +A flaming Jacqueminot. + +I meant to touch and test my fate; +That night I should divine, +The moment I should see my love, +If her true heart were mine. + +For if she holds me dear, I said, +She'll wear my blushing rose; +If not, she'll wear my cold Lamarque, +As white as winter's snows. + +My heart sank when I met her: sure +I had been overbold, +For on her breast my pale rose lay +In virgin whiteness cold. + +Yet with low words she greeted me, +With smiles divinely tender; +Upon her cheek the red rose dawned, - +The white rose meant surrender. + +John Hay [1838-1905] + + +A SONG OF THE FOUR SEASONS + +When Spring comes laughing +By vale and hill, +By wind-flower walking +And daffodil, - +Sing stars of morning, +Sing morning skies, +Sing blue of speedwell, - +And my Love's eyes. + +When comes the Summer, +Full-leaved and strong, +And gay birds gossip +The orchard long, - +Sing hid, sweet honey +That no bee sips; +Sing red, red roses, - +And my Love's lips. + +When Autumn scatters +The leaves again, +And piled sheaves bury +The broad-wheeled wain, - +Sing flutes of harvest +Where men rejoice; +Sing rounds of reapers, - +And my Love's voice. + +But when comes Winter +With hail and storm, +And red fire roaring +And ingle warm, - +Sing first sad going +Of friends that part; +Then sing glad meeting, - +And my Love's heart. + +Austin Dobson [1840-1921] + + +THE LOVE-KNOT + +Tying her bonnet under her chin, +She tied her raven ringlets in; +But not alone in the silken snare +Did she catch her lovely floating hair, +For, tying her bonnet under her chin, +She tied a young man's heart within. + +They were strolling together up the hill, +Where the wind came blowing merry and chill; +And it blew the curls, a frolicsome race, +All over the happy peach-colored face. +Till, scolding and laughing, she tied them in, +Under her beautiful, dimpled chin. + +And it blew a color, bright as the bloom +Of the pinkest fuchsia's tossing plume, +All over the cheeks of the prettiest girl +That ever imprisoned a romping curl, +Or, in tying her bonnet under her chin, +Tied a young man's heart within. + +Steeper and steeper grew the hill, +Madder, merrier, chillier still +The western wind blew down, and played +The wildest tricks with the little maid, +As, tying her bonnet under her chin, +She tied a young man's heart within. + +O western wind, do you think it was fair +To play such tricks with her floating hair? +To gladly, gleefully, do your best +To blow her against the young man's breast, +Where he as gladly folded her in, +And kissed her mouth and her dimpled chin? + +Ah! Ellery Vane, you little thought, +An hour ago, when you besought +This country lass to walk with you, +After the sun had dried the dew, +What terrible danger you'd be in, +As she tied her bonnet under her chin! + +Nora Perry [1832-1896] + + +RIDING DOWN + +Oh, did you see him riding down, +And riding down, while all the town +Came out to see, came out to see, +And all the bells rang mad with glee? + +Oh, did you hear those bells ring out, +The bells ring out, the people shout, +And did you hear that cheer on cheer +That over all the bells rang clear? + +And did you see the waving flags, +The fluttering flags, the tattered flags, +Red, white, and blue, shot through and through; +Baptized with battle's deadly dew? + +And did you hear the drums' gay beat, +The drums' gay beat, the bugles sweet, +The cymbals' clash, the cannons' crash, +That rent the sky with sound and flash? + +And did you see me waiting there, +Just waiting there, and watching there. +One little lass, amid the mass +That pressed to see the hero pass? + +And did you see him smiling down, +And smiling down, as riding down +With slowest pace, with stately grace, +He caught the vision of a face, - + +My face uplifted red and white, +Turned red and white with sheer delight, +To meet the eyes, the smiling eyes, +Outflashing in their swift surprise? + +Oh, did you see how swift it came, +How swift it came like sudden flame, +That smile to me, to only me. +The little lass who blushed to see? + +And at the windows all along, +Oh, all along, a lovely throng +Of faces fair, beyond compare, +Beamed out upon him riding there! + +Each face was like a radiant gem, +A sparkling gem, and yet for them +No swift smile came like sudden flame, +No arrowy glance took certain aim. + +He turned away from all their grace, +From all that grace of perfect face, +He turned to me, to only me, +The little lass who blushed to see! + +Nora Perry [1832-1896] + + +"FORGETTIN" + +The night when last I saw my lad +His eyes were bright an' wet. +He took my two hands in his own, +"'Tis well," says he, "we're met. +Asthore machree! the likes o' me +I bid ye now forget." + +Ah, sure the same's a thriflin' thing, +'Tis more I'd do for him! +I mind the night I promised well, +Away on Ballindim. - +An' every little while or so +I thry forgettin' Jim. + +It shouldn't take that long to do, +An' him not very tall: +'Tis quare the way I'll hear his voice, +A boy that's out o' call, - +An' whiles I'll see him stand as plain +As e'er a six-fut wall. + +Och, never fear, my jewel! +I'd forget ye now this minute, +If I only had a notion +O' the way I should begin it; +But first an' last it isn't known +The heap o' throuble's in it. + +Meself began the night ye went +An' hasn't done it yet; +I'm nearly fit to give it up, +For where's the use to fret? - +An' the memory's fairly spoilt on me +Wid mindin' to forget. + +Moira O'Neill [18 + + +"ACROSS THE FIELDS TO ANNE" + +How often in the summer-tide, +His graver business set aside, +Has stripling Will, the thoughtful-eyed, +As to the pipe of Pan, +Stepped blithesomely with lover's pride +Across the fields to Anne. + +It must have been a merry mile, +This summer stroll by hedge and stile, +With sweet foreknowledge all the while +How sure the pathway ran +To dear delights of kiss and smile, +Across the fields to Anne. + +The silly sheep that graze to-day, +I wot, they let him go his way, +Nor once looked up, as who would say: +"It is a seemly man." +For many lads went wooing aye +Across the fields to Anne. + +The oaks, they have a wiser look; +Mayhap they whispered to the brook: +"The world by him shall yet be shook, +It is in nature's plan; +Though now he fleets like any rook +Across the fields to Anne." + +And I am sure, that on some hour +Coquetting soft 'twixt sun and shower, +He stooped and broke a daisy-flower +With heart of tiny span, +And bore it as a lover's dower +Across the fields to Anne. + +While from her cottage garden-bed +She plucked a jasmin's goodlihede, +To scent his jerkin's brown instead; +Now since that love began, +What luckier swain than he who sped +Across the fields to Anne? + +The winding path whereon I pace, +The hedgerows green, the summer's grace, +Are still before me face to face; +Methinks I almost can +Turn port and join the singing race +Across the fields to Anne. + +Richard Burton [1861- + + +PAMELA IN TOWN + +The fair Pamela came to town, +To London town, in early summer; +And up and down and round about +The beaux discussed the bright newcomer, +With "Gadzooks, sir," and "Ma'am, my duty," +And "Odds my life, but 'tis a Beauty!" + +To Ranelagh went Mistress Pam, +Sweet Mistress Pam so fair and merry, +With cheeks of cream and roses blent, +With voice of lark and lip of cherry. +Then all the beaux vowed 'twas their duty +To win and wear this country Beauty. + +And first Frank Lovelace tried his wit, +With whispers bold and eyes still bolder; +The warmer grew his saucy flame, +Cold grew the charming fair and colder. +'Twas "icy bosom" - "cruel beauty" - +"To love, sweet Mistress, 'tis a duty." + +Then Jack Carew his arts essayed, +With honeyed sighs and feigned weeping. +Good lack! his billets bound the curls +That pretty Pam she wore a-sleeping. +Next day these curls had richer beauty, +So well Jack's fervor did its duty. + +Then Cousin Will came up to view +The way Pamela ruled the fashion; +He watched the gallants crowd about, +And flew into a rustic passion, - +Left "Squire, his mark," on divers faces, +And pinked Carew beneath his laces. + +Alack! one night at Ranelagh +The pretty Sly-boots fell a-blushing; +And all the mettled bloods looked round +To see what caused that telltale flushing. +Up stepped a grizzled Poet Fellow +To dance with Pam a saltarello. + +Then Jack and Frank and Will resolved, +With hand on sword and cutting glances, +That they would lead that Graybeard forth +To livelier tunes and other dances. +But who that saw Pam's eyes a-shining +With love and joy would see her pining! + +And - oons! Their wrath cooled as they looked, - +That Poet stared as fierce as any! +He was a mighty proper man, +With blade on hip and inches many; +The beaux all vowed it was their duty +To toast some newer, softer Beauty. + +Sweet Pam she bridled, blushed and smiled - +The wild thing loved and could but show it! +Mayhap some day you'll see in town +Pamela and her grizzled Poet. +Forsooth he taught the rogue her duty, +And won her faith, her love, her beauty. + +Ellen Mackay Hutchinson Cortissoz [?-1933] + + +YES? + +Is it true, then, my girl, that you mean it - +The word spoken yesterday night? +Does that hour seem so sweet now between it +And this has come day's sober light? +Have you woke from a moment of rapture +To remember, regret, and repent, +And to hate, perchance, him who has trapped your +Unthinking consent? + +Who was he, last evening - this fellow +Whose audacity lent him a charm? +Have you promised to wed Pulchinello? +For life taking Figaro's arm? +Will you have the Court fool of the papers, +The clown in the journalists' ring, +Who earns his scant bread by his capers, +To be your heart's king? + +When we met quite by chance at the theatre +And I saw you home under the moon, +I'd no thought, love, that mischief would be at her +Tricks with my tongue quite so soon; +That I should forget fate and fortune +Make a difference 'twixt Sevres and delf - +That I'd have the calm nerve to importune +You, sweet, for yourself. + +It's appalling, by Jove, the audacious +Effrontery of that request! +But you - you grew suddenly gracious, +And hid your sweet face on my breast. +Why you did it I cannot conjecture; +I surprised you, poor child, I dare say, +Or perhaps - does the moonlight affect your +Head often that way? + +. . . . . . . . . . . + +You're released! With some wooer replace me +More worthy to be your life's light; +From the tablet of memory efface me, +If you don't mean your Yes of last night. +But - unless you are anxious to see me a +Wreck of the pipe and the cup +In my birthplace and graveyard, Bohemia - +Love, don't give me up! + +Henry Cuyler Bunner [1855-1896] + + +THE PRIME OF LIFE + +Just as I thought I was growing old, +Ready to sit in my easy chair, +To watch the world with a heart grown cold, +And smile at a folly I would not share, + +Rose came by with a smile for me, +And I am thinking that forty year +Isn't the age that it seems to be, +When two pretty brown eyes are near. + +Bless me! of life it is just the prime, +A fact that I hope she will understand; +And forty year is a perfect rhyme +To dark brown eyes and a pretty hand. + +These gray hairs are by chance, you see - +Boys are sometimes gray, I am told: +Rose came by with a smile for me, +Just as I thought I was getting old. + +Walter Learned [1847-1915] + + +THOUGHTS ON THE COMMANDMENTS + +"Love your neighbor as yourself," - +So the parson preaches: +That's one half the Decalogue, - +So the prayer-book teaches. +Half my duty I can do +With but little labor, +For with all my heart and soul +I do love my neighbor. + +Mighty little credit, that, +To my self-denial, +Not to love her, though, might be +Something of a trial. +Why, the rosy light, that peeps +Through the glass above her, +Lingers round her lips, - you see +E'en the sunbeams love her. + +So to make my merit more, +I'll go beyond the letter: - +Love my neighbor as myself? +Yes, and ten times better. +For she's sweeter than the breath +Of the Spring, that passes +Through the fragrant, budding woods, +O'er the meadow-grasses. + +And I've preached the word I know, +For it was my duty +To convert the stubborn heart +Of the little beauty. +Once again success has crowned +Missionary labor, +For her sweet eyes own that she +Also loves her neighbor. + +George Augustus Baker [1849-1906] + + + + + + + +THE IRONY OF LOVE + + + + + + +"SIGH NO MORE, LADIES" +From "Much Ado About Nothing" + +Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, +Men were deceivers ever; +One foot in sea, and one on shore; +To one thing constant never. +Then sigh not so, +But let them go, +And be you blithe and bonny, +Converting all your sounds of woe +Into Hey nonny, nonny. + +Sing no more ditties, sing no moe +Of dumps so dull and heavy; +The fraud of men was ever so, +Since summer first was leavy. +Then sigh not so, +But let them go, +And be you blithe and bonny, +Converting all your sounds of woe +Into Hey nonny, nonny. + +William Shakespeare [1564-1616] + + +A RENUNCIATION + +If women could be fair, and yet not fond, +Or that their love were firm, not fickle still, +I would not marvel that they make men bond +By service long to purchase their good will; +But when I see how frail those creatures are, +I muse that men forget themselves so far. + +To mark the choice they make, and how they change, +How oft from Phoebus they do flee to Pan; +Unsettled still, like haggards wild they range, +These gentle birds that fly from man to man; +Who would not scorn and shake them from the fist, +And let them fly, fair fools, which way they list? + +Yet for disport we fawn and flatter both, +To pass the time when nothing else can please, +And train them to our lure with subtle oath, +Till, weary of their wiles, ourselves we ease; +And then we say when we their fancy try, +To play with fools, O what a fool was I! + +Edward Vere [1550-1604] + + +A SONG + +Ye happy swains, whose hearts are free +From Love's imperial chain, +Take warning, and be taught by me, +To avoid the enchanting pain; +Fatal the wolves to trembling flocks, +Fierce winds to blossoms prove, +To careless seamen, hidden rocks, +To human quiet, love. + +Fly the fair sex, if bliss you prize; +The snake's beneath the flower: +Who ever gazed on beauteous eyes, +That tasted quiet more? +How faithless is the lovers' joy! +How constant is their care +The kind with falsehood to destroy, +The cruel, with despair. + +George Etherege [1635?-1691] + + +TO HIS FORSAKEN MISTRESS + +I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair, +And I might have gone near to love thee, +Had I not found the slightest prayer +That lips could speak, had power to move thee: +But I can let thee now alone +As worthy to be loved by none. + +I do confess thou'rt sweet; yet find +Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets, +Thy favors are but like the wind +That kisseth everything it meets: +And since thou canst with more than one, +Thou'rt worthy to be kissed by none. + +The morning rose that untouched stands +Armed with her briers, how sweet her smell! +But plucked and strained through ruder hands, +Her sweets no longer with her dwell: +But scent and beauty both are gone, +And leaves fall from her, one by one. + +Such fate ere long will thee betide +When thou hast handled been awhile, +With sere flowers to be thrown aside; +And I shall sigh, while some will smile, +To see thy love to every one +Hath brought thee to be loved by none. + +Robert Ayton [1570-1638] + + +TO AN INCONSTANT + +I loved thee once; I'll love no more, - +Thine be the grief as is the blame; +Thou art not what thou wast before, +What reason I should be the same? +He that can love unloved again, +Hath better store of love than brain: +God send me love my debts to pay, +While unthrifts fool their love away! + +Nothing could have my love o'erthrown, +If thou hadst still continued mine; +Yea, if thou hadst remained thy own, +I might perchance have yet been thine. +But thou thy freedom didst recall, +That it thou might elsewhere enthrall: +And then how could I but disdain +A captive's captive to remain? + +When new desires had conquered thee, +And changed the object of thy will, +It had been lethargy in me, +Not constancy, to love thee still. +Yea, it had been a sin to go +And prostitute affection so, +Since we are taught no prayers to say +To such as must to others pray. + +Yet do thou glory in thy choice, - +Thy choice of his good fortune boast; +I'll neither grieve nor yet rejoice, +To see him gain what I have lost: +The height of my disdain shall be, +To laugh at him, to blush for thee; +To love thee still, but go no more +A-begging at a beggar's door. + +Robert Ayton [1570-1638] + + +ADVICE TO A GIRL + +Never love unless you can +Bear with all the faults of man! +Men sometimes will jealous be, +Though but little cause they see, +And hang the head, as discontent, +And speak what straight they will repent. + +Men, that but one Saint adore, +Make a show of love to more; +Beauty must be scorned in none, +Though but truly served in one: +For what is courtship but disguise? +True hearts may have dissembling eyes. + +Men, when their affairs require, +Must awhile themselves retire; +Sometimes hunt, and sometimes hawk, +And not ever sit and talk: - +If these and such-like you can bear, +Then like, and love, and never fear! + +Thomas Campion [? -1619] + + +SONG +That Women Are But Men's Shadows +From "The Forest" + +Follow a shadow, it still flies you; +Seem to fly it, it will pursue: +So court a mistress, she denies you; +Let her alone, she will court you. +Say, are not women truly, then, +Styled but the shadows of us men? + +At morn and even, shades are longest; +At noon they are or short or none: +So men at weakest, they are strongest, +But grant us perfect, they're not known. +Say, are not women truly then, +Styled but the shadows of us men? + +Ben Johnson [1573?-1637] + + +TRUE BEAUTY + +May I find a woman fair +And her mind as clear as air! +If her beauty go alone, +'Tis to me as if 'twere none. + +May I find a woman rich, +And not of too high a pitch! +If that pride should cause disdain, +Tell me, Lover, where's thy gain? + +May I find a woman wise, +And her falsehood not disguise! +Hath she wit as she hath will, +Double-armed she is to ill. + +May I find a woman kind, +And not wavering like the wind! +How should I call that love mine +When 'tis his, and his, and thine? + +May I find a woman true! +There is beauty's fairest hue: +There is beauty, love, and wit. +Happy he can compass it! + +Francis Beaumont [1584-1616] + + +THE INDIFFERENT + +Never more will I protest +To love a woman but in jest: +For as they cannot be true, +So to give each man his due, +When the wooing fit is past, +Their affection cannot last. + +Therefore if I chance to meet +With a mistress fair and sweet, +She my service shall obtain, +Loving her for love again: +Thus much liberty I crave +Not to be a constant slave. + +But when we have tried each other, +If she better like another, +Let her quickly change for me; +Then to change am I as free. +He or she that loves too long +Sell their freedom for a song. + +Francis Beaumont [1584-1616] + + +THE LOVER'S RESOLUTION + +Shall I, wasting in despair, +Die because a woman's fair? +Or make pale my cheeks with care +'Cause another's rosy are? +Be she fairer than the day, +Or the flowery meads in May, +If she think not well of me, +What care I how fair she be? + +Shall my silly heart be pined +'Cause I see a woman kind? +Or a well disposed nature +Joined with a lovely feature? +Be she meeker, kinder, than +Turtle-dove or pelican, +If she be not so to me, +What care I how kind she be? + +Shall a woman's virtues move +Me to perish for her love? +Or her well-deservings known +Make me quite forget my own? +Be she with that goodness blest +Which may merit name of Best, +If she be not such to me, +What care I how good she be? + +'Cause her fortune seems too high, +Shall I play the fool and die? +She that bears a noble mind, +If not outward helps she find, +Thinks what with them he would do +That without them dares her woo; +And unless that mind I see, +What care I how great she be? + +Great, or good, or kind, or fair, +I will ne'er the more despair; +If she love me, this believe, +I will die ere she shall grieve; +If she slight me when I woo, +I can scorn and let her go; +For if she be not for me, +What care I for whom she be? + +George Wither [1588-1667] + + +HIS FURTHER RESOLUTION + +Shall I (like a hermit) dwell +On a rock or in a cell; +Calling home the smallest part +That is missing of my heart, +To bestow it where I may +Meet a rival every day? +If she undervalue me, +What care I how fair she be! + +Were her tresses angel-gold; +If a stranger may be bold, +Unrebuked, and unafraid, +To convert them to a braid; +And, with little more ado, +Work them into bracelets, too! +If the mine be grown so free, +What care I how rich it be! + +Were her hands as rich a prize +As her hair or precious eyes; +If she lay them out to take +Kisses for good manners' sake! +And let every lover slip +From her hand unto her lip! +If she seem not chaste to me, +What care I how chaste she be! + +No! She must be perfect snow +In effect as well as show! +Warming but as snowballs do; +Not like fire by burning, too! +But when she by change hath got +To her heart a second lot; +Then if others share with me, +Farewell her! whate'er she be! + +Unknown + + +SONG +From "Britannia's Pastorals" + +Shall I tell you whom I love? +Hearken then awhile to me; +And if such a woman move +As I now shall versify, +Be assured 'tis she or none, +That I love, and love alone. + +Nature did her so much right +As she scorns the help of art; +In as many virtues dight +As e'er yet embraced a heart: +So much good so truly tried, +Some for less were deified. + +Wit she hath, without desire +To make known how much she hath; +And her anger flames no higher +Than may fitly sweeten wrath. +Full of pity as may be, +Though perhaps not so to me. + +Reason masters every sense, +And her virtues grace her birth; +Lovely as all excellence, +Modest in her most of mirth, +Likelihood enough to prove +Only worth could kindle love. + +Such she is: and if you know +Such a one as I have sung; +Be she brown, or fair, or so +That she be but somewhat young; +Be assured 'tis she, or none, +That I love, and love alone. + +William Browne [1591-1643?] + + +TO DIANEME + +Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes, +Which, star-like, sparkle in their skies; +Nor be you proud that you can see +All hearts your captives, yours yet free; +Be you not proud of that rich hair, +Which wantons with the love-sick air; +Whenas that ruby which you wear, +Sunk from the tip of your soft ear, +Will last to be a precious stone +When all your world of beauty's gone. + +Robert Herrick [1591-1674] + + +INGRATEFUL BEAUTY THREATENED + +Know, Celia, since thou art so proud, +'Twas I that gave thee thy renown. +Thou hadst in the forgotten crowd +Of common beauties lived unknown, +Had not my verse extolled thy name, +And with it imped the wings of Fame. + +That killing power is none of thine; +I gave it to thy voice and eyes; +Thy sweets, thy graces, all are mine; +Thou art my star, shin'st in my skies; +Then dart not from thy borrowed sphere +Lightning on him that fixed thee there. + +Tempt me with such affrights no more, +Lest what I made I uncreate; +Let fools thy mystic form adore, +I know thee in thy mortal state. +Wise poets, that wrapped Truth in tales, +Knew her themselves through all her veils. + +Thomas Carew [1598?-1639?] + + +DISDAIN RETURNED + +He that loves a rosy cheek, +Or a coral lip admires, +Or from star-like eyes doth seek +Fuel to maintain his fires: +As old Time makes these decay, +So his flames must waste away. + +But a smooth and steadfast mind, +Gentle thoughts, and calm desires, +Hearts with equal love combined, +Kindle never-dying fires: - +Where these are not, I despise +Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes. + +No tears, Celia, now shall win +My resolved heart to return; +I have searched thy soul within, +And find naught but pride and scorn; +I have learned thy arts, and now +Can disdain as much as thou. + +Some power, in my revenge, convey +That love to her I cast away. + +Thomas Carew [1598?-1639?] + + +"LOVE WHO WILL, FOR I'LL LOVE NONE" + +Love who will, for I'll love none, +There's fools enough beside me: +Yet if each woman have not one, +Come to me where I hide me, +And if she can the place attain, +For once I'll be her fool again. + +It is an easy place to find, +And women sure should know it; +Yet thither serves not every wind, +Nor many men can show it: +It is the storehouse, where doth lie +All woman's truth and constancy. + +If the journey be so long, +No woman will adventer; +But dreading her weak vessel's wrong, +The voyage will not enter: +Then may she sigh and lie alone, +In love with all, yet loved of none. + +William Browne [1591-1643] + + +VALERIUS ON WOMEN + +She that denies me I would have; +Who craves me I despise: +Venus hath power to rule mine heart, +But not to please mine eyes. + +Temptations offered I still scorn; +Denied, I cling them still; +I'll neither glut mine appetite, +Nor seek to starve my will. + +Diana, double-clothed, offends; +So Venus, naked quite: +The last begets a surfeit, and +The other no delight. + +That crafty girl shall please me best, +That no, for yea, can say; +And every wanton willing kiss +Can season with a nay. + +Thomas Heywood [?-1650?] + + +DISPRAISE OF LOVE, AND LOVERS' FOLLIES + +If love be life, I long to die, +Live they that list for me; +And he that gains the most thereby, +A fool at least shall be. +But he that feels the sorest fits, +'Scapes with no less than loss of wits. +Unhappy life they gain, +Which love do entertain. + +In day by feigned looks they live, +By lying dreams in night; +Each frown a deadly wound doth give, +Each smile a false delight. +If't hap their lady pleasant seem, +It is for others' love they deem: +If void she seem of joy, +Disdain doth make her coy. + +Such is the peace that lovers find, +Such is the life they lead, +Blown here and there with every wind, +Like flowers in the mead; +Now war, now peace, now war again, +Desire, despair, delight, disdain: +Though dead in midst of life, +In peace, and yet at strife. + +Francis Davison [fl. 1602] + + +THE CONSTANT LOVER + +Out upon it, I have loved +Three whole days together! +And am like to love three more, +If it prove fair weather. + +Time shall moult away his wings, +Ere he shall discover +In the whole wide world again +Such a constant lover. + +But the spite on't is, no praise +Is due at all to me: +Love with me had made no stays, +Had it any been but she. + +Had it any been but she, +And that very face, +There had been at least ere this +A dozen in her place. + +John Suckling [1609-1642] + + +SONG +From "Aglaura" + +Why so pale and wan, fond lover? +Prithee, why so pale? +Will, when looking well can't move her, +Looking ill prevail? +Prithee, why so pale? + +Why so dull and mute, young sinner? +Prithee, why so mute? +Will, when speaking well can't win her, +Saying nothing do't? +Prithee, why so mute? + +Quit, quit, for shame, this will not move: +This cannot take her. +If of herself she will not love, +Nothing can make her: +The devil take her! + +John Suckling [1609-1642] + + +WISHES TO HIS SUPPOSED MISTRESS + +Whoe'er she be, +That not impossible She +That shall command my heart and me: + +Where'er she lie, +Locked up from mortal eye +In shady leaves of destiny: + +Till that ripe birth +Of studied Fate stand forth, +And teach her fair steps tread our earth: + +Till that divine +Idea take a shrine +Of crystal flesh, through which to shine; + +Meet you her, my Wishes, +Bespeak her to my blisses, +And be ye called my absent kisses. + +I wish her Beauty +That owes not all its duty +To gaudy tire, or glistering shoe-tie: + +Something more than +Taffeta or tissue can, +Or rampant feather, or rich fan. + +More than the spoil +Of shop, or silkworm's toil, +Or a bought blush, or a set smile. + +A Face that's best +By its own beauty dressed, +And can alone commend the rest + +A Face, made up +Out of no other shop +Than what Nature's white hand sets ope. + +A Cheek, where youth +And blood, with pen of truth, +Write what the reader sweetly ru'th. + +A Cheek, where grows +More than a morning rose, +Which to no box its being owes. + +Lips, where all day +A lover's kiss may play, +Yet carry nothing thence away. + +Looks, that oppress +Their richest tires, but dress +And clothe their simplest nakedness. + +Eyes, that displace +The neighbor diamond, and outface +That sunshine by their own sweet grace. + +Tresses, that wear +Jewels but to declare +How much themselves more precious are: + +Whose native ray +Can tame the wanton day +Of gems that in their bright shades play. + +Each ruby there, +Or pearl that dare appear, +Be its own blush, be its own tear. + +A well-tamed Heart, +For whose more noble smart +Love may be long choosing a dart. + +Eyes, that bestow +Full quivers on Love's bow, +Yet pay less arrows than they owe. + +Smiles, that can warm +The blood, yet teach a charm, +That chastity shall take no harm. + +Blushes, that bin +The burnish of no sin, +Nor flames of aught too hot within. + +Joys, that confess +Virtue their mistress, +And have no other head to dress. + +Fears, fond and slight +As the coy bride's, when night, +First does the longing lover right. + +Days that need borrow +No part of their good-morrow +From a fore-spent night of sorrow. + +Days that, in spite +Of darkness, by the light +Of a clear mind, are day all night. + +Nights, sweet as they, +Made short by lovers' play, +Yet long by the absence of the day. + +Life, that dares send +A challenge to his end, +And when it comes, say, "Welcome, friend!" + +Sydneian showers +Of sweet discourse, whose powers +Can crown old Winter's head with flowers. + +Soft silken hours, +Open suns, shady bowers; +'Bove all, nothing within that lowers. + +Whate'er delight +Can make Day's forehead bright, +Or give down to the wings of Night. + +In her whole frame +Have Nature all the name; +Art and Ornament, the shame! + +Her flattery, +Picture and Poesy: +Her counsel her own virtue be. + +I wish her store +Of worth may leave her poor +Of wishes; and I wish - no more. + +Now, if Time knows +That Her, whose radiant brows +Weave them a garland of my vows; + +Her, whose just bays +My future hopes can raise, +A trophy to her present praise; + +Her, that dares be +What these lines wish to see; +I seek no further, it is She. + +'Tis She, and here, +Lo! I unclothe and clear +My Wishes' cloudy character. + +May She enjoy it +Whose merit dare apply it, +But modesty dares still deny it! + +Such worth as this is +Shall fix my flying Wishes, +And determine them to kisses. + +Let her full glory, +My fancies, fly before ye; +Be ye my fictions - but her Story! + +Richard Crashaw [1613?-1649] + + +SONG +From "Abdelazer" + +Love in fantastic triumph sate +Whilst bleeding hearts around him flowed, +For whom fresh pains he did create +And strange tyrannic power he showed: +From thy bright eyes he took his fires, +Which round about in sport he hurled; +But 'twas from mine he took desires +Enough t' undo the amorous world. + +From me he took his sighs and tears, +From thee his pride and cruelty; +From me his languishments and fears, +And every killing dart from thee. +Thus thou and I the god have armed +And set him up a deity; +But my poor heart alone is harmed, +Whilst thine the victor is, and free! + +Aphra Behn [1640-1689] + + +LES AMOURS + +She that I pursue, still flies me; +Her that follows me, I fly; +She that I still court, denies me; +Her that courts me, I deny; +Thus in one web we're subtly wove, +And yet we mutiny in love. + +She that can save me, must not do it; +She that cannot, fain would do; +Her love is bound, yet I still woo it; +Hers by love is bound in woe: +Yet how can I of love complain, +Since I have love for love again? + +This is thy work, imperious Child, +Thine's this labyrinth of love, +That thus hast our desires beguiled, +Nor seest how thine arrows rove. +Then, prithee, to compose this stir, +Make her love me, or me love her. + +But, if irrevocable are +Those keen shafts that wound us so, +Let me prevail with thee thus far, +That thou once more take thy bow; +Wound her hard heart, and by my troth, +I'll be content to take them both. + +Charles Cotton [1630-1687] + + +RIVALS + +Of all the torments, all the cares, +With which our lives are cursed; +Of all the plagues a lover bears, +Sure rivals are the worst! +By partners in each other kind +Afflictions easier grow; +In love alone we hate to find +Companions of our woe. + +Sylvia, for all the pangs you see +Are laboring in my breast, +I beg not you would favor me, +Would you but slight the rest! +How great soe'er your rigors are, +With them alone I'll cope; +I can endure my own despair, +But not another's hope. + +William Walsh [1663-1708] + + +"I LATELY VOWED, BUT 'TWAS IN HASTE" + +I lately vowed, but 'twas in haste, +That I no more would court +The joys which seem when they are past +As dull as they are short. + +I oft to hate my mistress swear, +But soon my weakness find: +I make my oaths when she's severe, +But break them when she's kind. + +John Oldmixon [1673-1742] + + +THE TOUCH-STONE + +A fool and knave with different views +For Julia's hand apply; +The knave to mend his fortune sues, +The fool to please his eye. + +Ask you how Julia will behave, +Depend on't for a rule, +If she's a fool she'll wed the knave - +If she's a knave, the fool. + +Samuel Bishop [1731-1795] + + +AIR +From "The Duenna" + +I ne'er could any luster see +In eyes that would not look on me; +I ne'er saw nectar on a lip, +But where my own did hope to sip. +Has the maid who seeks my heart +Cheeks of rose, untouched by art? +I will own the color true +When yielding blushes aid their hue. + +Is her hand so soft and pure? +I must press it, to be sure; +Nor can I be certain then, +Till it, grateful, press again. +Must I, with attentive eye, +Watch her heaving bosom sigh? +I will do so, when I see +That heaving bosom sigh for me. + +Richard Brinsley Sheridan [1751-1816] + + +"I TOOK A HANSOM ON TO-DAY" + +I took a hansom on to-day, +For a round I used to know - +That I used to take for a woman's sake +In a fever of to-and-fro. + +There were the landmarks one and all - +What did they stand to show? +Street and square and river were there - +Where was the ancient woe? + +Never a hint of a challenging hope +Nor a hope laid sick and low, +But a longing dead as its kindred sped +A thousand years ago! + +William Ernest Henley [1849-1903] + + +DA CAPO + +Short and sweet, and we've come to the end of it - +Our poor little love lying cold. +Shall no sonnet, then, ever be penned of it? +Nor the joys and pains of it told? +How fair was its face in the morning, +How close its caresses at noon, +How its evening grew chill without warning, +Unpleasantly soon! + +I can't say just how we began it - +In a blush, or a smile, or a sigh; +Fate took but an instant to plan it; +It needs but a moment to die. +Yet - remember that first conversation, +When the flowers you had dropped at your feet +I restored. The familiar quotation +Was - "Sweets to the sweet." + +Oh, their delicate perfume has haunted +My senses a whole season through. +If there was one soft charm that you wanted +The violets lent it to you. +I whispered you, life was but lonely: +A cue which you graciously took; +And your eyes learned a look for me only - +A very nice look. + +And sometimes your hand would touch my hand, +With a sweetly particular touch; +You said many things in a sigh, and +Made a look express wondrously much. +We smiled for the mere sake of smiling, +And laughed for no reason but fun; +Irrational joys; but beguiling - +And all that is done! + +We were idle, and played for a moment +At a game that now neither will press: +I cared not to find out what "No" meant; +Nor your lips to grow yielding with "Yes." +Love is done with and dead; if there lingers +A faint and indefinite ghost, +It is laid with this kiss on your fingers - +A jest at the most. + +'Tis a commonplace, stale situation, +Now the curtain comes down from above +On the end of our little flirtation - +A travesty romance; for Love, +If he climbed in disguise to your lattice, +Fell dead of the first kisses' pain: +But one thing is left us now; that is - +Begin it again. + +Henry Cuyler Bunner [1855-1896] + + +SONG AGAINST WOMEN + +Why should I sing of women +And the softness of night, +When the dawn is loud with battle +And the day's teeth bite, +And there's a sword to lay my hand to +And a man's fight? + +Why should I sing of women? . . . +There's life in the sun, +And red adventure calling +Where the roads run, +And cheery brews at the tavern +When the day's done. + +I've sung of a hundred women +In a hundred lands: +But all their love is nothing +But drifting sands. +I'm sick of their tears and kisses +And their pale hands. + +I've sung of a hundred women +And their bought lips; +But out on the clean horizon +I can hear the whips +Of the white waves lashing the bulwarks +Of great, strong ships: + +And the trails that run to the westward +Are shot with fire, +And the winds hurl from the headland +With ancient ire; +And all my body itches +With an old desire. + +So I'll deal no more in women +And the softness of night, +But I'll follow the red adventure +And the wind's flight; +And I'll sing of the sea and of battle +And of men's might. + +Willard Huntington Wright [18 + + +SONG OF THYRSIS + +The turtle on yon withered bough, +That lately mourned her murdered mate, +Has found another comrade now - +Such changes all await! +Again her drooping plume is drest, +Again she's willing to be blest +And takes her lover to her nest. + +If nature has decreed it so +With all above, and all below, +Let us like them forget our woe, +And not be killed with sorrow. +If I should quit your arms to-night +And chance to die before 'twas light, +I would advise you - and you might - +Love again to-morrow. + +Philip Freneau [1752-1832] + + +THE TEST + +I held her hand, the pledge of bliss, +Her hand that trembled and withdrew; +She bent her head before my kiss . . . +My heart was sure that hers was true. +Now I have told her I must part, +She shakes my hand, she bids adieu, +Nor shuns the kiss. Alas, my heart! +Hers never was the heart for you. + +Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864] + + +"THE FAULT IS NOT MINE" + +The fault is not mine if I love you too much, +I loved you too little too long, +Such ever your graces, your tenderness such, +And the music the heart gave the tongue. + +A time is now coming when Love must be gone, +Though he never abandoned me yet. +Acknowledge our friendship, our passion disown, +Our follies (ah can you?) forget. + +Walter Savage Lander [1775-1864] + + +THE SNAKE + +My love and I, the other day, +Within a myrtle arbor lay, +When near us, from a rosy bed, +A little Snake put forth its head. + +"See," said the maid, with laughing eyes - +"Yonder the fatal emblem lies! +Who could expect such hidden harm +Beneath the rose's velvet charm?" + +Never did moral thought occur +In more unlucky hour than this; +For oh! I just was leading her +To talk of love and think of bliss. + +I rose to kill the snake, but she +In pity prayed it might not be. +"No," said the girl - and many a spark +Flashed from her eyelid as she said it - +"Under the rose, or in the dark, +One might, perhaps, have cause to dread it; +But when its wicked eyes appear, +And when we know for what they wink so, +One must be very simple, dear, +To let it sting one - don't you think so?" + +Thomas Moore [1779-1852] + + +"WHEN I LOVED YOU" + +When I loved you, I can't but allow +I had many an exquisite minute; +But the scorn that I feel for you now +Hath even more luxury in it! + +Thus, whether we're on or we're off, +Some witchery seems to await you; +To love you is pleasant enough, +And oh! 'tis delicious to hate you! + +Thomas Moore [1779-1852] + + +A TEMPLE TO FRIENDSHIP + +"A temple to Friendship," said Laura, enchanted, +"I'll build in this garden, - the thought is divine!" +Her temple was built, and she now only wanted +An image of Friendship to place on the shrine. +She flew to a sculptor, who set down before her +A Friendship, the fairest his art could invent; +But so cold and so dull, that the youthful adorer +Saw plainly this was not the idol she meant. + +"O never," she cried, "could I think of enshrining +An image whose looks are so joyless and dim: - +But yon little god, upon roses reclining, +We'll make, if you please, sir, a Friendship of him." +So the bargain was struck. With the little god laden +She joyfully flew to her shrine in the grove: +"Farewell," said the sculptor, "you're not the first maiden +Who came but for Friendship and took away Love!" + +Thomas Moore [1779-1852] + + +THE GLOVE AND THE LIONS + +King Francis was a hearty king, and loved a royal sport, +And one day, as his lions fought, sat looking on the court. +The nobles filled the benches, and the ladies in their pride, +And 'mongst them sat the Count de Lorge, with one for whom he sighed: +And truly 'twas a gallant thing to see that crowning show, +Valor and love, and a king above, and the royal beasts below. + +Ramped and roared the lions, with horrid laughing jaws; +They bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind went with their paws; +With wallowing might and stifled roar they rolled on one another, +Till all the pit with sand and mane was in a thunderous smother; +The bloody foam above the bars came whisking through the air; +Said Francis then, "Faith, gentlemen, we're better here than there." + +De Lorge's love o'erheard the King, a beauteous lively dame, +With smiling lips and sharp bright eyes, which always seemed the same; +She thought, "The Count, my lover, is brave as brave can be; +He surely would do wondrous things to show his love of me; +King, ladies, lovers, all look on; the occasion is divine; +I'll drop my glove to prove his love; great glory will be mine." + +She dropped her glove, to prove his love, then looked at him and smiled; +He bowed, and in a moment leaped among the lions wild; +The leap was quick, return was quick, he has regained his place, +Then threw the glove, but not with love, right in the lady's face. +"By Heaven," said Francis, "rightly done!" and he rose from where he sat; +"No love," quoth he, "but vanity, sets love a task like that." + +Leigh Hunt [1784-1859] + + +TO WOMAN + +Woman! experience might have told me +That all must love thee who behold thee; +Surely experience might have taught +Thy firmest promises are naught; +But, placed in all thy charms before me, +All I forget, but to adore thee. +Oh, Memory! thou choicest blessing, +When joined with hope, when still possessing; +But how much cursed by every lover, +When hope is fled, and passion's over! +Woman, that fair and fond deceiver, +How prompt are striplings to believe her! +How throbs the pulse when first we view +The eye that rolls in glossy blue, +Or sparkles black, or mildly throws +A beam from under hazel brows! +How quick we credit every oath, +And hear her plight the willing troth! +Fondly we hope 'twill last for aye, +When, lo! she changes in a day. +This record will forever stand, +"Woman, thy vows are traced in sand." + +George Gordon Byron [1788-1824] + + +LOVE'S SPITE + +You take a town you cannot keep; +And, forced in turn to fly, +O'er ruins you have made shall leap +Your deadliest enemy! +Her love is yours - and be it so - +But can you keep it? No, no, no! + +Upon her brow we gazed with awe, +And loved, and wished to love, in vain +But when the snow begins to thaw +We shun with scorn the miry plain. +Women with grace may yield: but she +Appeared some Virgin Deity. + +Bright was her soul as Dian's crest +Whitening on Vesta's fane its sheen: +Cold looked she as the waveless breast +Of some stone Dian at thirteen. +Men loved: but hope they deemed to be +A sweet Impossibility! + +Aubrey Thomas De Vere [1814-1902] + + +LADY CLARA VERE DE VERE + +Lady Clara Vere de Vere, +Of me you shall not win renown: +You thought to break a country heart +For pastime, ere you went to town. +At me you smiled, but unbeguiled +I saw the snare, and I retired: +The daughter of a hundred earls, +You are not one to be desired. + +Lady Clara Vere de Vere, +I know you proud to bear your name, +Your pride is yet no mate for mine, +Too proud to care from whence I came. +Nor would I break for your sweet sake +A heart that dotes on truer charms. +A simple maiden in her flower +Is worth a hundred coats-of-arms. + +Lady Clara Vere de Vere, +Some meeker pupil you must find, +For, were you queen of all that is, +I could not stoop to such a mind. +You sought to prove how I could love, +And my disdain is my reply. +The lion on your old stone gates +Is not more cold to you than I. + +Lady Clara Vere de Vere, +You put strange memories in my head. +Not thrice your branching limes have blown +Since I beheld young Laurence dead. +O, your sweet eyes, your low replies! +A great enchantress you may be; +But there was that across his throat +Which you had hardly cared to see. + +Lady Clara Vere de Vere, +When thus he met his mother's view, +She had the passions of her kind, +She spake some certain truths of you. +Indeed I heard one bitter word +That scarce is fit for you to hear; +Her manners had not that repose +Which stamps the caste of Vere de Vere, + +Lady Clara Vere de Vere, +There stands a specter in your hall; +The guilt of blood is at your door; +You changed a wholesome heart to gall. +You held your course without remorse, +To make him trust his modest worth, +And, last, you fixed a vacant stare, +And slew him with your noble birth. + +Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere, +From yon blue heavens above us bent, +The gardener Adam and his wife +Smile at the claims of long descent. +Howe'er it be, it seems to me, +'Tis only noble to be good. +Kind hearts are more than coronets, +And simple faith than Norman blood. + +I know you, Clara Vere de Vere; +You pine among your halls and towers: +The languid light of your proud eyes +Is wearied of the rolling hours. +In glowing health, with boundless wealth, +But sickening of a vague disease, +You know so ill to deal with time, +You needs must play such pranks as these. + +Clara, Clara Vere de Vere, +If time be heavy on your hands, +Are there no beggars at your gate, +Nor any poor about your lands? +O, teach the orphan-boy to read, +Or teach the orphan-girl to sew, +Pray Heaven for a human heart, +And let the foolish yeoman go. + +Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] + + +SHADOWS + +They seemed, to those who saw them meet, +The casual friends of every day, +Her smile was undisturbed and sweet, +His courtesy was free and gay. + +But yet if one the other's name +In some unguarded moment heard, +The heart you thought so calm and tame +Would struggle like a captured bird: + +And letters of mere formal phrase +Were blistered with repeated tears, - +And this was not the work of days, +But had gone on for years and years! + +Alas, that love was not too strong +For maiden shame and manly pride! +Alas, that they delayed so long +The goal of mutual bliss beside! + +Yet what no chance could then reveal, +And neither would be first to own, +Let fate and courage now conceal, +When truth could bring remorse alone. + +Richard Monckton Milnes [1809-1885] + + +SORROWS OF WERTHER + +Werther had a love for Charlotte +Such as words could never utter; +Would you know how first he met her? +She was cutting bread and butter. + +Charlotte was a married lady, +And a moral man was Werther, +And, for all the wealth of Indies, +Would do nothing for to hurt her. + +So he sighed and pined and ogled, +And his passion boiled and bubbled, +Till he blew his silly brains out, +And no more was by it troubled. + +Charlotte, having seen his body +Borne before her on a shutter, +Like a well-conducted person, +Went on cutting bread and butter. + +William Makepeace Thackeray [1811-1863] + + +THE AGE OF WISDOM + +Ho, pretty page, with the dimpled chin, +That never has known the barber's shear, +All your wish is woman to win, +This is the way that boys begin, - +Wait till you come to Forty Year. + +Curly gold locks cover foolish brains, +Billing and cooing is all your cheer; +Sighing, and singing of midnight strains, +Under Bonnybell's window-panes, - +Wait till you come to Forty Year. + +Forty times over let Michaelmas pass, +Grizzling hair the brain does clear - +Then you know a boy is an ass, +Then you know the worth of a lass, +Once you have come to Forty Year. + +Pledge me round; I bid ye declare, +All good fellows whose beards are gray, +Did not the fairest of the fair +Common grow and wearisome ere +Ever a month was passed away? + +The reddest lips that ever have kissed, +The brightest eyes that ever have shone, +May pray and whisper, and we not list, +Or look away and never be missed, +Ere yet ever a month is gone. + +Gillian's dead, God rest her bier, +How I loved her twenty years syne! +Marian's married, but I sit here, +Alone and merry at Forty Year, +Dipping my nose in the Gascon wine. + +William Makepeace Thackeray [1811-1863] + + +ANDREA DEL SARTO +Called "The Faultless Painter" + +But do not let us quarrel any more, +No, my Lucrezia; bear with me for once: +Sit down and all shall happen as you wish. +You turn your face, but does it bring your heart? +I'll work then for your friend's friend, never fear, +Treat his own subject after his own way, +Fix his own time, accept too his own price, +And shut the money into this small hand +When next it takes mine. Will it? tenderly? +Oh, I'll content him, - but to-morrow, Love! +I often am much wearier than you think, +This evening more than usual, and it seems +As if - forgive now - should you let me sit +Here by the window, with your hand in mine, +And look a half-hour forth on Fiesole, +Both of one mind, as married people use, +Quietly, quietly the evening through, +I might get up to-morrow to my work +Cheerful and fresh as ever. Let us try. +To-morrow how you shall be glad for this! +Your soft hand is a woman of itself, +And mine the man's bared breast she curls inside. +Don't count the time lost neither; you must serve +For each of the five pictures we require; +It saves a model. So! keep looking so +My serpentining beauty, rounds on rounds! +- How could you ever prick those perfect ears, +Even to put the pearl there! oh, so sweet - +My face, my moon, my everybody's moon, +Which everybody looks on and calls his, +And, I suppose, is looked on by in turn, +While she looks - no one's: very dear, no less. +You smile? why, there's my picture ready made, +There's what we painters call our harmony! +A common grayness silvers everything, - +All in a twilight, you and I alike +- You, at the point of your first pride in me +(That's gone you know), - but I, at every point; +My youth, my hope, my art, being all toned down +To yonder sober pleasant Fiesole. +There's the bell clinking from the chapel-top; +That length of convent wall across the way +Holds the trees safer, huddled more inside; +The last monk leaves the garden; days decrease, +And autumn grows, autumn in everything. +Eh? the whole seems to fall into a shape +As if I saw alike my work and self +And all that I was born to be and do, +A twilight-piece. Love, we are in God's hand. +How strange now looks the life he makes us lead; +So free we seem, so fettered fast we are! +I feel he laid the fetter; let it lie! +This chamber for example - turn your head - +All that's behind us! You don't understand +Nor care to understand about my art, +But you can hear at least when people speak: +And that cartoon, the second from the door +- It is the thing, Love! so such thing should be - +Behold Madonna! - I am bold to say. +I can do with my pencil what I know, +What I see, what at bottom of my heart +I wish for, if I ever wish so deep - +Do easily, too - when I say, perfectly, +I do not boast, perhaps: yourself are judge, +Who listened to the Legate's talk last week, +And just as much they used to say in France. +At any rate 'tis easy, all of it! +No sketches first, no studies, that's long past; +I do what many dream of all their lives, +- Dream? strive to do, and agonize to do, +And fail in doing. I could count twenty such +On twice your fingers, and not leave this town, +Who strive - you don't know how the others strive +To paint a little thing like that you smeared +Carelessly passing with your robes afloat, - +Yet do much less, so much less, Someone says, +(I know his name, no matter) - so much less! +Well, less is more, Lucrezia: I am judged. +There burns a truer light of God in them, +In their vexed beating stuffed and stopped-up brain, +Heart, or whate'er else, than goes on to prompt +This low-pulsed forthright craftsman's hand of mine. +Their works drop groundward, but themselves, I know, +Reach many a time a heaven that's shut to me, +Enter and take their place there sure enough, +Though they come back and cannot tell the world. +My works are nearer heaven, but I sit here. +The sudden blood of these men! at a word - +Praise them, it boils, or blame them, it boils too. +I, painting from myself and to myself, +Know what I do, am unmoved by men's blame +Or their praise either. Somebody remarks +Morello's outline there is wrongly traced, +His hue mistaken; what of that? or else, +Rightly traced and well ordered; what of that? +Speak as they please, what does the mountain care? +Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, +Or what's a heaven for? All is silver-gray; +Placid and perfect with my art; the worse! +I know both what I want and what might gain; +And yet how profitless to know, to sigh +"Had I been two, another and myself, +Our head would have o'erlooked the world!" No doubt. +Yonder's a work now, of that famous youth +The Urbinate who died five years ago. +('Tis copied, George Vasari sent it me.) +Well, I can fancy how he did it all, +Pouring his soul, with kings and popes to see, +Reaching, that heaven might so replenish him, +Above and through his art - for it gives way; +That arm is wrongly put - and there again - +A fault to pardon in the drawing's lines, +Its body, so to speak: its soul is right, +He means right, - that, a child may understand. +Still, what an arm! and I could alter it: +But all the play, the insight and the stretch - +Out of me, out of me! And wherefore out? +Had you enjoined them on me, given me soul, +We might have risen to Rafael, I and you! +Nay, Love, you did give all I asked, I think - +More than I merit, yes, by many times. +But had you - oh, with the same perfect brow, +And perfect eyes, and more than perfect mouth, +And the low voice my soul hears, as a bird +The fowler's pipe, and follows to the snare - +Had you, with these the same, but brought a mind! +Some women do so. Had the mouth there urged, +"God and the glory! never care for gain. +The present by the future, what is that? +Live for fame, side by side with Agnolo! +Rafael is waiting: up to God, all three!" +I might have done it for you. So it seems: +Perhaps not. All is as God overrules. +Beside, incentives come from the soul's self; +The rest avail not. Why do I need you? +What wife had Rafael, or has Agnolo? +In this world, who can do a thing, will not; +And who would do it, cannot, I perceive: +Yet the will's somewhat - somewhat, too, the power - +And thus we half-men struggle. At the end, +God I conclude, compensates, punishes. +'Tis safer for me, if the award be strict, +That I am something underrated here, +Poor this long while, despised, to speak the truth. +I dared not, do you know, leave home all day, +For fear of chancing on the Paris lords. +The best is when they pass and look aside; +But they speak sometimes; I must bear it all. +Well may they speak! That Francis, that first time, +And that long festal year at Fontainebleau! +I surely then could sometimes leave the ground, +Put on the glory, Rafael's daily wear, +In that humane great monarch's golden look, - +One finger in his beard or twisted curl +Over his mouth's good mark that made the smile, +One arm about my shoulder, round my neck, +The jingle of his gold chain in my ear, +I painting proudly with his breath on me, +All his court round him, seeing with his eyes, +Such frank French eyes, and such a fire of souls +Profuse, my hand kept plying by those hearts, - +And, best of all, this, this, this face beyond, +This in the background, waiting on my work; +To crown the issue with a last reward! +A good time, was it not, my kingly days? +And had you not grown restless . . . but I know - +'Tis done and past; 'twas right, my instinct said; +Too live the life grew, golden and not gray, +And I'm the weak-eyed bat no sun should tempt +Out of the grange whose four walls make his world. +How could it end in any other way? +You called me, and I came home to your heart. +The triumph was, - to reach and stay there; since +I reached it ere the triumph, what is lost? +Let my hands frame your face in your hair's gold, +You beautiful Lucrezia that are mine! +"Rafael did this, Andrea painted that; +The Roman's is the better when you pray, +But still the other's Virgin was his wife - +Men will excuse me. I am glad to judge +Both pictures in your presence; clearer grows +My better fortune, I resolve to think. +For do you know, Lucrezia, as God lives, +Said one day Agnolo, his very self +To Rafael . . . I have known it all these years . . . +(When the young man was flaming out his thoughts +Upon a palace-wall for Rome to see, +Too lifted up in heart because of it) +Friend, there's a certain sorry little scrub +Goes up and down our Florence, none cares how, +Who, were he set to plan and execute +As you are, pricked on by your popes and kings, +Would bring the sweat into that brow of yours!" +To Rafael's! And indeed the arm is wrong. +I hardly dare . . . yet, only you to see, +Give the chalk here - quick, thus the line should go! +Ay, but the soul! he's Rafael! rub it out! +Still, all I care for, if he spoke the truth, +(What he? why, who but Michel Agnolo? +Do you forget already words like those?) +If really there was such a chance, so lost, - +Is, whether you're - not grateful - but more pleased. +Well, let me think so. And you smile indeed! +This hour has been an hour! Another smile? +If you would sit thus by me every night +I should work better, do you comprehend? +I mean that I should earn more, give you more. +See, it is settled dusk now; there's a star; +Morello's gone, the watch-lights show the wall, +The cue-owls speak the name we call them by. +Come from the window, love, - come in, at last, +Inside the melancholy little house +We built to be so gay with. God is just. +King Francis may forgive me: oft at nights +When I look up from painting, eyes tired out, +The walls become illumined, brick from brick +Distinct, instead of mortar, fierce bright gold, +That gold of his I did cement them with! +Let us but love each other. Must you go? +That Cousin here again? he waits outside? +Must see you - you, and not with me? Those loans? +More gaming debts to pay? you smiled for that? +Well, let smiles buy me! have you more to spend? +While hand and eye and something of a heart +Are left me, work's my ware, and what's it worth? +I'll pay my fancy. Only let me sit +The gray remainder of the evening out, +Idle, you call it, and muse perfectly +How I could paint, were I but back in France, +One picture, just one more, - the Virgin's face, +Not yours this time! I want you at my side +To hear them - that is Michel Agnolo - +Judge all I do and tell you of its worth. +Will you? To-morrow, satisfy your friend. +I take the subjects for his corridor, +Finish the portrait out of hand - there, there, +And throw him in another thing or two +If he demurs; the whole should prove enough +To pay for this same Cousin's freak. Beside, +What's better and what's all I care about, +Get you the thirteen scudi for the ruff! +Love, does that please you? Ah, but what does he, +The Cousin! what does he to please you more? + +I am grown peaceful as old age to-night. +I regret little, I would change still less. +Since there my past life lies, why alter it? +The very wrong to Francis! - it is true +I took his coin, was tempted and complied, +And built this house and sinned, and all is said. +My father and my mother died of want. +Well, had I riches of my own? you see +How one gets rich! Let each one bear his lot. +They were born poor, lived poor, and poor they died: +And I have labored somewhat in my time +And not been paid profusely. Some good son +Paint my two hundred pictures - let him try! +No doubt, there's something strikes a balance. Yes, +You loved me quite enough, it seems to-night. +This must suffice me here. What would one have? +In heaven, perhaps, new chances, one more chance - +Four great walls in the New Jerusalem, +Meted on each side by the angel's reed, +For Leonard, Rafael, Agnolo, and me +To cover, - the three first without a wife, +While I have mine! So - still they overcome +Because there's still Lucrezia, - as I choose. + +Again the Cousin's whistle! Go, my love. + +Robert Browning [1812-1889] + + +MY LAST DUCHESS +Ferrara + +That's my last Duchess painted on the wall, +Looking as if she were alive. I call +That piece a wonder, now: Fra Pandolf's hands +Worked busily a day, and there she stands. +Will't please you sit and look at her? I said +"Fra Pandolf" by design, for never read +Strangers like you that pictured countenance, +The depth and passion of its earnest glance, +But to myself they turned (since none puts by +The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) +And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, +How such a glance came there; so, not the first +Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not +Her husband's presence only, called that spot +Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps +Fra Pandolf chanced to say, "Her mantle laps +Over my lady's wrist too much," or "Paint +Must never hope to reproduce the faint +Half-flush that dies along her throat": such stuff +Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough +For calling up that spot of joy. She had +A heart - how shall I say? - too soon made glad, +Too easily impressed: she liked whate'er +She looked on, and her looks went everywhere. +Sir, 'twas all one! My favor at her breast, +The dropping of the daylight in the West, +The bough of cherries some officious fool +Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule +She rode with round the terrace - all and each +Would draw from her alike the approving speech, +Or blush, at least. She thanked men, - good! but thanked +Somehow - I know not how - as if she ranked +My gift of a nine hundred-years-old name +With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame +This sort of trifling? Even had you skill +In speech - (which I have not) - to make your will +Quite clear to such an one, and say, "Just this +Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss, +Or there exceed the mark" - and if she let +Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set +Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse, +- E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose +Never to stoop. Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt, +Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without +Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands; +Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands +As if alive. Will't please you rise? We'll meet +The company below, then. I repeat, +The Count your master's known munificence +Is ample warrant that no just pretense +Of mine for dowry will be disallowed; +Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed +At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go +Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though, +Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, +Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me! + +Robert Browning [1812-1889] + + +ADAM, LILITH, AND EVE + +One day, it thundered and lightened. +Two women, fairly frightened, +Sank to their knees, transformed, transfixed, +At the feet of the man who sat betwixt; +And "Mercy!" cried each - "if I tell the truth +Of a passage in my youth!" + +Said This: "Do you mind the morning +I met your love with scorning? +As the worst of the venom left my lips, +I thought, 'If, despite this lie, he strips +The mask from my soul with a kiss - I crawl +His slave, - soul, body, and all!'" + +Said That: "We stood to be married; +The priest, or some one, tarried; +'If Paradise-door prove locked?' smiled you. +I thought, as I nodded, smiling too, +'Did one, that's away, arrive - nor late +Nor soon should unlock Hell's gate!'" + +It ceased to lighten and thunder. +Up started both in wonder, +Looked around and saw that the sky was clear, +Then laughed "Confess you believed us, Dear!" +"I saw through the joke!" the man replied +They re-seated themselves beside. + +Robert Browning [1812-1889] + + +THE LOST MISTRESS + +All's over, then: does truth sound bitter +As one at first believes? +Hark, 'tis the sparrows' good-night twitter +About your cottage eaves! + +And the leaf-buds on the vine are woolly, +I noticed that, to-day; +One day more bursts them open fully +- You know the red turns gray. + +To-morrow we meet the same then, dearest? +May I take your hand in mine? +Mere friends are we, - well, friends the merest +Keep much that I resign: + +For each glance of the eye so bright and black, +Though I keep with heart's endeavor, - +Your voice, when you wish the snowdrops back, +Though it stay in my soul forever! - + +Yet I will but say what mere friends say, +Or only a thought stronger; +I will hold your hand but as long as all may, +Or so very little longer! + +Robert Browning [1812-1889] + + +FRIEND AND LOVER + +When Psyche's friend becomes her lover, +How sweetly these conditions blend! +But, oh, what anguish to discover +Her lover has become - her friend! + +Mary Ainge de Vere [1844-1920] + + +LOST LOVE + +Who wins his Love shall lose her, +Who loses her shall gain, +For still the spirit wooes her, +A soul without a stain; +And Memory still pursues her +With longings not in vain! + +He loses her who gains her, +Who watches day by day +The dust of time that stains her, +The griefs that leave her gray, +The flesh that yet enchains her +Whose grace hath passed away! + +Oh, happier he who gains not +The Love some seem to gain: +The joy that custom stains not +Shall still with him remain, +The loveliness that wanes not, +The Love that ne'er can wane. + +In dreams she grows not older +The lands of Dream among, +Though all the world wax colder, +Though all the songs be sung, +In dreams doth he behold her +Still fair and kind and young. + +Andrew Lang [1844-1912] + + +VOBISCUM EST IOPE + +When thou must home to shades of underground, +And there arrived, a new admired guest, +The beauteous spirits do engirt thee round, +White Iope, blithe Helen, and the rest, +To hear the stories of thy finished love +From that smooth tongue whose music hell can move; + +Then wilt thou speak of banqueting delights, +Of masques and revels which sweet youth did make, +Of tourneys and great challenges of knights, +And all these triumphs for thy beauty's sake: +When thou hast told these honors done to thee, +Then tell, O tell, how thou didst murder me! + +Thomas Campion [? -1619] + + +FOUR WINDS + +"Four winds blowing through the sky, +You have seen poor maidens die, +Tell me then what I shall do +That my lover may be true." +Said the wind from out the south, +"Lay no kiss upon his mouth," +And the wind from out the west, +"Wound the heart within his breast," +And the wind from out the east, +"Send him empty from the feast," +And the wind from out the north, +"In the tempest thrust him forth; +When thou art more cruel than he, +Then will Love be kind to thee." + +Sara Teasdale [1884-1933] + + +TO MANON +As To His Choice Of Her + +If I had chosen thee, thou shouldst have been +A virgin proud, untamed, immaculate, +Chaste as the morning star, a saint, a queen, +Scarred by no wars, no violence of hate. +Thou shouldst have been of soul commensurate +With thy fair body, brave and virtuous +And kind and just; and if of poor estate, +At least an honest woman for my house. +I would have had thee come of honored blood +And honorable nurture. Thou shouldst bear +Sons to my pride and daughters to my heart, +And men should hold thee happy, wise, and good. +Lo, thou art none of this, but only fair, +Yet must I love thee, dear, and as thou art. + +Wilfrid Scawen Blunt [1840-1922] + + +CROWNED + +You came to me bearing bright roses, +Red like the wine of your heart; +You twisted them into a garland +To set me aside from the mart. +Red roses to crown me your lover, +And I walked aureoled and apart. + +Enslaved and encircled, I bore it, +Proud token of my gift to you. +The petals waned paler, and shriveled, +And dropped; and the thorns started through. +Bitter thorns to proclaim me your lover, +A diadem woven with rue. + +Amy Lowell [1874-1925] + + +HEBE + +I saw the twinkle of white feet, +I saw the flash of robes descending; +Before her ran an influence fleet, +That bowed my heart like barley bending. + +As, in bare fields, the searching bees +Pilot to blooms beyond our finding, +It led me on, by sweet degrees +Joy's simple honey-cells unbinding. + +Those Graces were that seemed grim Fates; +With nearer love the sky leaned o'er me; +The long-sought Secret's golden gates +On musical hinges swung before me. + +I saw the brimmed bowl in her grasp +Thrilling with godhood; like a lover +I sprang the proffered life to clasp; - +The beaker fell; the luck was over. + +The Earth has drunk the vintage up; +What boots it patch the goblet's splinters? +Can Summer fill the icy cup +Whose treacherous crystal is but Winter's? + +O spendthrift haste! await the Gods; +Their nectar crowns the lips of Patience; +Haste scatters on unthankful sods +The immortal gift in vain libations. + +Coy Hebe flies from those that woo, +And shuns the hands would seize upon her; +Follow thy life, and she will sue +To pour for thee the cup of honor. + +James Russell Lowell [1819-1891] + + +"JUSTINE, YOU LOVE ME NOT!" +"Helas! vous ne m'aimez pas." - Piron + +I know, Justine, you speak me fair +As often as we meet; +And 'tis a luxury, I swear, +To hear a voice so sweet; +And yet it does not please me quite, +The civil way you've got; +For me you're something too polite - +Justine, you love me not! + +I know Justine, you never scold +At aught that I may do: +If I am passionate or cold, +'Tis all the same to you. +"A charming temper," say the men, +"To smooth a husband's lot": +I wish 'twere ruffled now and then - +Justine you love me not! + +I know, Justine, you wear a smile +As beaming as the sun; +But who supposes all the while +It shines for only one? +Though azure skies are fair to see, +A transient cloudy spot +In yours would promise more to me - +Justine, you love me not! + +I know, Justine, you make my name +Your eulogistic theme, +And say - if any chance to blame - +You hold me in esteem. +Such words, for all their kindly scope, +Delight me not a jot; +Just as you would have praised the Pope - +Justine, you love me not! + +I know, Justine - for I have heard +What friendly voices tell - +You do not blush to say the word, +"You like me passing well"; +And thus the fatal sound I hear +That seals my lonely lot: +There's nothing now to hope or fear - +Justine, you love me not! + +John Godfrey Saxe [1816-1887] + + +SNOWDROP + +When, full of warm and eager love, +I clasp you in my fond embrace, +You gently push me back and say, +"Take care, my dear, you'll spoil my lace." + +You kiss me just as you would kiss +Some woman friend you chanced to see; +You call me "dearest." - All love's forms +Are yours, not its reality. + +Oh, Annie! cry, and storm, and rave! +Do anything with passion in it! +Hate me an hour, and then turn round +And love me truly, just one minute. + +William Wetmore Story [1819-1895] + + +WHEN THE SULTAN GOES TO ISPAHAN + +When the Sultan Shah-Zaman +Goes to the city Ispahan, +Even before he gets so far +As the place where the clustered palm-trees are, +At the last of the thirty palace-gates, +The flower of the harem, Rose-in-Bloom, +Orders a feast in his favorite room - +Glittering squares of colored ice, +Sweetened with syrop, tinctured with spice, +Creams, and cordials, and sugared dates, +Syrian apples, Othmanee quinces, +Limes, and citrons, and apricots, +And wines that are known to Eastern princes; +And Nubian slaves, with smoking pots +Of spiced meats and costliest fish +And all that the curious palate could wish, +Pass in and out of the cedarn doors; +Scattered over mosaic floors +Are anemones, myrtles, and violets, +And a musical fountain throws its jets +Of a hundred colors into the air. +The dusk Sultana loosens her hair, +And stains with the henna-plant the tips +Of her pointed nails, and bites her lips +Till they bloom again; but, alas, that rose +Not for the Sultan buds and blows, +Not for the Sultan Shah-Zaman +When he goes to the city Ispahan. + +Then at a wave of her sunny hand +The dancing-girls of Samarcand +Glide in like shapes from fairy-land, +Making a sudden mist in air +Of fleecy veils and floating hair +And white arms lifted. Orient blood +Runs in their veins, shines in their eyes. +And there, in this Eastern Paradise, +Filled with the breath of sandal-wood, +And Khoten musk, and aloes and myrrh, +Sits Rose-in-Bloom on a silk divan, +Sipping the wines of Astrakhan; +And her Arab lover sits with her. +That's when the Sultan Shah-Zaman +Goes to the city Ispahan. + +Now, when I see an extra light, +Flaming, flickering on the night +From my neighbor's casement opposite, +I know as well as I know to pray, +I know as well as a tongue can say, +That the innocent Sultan Shah-Zaman +Has gone to the city Ispahan. + +Thomas Bailey Aldrich [1837-1907] + + +THE SHADOW DANCE + +She sees her image in the glass, - +How fair a thing to gaze upon! +She lingers while the moments run, +With happy thoughts that come and pass, + +Like winds across the meadow grass +When the young June is just begun: +She sees her image in the glass, - +How fair a thing to gaze upon! + +What wealth of gold the skies amass! +How glad are all things 'neath the sun! +How true the love her love has won! +She recks not that this hour will pass, - +She sees her image in the glass. + +Louise Chandler Moulton [1835-1908] + + +"ALONG THE FIELD AS WE CAME BY" + +Along the field as we came by +A year ago, my love and I, +The aspen over stile and stone +Was talking to itself alone. +"Oh, who are these that kiss and pass? +A country lover and his lass; +Two lovers looking to be wed; +And time shall put them both to bed, +But she shall lie with earth above, +And he beside another love." + +And sure enough beneath the tree +There walks another love with me, +And overhead the aspen heaves +Its rainy-sounding silver leaves; +And I spell nothing in their stir, +But now perhaps they speak to her, +And plain for her to understand +They talk about a time at hand +When I shall sleep with clover clad, +And she beside another lad. + +Alfred Edward Housman [1859-1936] + + +"WHEN I WAS ONE-AND-TWENTY" + +When I was one-and-twenty +I heard a wise man say, +"Give crowns and pounds and guineas +But not your heart away; +Give pearls away and rubies +But keep your fancy free." +But I was one-and-twenty, +No use to talk to me. + +When I was one-and-twenty +I heard him say again, +"The heart out of the bosom +Was never given in vain; +'Tis paid with sighs a plenty +And sold for endless rue." +And I am two-and-twenty, +And oh, 'tis true, 'tis true. + +Alfred Edward Housman [1859-1936] + + +"GRIEVE NOT, LADIES" + +Oh, grieve not, Ladies, if at night +Ye wake to feel your beauty going; +It was a web of frail delight, +Inconstant as an April snowing. + +In other eyes, in other lands, +In deep fair pools new beauty lingers; +But like spent water in your hands +It runs from your reluctant fingers. + +You shall not keep the singing lark +That owes to earlier skies its duty. +Weep not to hear along the dark +The sound of your departing beauty. + +The fine and anguished ear of night +Is tuned to hear the smallest sorrow: +Oh, wait until the morning light! +It may not seem so gone to-morrow. + +But honey-pale and rosy-red! +Brief lights that make a little shining! +Beautiful looks about us shed - +They leave us to the old repining. + +Think not the watchful, dim despair +Has come to you the first, sweet-hearted! +For oh, the gold in Helen's hair! +And how she cried when that departed! + +Perhaps that one that took the most, +The swiftest borrower, wildest spender, +May count, as we would not, the cost - +And grow more true to us and tender. + +Happy are we if in his eyes +We see no shadow of forgetting. +Nay - if our star sinks in those skies +We shall not wholly see its setting. + +Then let us laugh as do the brooks, +That such immortal youth is ours, +If memory keeps for them our looks +As fresh as are the springtime flowers. + +So grieve not, Ladies, if at night +Ye wake to feel the cold December! +Rather recall the early light, +And in your loved one's arms, remember. + +Anna Hempstead Branch [18 + + +SUBURB + +Dull and hard the low wind creaks +Among the rustling pampas plumes. +Drearily the year consumes +Its fifty-two insipid weeks. + +Most of the gray-green meadow land +Was sold in parsimonious lots; +The dingy houses stand +Pressed by some stout contractor's hand +Tightly together in their plots. + +Through builded banks the sullen river +Gropes, where its houses crouch and shiver. +Over the bridge the tyrant train +Shrieks, and emerges on the plain. + +In all the better gardens you may pass, +(Product of many careful Saturdays), +Large red geraniums and tall pampas grass +Adorn the plots and mark the gravelled ways. + +Sometimes in the background may be seen +A private summer-house in white or green. +Here on warm nights the daughter brings +Her vacillating clerk, +To talk of small exciting things +And touch his fingers through the dark. + +He, in the uncomfortable breach +Between her trilling laughters, +Promises, in halting speech, +Hopeless immense Hereafters. + +She trembles like the pampas plumes. +Her strained lips haggle. He assumes +The serious quest. . . . + +Now as the train is whistling past +He takes her in his arms at last. + +It's done. She blushes at his side +Across the lawn - a bride, a bride. + +. . . . . . . . + +The stout contractor will design, +The lazy laborers will prepare, +Another villa on the line; +In the little garden-square +Pampas grass will rustle there. + +Harold Monro [1879-1932] + + +THE BETROTHED +"You must choose between me and your cigar" - +Breach of Promise case, circa 1885. + +Open the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout, +For things are running crossways, and Maggie and I are out. + +We quarreled about Havanas - we fought o'er a good cheroot - +And I know she is exacting, and she says I am a brute. + +Open the old cigar-box - let me consider a space, +In the soft blue veil of the vapor, musing on Maggie's face. + +Maggie is pretty to look at - Maggie's a loving lass. +But the prettiest cheeks must wrinkle, the truest of loves must pass. + +There's peace in a Laranaga, there's calm in a Henry Clay, +But the best cigar in an hour is finished and thrown away - + +Thrown away for another as perfect and ripe and brown - +But I never could throw away Maggie for fear o' the talk o' the town! + +Maggie, my wife at fifty - gray and dour and old - +With never another Maggie to purchase for love or gold. + +And the light of Days that have Been, the dark of the Days that Are, +And Love's torch stinking and stale, like the butt of a dead cigar - + +The butt of a dead cigar you are bound to keep in your pocket - +With never a new one to light, though it's charred and black to the socket. + +Open the old cigar-box - let me consider awhile; +Here is a mild Manilla - there is a wifely smile. + +Which is the better portion - bondage bought with a ring, +Or a harem of dusky beauties, fifty tied in a string? + +Counselors cunning and silent - comforters true and tried, +And never a one of the fifty to sneer at a rival bride. + +Thought in the early morning, solace in time of woes, +Peace in the hush of the twilight, balm ere my eyelids close. + +This will the fifty give me, asking naught in return, +With only a Suttee's passion - to do their duty and burn. + +This will the fifty give me. When they are spent and dead, +Five times other fifties shall be my servants instead. + +The furrows of far-off Java, the isles of the Spanish Main, +When they hear that my harem is empty, will send me my brides again. + +I will take no heed to their raiment, nor food for their mouths withal, +So long as the gulls are nesting, so long as the showers fall. + +I will scent'em with best vanilla, with tea will I temper their hides, +And the Moor and the Mormon shall envy who read of the tale of my brides. + +For Maggie has written a letter to give me my choice between +The wee little whimpering Love and the great god Nick o' Teen. + +And I have been servant of Love for barely a twelvemonth clear, +But I have been Priest of Partagas a matter of seven year; + +And the gloom of my bachelor days is flecked with the cheery light +Of stumps that I burned to Friendship, and Pleasure, and Work, and Fight. + +And I turn my eyes to the future that Maggie and I must prove, +But the only light on the marshes is the Will-o'-the-Wisp of Love. + +Will it see me safe through my journey, or leave me bogged in the mire? +Since a puff of tobacco can cloud it, shall I follow the fitful fire? + +Open the old cigar-box - let me consider anew - +Old friends, and who is Maggie, that I should abandon you? + +A million surplus Maggies are willing to bear the yoke; +And a woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a Smoke. + +Light me another Cuba - I hold to my first-sworn vows, +If Maggie will have no rival, I'll have no Maggie for spouse! + +Rudyard Kipling [1865-1936] + + + + + + + +LOVE'S SADNESS + + + + + + +"THE NIGHT HAS A THOUSAND EYES" + +The night has a thousand eyes, +And the day but one; +Yet the light of the bright world dies +With the dying sun. + +The mind has a thousand eyes, +And the heart but one; +Yet the light of a whole life dies +When love is done. + +Francis William Bourdillon [1852-1921] + + +"I SAW MY LADY WEEP" + +I saw my Lady weep, +And Sorrow proud to be advanced so +In those fair eyes where all perfections keep. +Her face was full of Woe, +But such a Woe (believe me) as wins more hearts +Than Mirth can do with her enticing parts. + +Sorrow was there made fair, +And Passion, wise; Tears, a delightful thing; +Silence, beyond all speech, a wisdom rare: +She made her sighs to sing, +And all things with so sweet a sadness move +As made my heart at once both grieve and love. + +O fairer than aught else +The world can show, leave off in time to grieve! +Enough, enough: your joyful look excels: +Tears kill the heart, believe. +O strive not to be excellent in Woe, +Which only breeds your beauty's overthrow. + +Unknown + + +LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM + +Oh! the days are gone, when Beauty bright +My heart's chain wove; +When my dream of life, from morn till night, +Was love, still love. +New hope may bloom, +And days may come, +Of milder, calmer beam, +But there's nothing half so sweet in life +As love's young dream; +No, there's nothing half so sweet in life +As love's young dream. + +Though the bard to purer fame may soar, +When wild youth's past; +Though he win the wise, who frowned before, +To smile at last; +He'll never meet +A joy so sweet, +In all his noon of fame, +As when first he sung to woman's ear +His soul-felt flame, +And, at every close, she blushed to hear +The one loved name. + +No, - that hallowed form is ne'er forgot +Which first love traced; +Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot +On memory's waste. +'Twas odor fled +As soon as shed; +'Twas morning's winged dream; +'Twas a light that ne'er can shine again +On life's dull stream; +Oh! 'twas light that ne'er can shine again +On life's dull stream. + +Thomas Moore [1779-1852] + + +"NOT OURS THE VOWS" + +Not ours the vows of such as plight +Their troth in sunny weather, +While leaves are green, and skies are bright, +To walk on flowers together. + +But we have loved as those who tread +The thorny path of sorrow, +With clouds above, and cause to dread +Yet deeper gloom to-morrow. + +That thorny path, those stormy skies, +Have drawn our spirits nearer; +And rendered us, by sorrow's ties, +Each to the other dearer. + +Love, born in hours of joy and mirth, +With mirth and joy may perish; +That to which darker hours gave birth +Still more and more we cherish. + +It looks beyond the clouds of time, +And through death's shadowy portal; +Made by adversity sublime, +By faith and hope immortal. + +Bernard Barton [1784-1849] + + +THE GRAVE OF LOVE + +I dug, beneath the cypress shade, +What well might seem an elfin's grave; +And every pledge in earth I laid, +That erst thy false affection gave. + +I pressed them down the sod beneath; +I placed one mossy stone above; +And twined the rose's fading wreath +Around the sepulcher of love. + +Frail as thy love, the flowers were dead +Ere yet the evening sun was set: +But years shall see the cypress spread, +Immutable as my regret. + +Thomas Love Peacock [1785-1866] + + +"WE'LL GO NO MORE A ROVING" + +So, we'll go no more a roving +So late into the night, +Though the heart be still as loving, +And the moon be still as bright. + +For the sword outwears its sheath, +And the soul wears out the breast, +And the heart must pause to breathe, +And Love itself have rest. + +Though the night was made for loving, +And the day returns too soon, +Yet we'll go no more a roving +By the light of the moon. + +George Gordon Byron [1788-1824] + + +SONG + +Sing the old song, amid the sounds dispersing +That burden treasured in your hearts too long; +Sing it, with voice low-breathed, but never name her: +She will not hear you, in her turrets nursing +High thoughts, too high to mate with mortal song - +Bend o'er her, gentle Heaven, but do not claim her! + +In twilight caves, and secret lonelinesses, +She shades the bloom of her unearthly days; +And the soft winds alone have power to woo her: +Far off we catch the dark gleam of her tresses; +And wild birds haunt the wood-walks where she strays, +Intelligible music warbling to her. + +That Spirit charged to follow and defend her, - +He also, doubtless, suffers this love-pain; +And she, perhaps, is sad, hearing his sighing: +And yet that face is not so sad as tender; +Like some sweet singer's, when her sweetest strain +From the heaved heart is gradually dying! + +Aubrey Thomas De Vere [1814-1902] + + +THE QUESTION + +I dreamed that, as I wandered by the way, +Bare Winter suddenly was changed to Spring; +And gentle odors led my steps astray, +Mixed with a sound of waters murmuring +Along a shelving bank of turf, which lay +Under a copse, and hardly dared to fling +Its green arms round the bosom of the stream, +But kissed it and then fled, as thou mightest in dream. + +There grew pied wind-flowers and violets; +Daisies, those pearled Arcturi of the earth, +The constellated flower that never sets; +Faint oxlips; tender bluebells, at whose birth +The sod scarce heaved; and that tall flower that wets - +Like a child, half in tenderness and mirth - +Its mother's face with heaven-collected tears +When the low wind, its playmate's voice, it hears. + +And in the warm hedge grew lush eglantine, +Green cowbind and the moonlight-colored may, +And cherry-blossoms, and white cups whose wine +Was the bright dew yet drained not by the day; +And wild roses, and ivy serpentine, +With its dark buds and leaves wandering astray; +And flowers, azure, black, and streaked with gold, +Fairer than any wakened eyes behold. + +And nearer to the river's trembling edge +There grew broad flag-flowers, purple pranked with white, +And starry river-buds among the sedge, +And floating water-lilies, broad and bright, +Which lit the oak that overhung the hedge +With moonlight beams of their own watery light; +And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep green +As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen. + +Methought that of these visionary flowers +I made a nosegay, bound in such a way +That the same hues which in their natural bowers +Were mingled or opposed, the like array +Kept these imprisoned children of the Hours +Within my hand; - and then, elate and gay, +I hastened to the spot whence I had come, +That I might there present it - O! to whom? + +Percy Bysshe Shelley [1792-1822] + + +THE WANDERER + +Love comes back to his vacant dwelling, - +The old, old Love that we knew of yore! +We see him stand by the open door, +With his great eyes sad, and his bosom swelling. + +He makes as though in our arms repelling, +He fain would lie as he lay before; - +Love comes back to his vacant dwelling, - +The old, old Love that we knew of yore! + +Ah, who shall keep us from over-spelling +That sweet forgotten, forbidden lore! +E'en as we doubt in our hearts once more, +With a rush of tears to our eyelids welling, +Love comes back to his vacant dwelling. + +Austin Dobson [1840-1921] + + +EGYPTIAN SERENADE + +Sing again the song you sung +When we were together young - +When there were but you and I +Underneath the summer sky. + +Sing the song, and o'er and o'er +Though I know that nevermore +Will it seem the song you sung +When we were together young. + +George William Curtis [1824-1892] + + +THE WATER LADY + +Alas, the moon should ever beam +To show what man should never see! +I saw a maiden on a stream, +And fair was she! + +I stayed awhile, to see her throw +Her tresses back, that all beset +The fair horizon of her brow +With clouds of jet. + +I stayed a little while to view +Her cheek, that wore, in place of red, +The bloom of water, tender blue, +Daintily spread. + +I stayed to watch, a little space, +Her parted lips if she would sing; +The waters closed above her face +With many a ring. + +And still I stayed a little more: +Alas, she never comes again! +I throw my flowers from the shore, +And watch in vain. + +I know my life will fade away, +I know that I must vainly pine, +For I am made of mortal clay, +But she's divine! + +Thomas Hood [1799-1845] + + +"TRIPPING DOWN THE FIELD-PATH" + +Tripping down the field-path, +Early in the morn, +There I met my own love +'Midst the golden corn; +Autumn winds were blowing, +As in frolic chase, +All her silken ringlets +Backward from her face; +Little time for speaking +Had she, for the wind, +Bonnet, scarf, or ribbon, +Ever swept behind. + +Still some sweet improvement +In her beauty shone; +Every graceful movement +Won me, - one by one! +As the breath of Venus +Seemed the breeze of morn, +Blowing thus between us, +'Midst the golden corn. +Little time for wooing +Had we, for the wind +Still kept on undoing +What we sought to bind. + +Oh! that autumn morning +In my heart it beams, +Love's last look adorning +With its dream of dreams: +Still, like waters flowing +In the ocean shell, +Sounds of breezes blowing +In my spirit dwell; +Still I see the field-path; - +Would that I could see +Her whose graceful beauty +Lost is now to me! + +Charles Swain [1801-1874] + + +LOVE NOT + +Love not, love not, ye hapless sons of clay! +Hope's gayest wreaths are made of earthly flowers - +Things that are made to fade and fall away, +When they have blossomed but a few short hours. +Love not, love not! + +Love not, love not! The thing you love may die - +May perish from the gay and gladsome earth; +The silent stars, the blue and smiling sky, +Beam on its grave as once upon its birth. +Love not, love not! + +Love not, love not! The thing you love may change, +The rosy lip may cease to smile on you; +The kindly beaming eye grow cold and strange; +The heart still warmly beat, yet not be true. +Love not, love not! + +Love not, love not! O warning vainly said +In present years, as in the years gone by! +Love flings a halo round the dear one's head, +Faultless, immortal - till they change or die! +Love not, love not! + +Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton [1808-1877] + + +"A PLACE IN THY MEMORY" + +A place in thy memory, Dearest! +Is all that I claim: +To pause and look back when thou hearest +The sound of my name. +Another may woo thee, nearer; +Another may win and wear: +I care not though he be dearer, +If I am remembered there. + +Remember me, not as a lover +Whose hope was crossed, +Whose bosom can never recover +The light it hath lost! +As the young bride remembers the mother +She loves, though she never may see, +As a sister remembers a brother, +O Dearest, remember me! + +Could I be thy true lover, Dearest! +Couldst thou smile on me, +I would be the fondest and nearest +That ever loved thee: +But a cloud on my pathway is glooming +That never must burst upon thine; +And heaven, that made thee all blooming, +Ne'er made thee to wither on mine. + +Remember me then! O remember +My calm light love! +Though bleak as the blasts of November +My life may prove. +That life will, though lonely, be sweet +If its brightest enjoyment should be +A smile and kind word when we meet, +And a place in thy memory. + +Gerald Griffin [1803-1840] + + +INCLUSIONS + +Oh, wilt thou have my hand, Dear, to lie along in thine? +As a little stone in a running stream, it seems to lie and pine. +Now drop the poor pale hand, Dear, unfit to plight with thine. + +Oh, wilt thou have my cheek, Dear, drawn closer to thine own? +My cheek is white, my check is worn, by many a tear run down. +Now leave a little space, Dear, lest it should wet thine own. + +Oh, must thou have my soul, Dear, commingled with thy soul? - +Red grows the cheek, and warm the hand; the part is in the whole; +Nor hands nor cheeks keep separate, when soul is joined to soul. + + +Elizabeth Barrett Browning [1806-1861] + + +MARIANA +Mariana in the moated grange. - Measure For Measure + +With blackest moss the flower-plots +Were thickly crusted, one and all: +The rusted nails fell from the knots +That held the pear to the gable-wall. +The broken sheds looked sad and strange: +Unlifted was the clinking latch; +Weeded and worn the ancient thatch +Upon the lonely moated grange. +She only said, "My life is dreary, +He cometh not," she said; +She said, "I am aweary, aweary, +I would that I were dead!" + +Her tears fell with the dews at even; +Her tears fell ere the dews were dried; +She could not look on the sweet heaven, +Either at morn or eventide. +After the flitting of the bats, +When thickest dark did trance the sky, +She drew her casement-curtain by, +And glanced athwart the glooming flats. +She only said, "The night is dreary, +He cometh not," she said; +She said, "I am aweary, aweary, +I would that I were dead!" + +Upon the middle of the night, +Waking she heard the night-fowl crow: +The cock sung out an hour ere light: +From the dark fen the oxen's low +Came to her: without hope of change, +In sleep she seemed to walk forlorn, +Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn +About the lonely moated grange. +She only said, "The day is dreary, +He cometh not," she said; +She said, "I am aweary, aweary, +I would that I were dead!" + +About a stone-cast from the wall +A sluice with blackened waters slept, +And o'er it many, round and small, +The clustered marish-mosses crept. +Hard by a poplar shook alway, +All silver-green with gnarled bark: +For leagues no other tree did mark +The level waste, the rounding gray. +She only said, "My life is dreary, +He cometh not," she said; +She said, "I am aweary, aweary, +I would that I were dead!" + +And ever when the moon was low, +And the shrill winds were up and away, +In the white curtain, to and fro, +She saw the gusty shadow sway. +But when the moon was very low, +And wild winds bound within their cell, +The shadow of the poplar fell +Upon her bed, across her brow. +She only said, "The night is dreary +He cometh not," she said; +She said, "I am aweary, aweary, +I would that I were dead!" + +All day within the dreamy house, +The doors upon their hinges creaked; +The blue fly sung in the pane; the mouse +Behind the moldering wainscot shrieked, +Or from the crevice peered about. +Old faces glimmered through the doors, +Old footsteps trod the upper floors, +Old voices called her from without. +She only said, "My life is dreary, +He cometh not," she said; +She said, "I am aweary, aweary, +I would that I were dead!" + +The sparrow's chirrup on the roof, +The slow clock ticking, and the sound +Which to the wooing wind aloof +The poplar made, did all confound +Her sense; but most she loathed the hour +When the thick-moted sunbeam lay +Athwart the chambers, and the day +Was sloping toward his western bower. +Then, said she, "I am very dreary, +He will not come," she said; +She wept, "I am aweary, aweary, +O God, that I were dead!" + +Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] + + +"ASK ME NO MORE" +From "The Princess" + +Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea; +The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape, +With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape; +But O too fond, when have I answered thee? +Ask me no more. + +Ask me no more: what answer should I give? +I love not hollow cheek or faded eye: +Yet, O my friend, I will not have thee die! +Ask me no more, lest I should bid thee live; +Ask me no more. + +Ask me no more: thy fate and mine are sealed; +I strove against the stream and all in vain; +Let the great river take me to the main. +No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield; +Ask me no more. + +Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] + + +A WOMAN'S LAST WORD + +Let's contend no more, Love, +Strive nor weep: +All be as before, Love, +- Only sleep! + +What so wild as words are? +I and thou +In debate, as birds are, +Hawk on bough! + +See the creature stalking +While we speak! +Hush and hide the talking, +Cheek on cheek! + +What so false as truth is, +False to thee? +Where the serpent's tooth is +Shun the tree - + +Where the apple reddens +Never pry - +Lest we lose our Edens, +Eve and I! + +Be a god and hold me +With a charm! +Be a man and fold me +With thine arm! + +Teach me, only teach, Love! +As I ought +I will speak thy speech, Love, +Think thy thought - + +Meet, if thou require it, +Both demands, +Laying flesh and spirit +In thy hands. + +That shall be to-morrow +Not to-night: +I must bury sorrow +Out of sight: + +- Must a little weep, Love. +(Foolish me!) +And so fall asleep, Love +Loved by thee. + +Robert Browning [1812-1889] + + +THE LAST RIDE TOGETHER + +I said - Then, dearest, since 'tis so, +Since now at length my fate I know, +Since nothing all my love avails, +Since all, my life seemed meant for, fails, +Since this was written and needs must be - +My whole heart rises up to bless +Your name in pride and thankfulness! +Take back the hope you gave, - I claim +Only a memory of the same, +- And this beside, if you will not blame; +Your leave for one more last ride with me. + +My mistress bent that brow of hers; +Those deep dark eyes where pride demurs +When pity would be softening through, +Fixed me a breathing-while or two +With life or death in the balance: right! +The blood replenished me again; +My last thought was at least not vain: +I and my mistress, side by side +Shall be together, breathe and ride, +So, one day more am I deified. +Who knows but the world may end to-night? + +Hush! if you saw some western cloud +All billowy-bosomed, over-bowed +By many benedictions - sun's +And moon's and evening-star's at once - +And so, you, looking and loving best, +Conscious grew, your passion drew +Cloud, sunset, moonrise, star-shine too, +Down on you, near and yet more near, +Till flesh must fade for heaven was here! - +Thus leant she and lingered-joy and fear! +Thus lay she a moment on my breast. + +Then we began to ride. My soul +Smoothed itself out, a long-cramped scroll +Freshening and fluttering in the wind. +Past hopes already lay behind. +What need to strive with a life awry? +Had I said that, had I done this, +So might I gain, so might I miss. +Might she have loved me? just as well +She might have hated, who can tell! +Where had I been now if the worst befell? +And here we are riding, she and I. + +Fail I alone, in words and deeds? +Why, all men strive, and who succeeds? +We rode; it seemed my spirit flew, +Saw other regions, cities new, +As the world rushed by on either side. +I thought, - All labor, yet no less +Bear up beneath their unsuccess. +Look at the end of work, contrast +The petty done, the undone vast, +This present of theirs with the hopeful past! +I hoped she would love me; here we ride. + +What hand and brain went ever paired? +What heart alike conceived and dared? +What act proved all its thought had been? +What will but felt the fleshly screen? +We ride and I see her bosom heave. +There's many a crown for who can reach. +Ten lines, a statesman's life in each! +The flag stuck on a heap of bones, +A soldier's doing! what atones? +They scratch his name on the Abbey-stones. +My riding is better, by their leave. + +What does it all mean, poet? Well, +Your brains beat into rhythm, you tell +What we felt only; you expressed +You hold things beautiful the best, +And place them in rhyme so, side by side. +'Tis something, nay 'tis much: but then, +Have you yourself what's best for men? +Are you - poor, sick, old ere your time - +Nearer one whit your own sublime +Than we who never have turned a rhyme? +Sing, riding's a joy! For me, I ride. + +And you, great sculptor - so, you gave +A score of years to Art, her slave, +And that's your Venus, whence we turn +To yonder girl that fords the burn! +You acquiesce, and shall I repine? +What, man of music, you grown gray +With notes and nothing else to say, +Is this your sole praise from a friend, +"Greatly his opera's strains intend, +But in music we know how fashions end!" +I gave my youth: but we ride, in fine. + +Who knows what's fit for us? Had fate +Proposed bliss here should sublimate +My being - had I signed the bond - +Still one must lead some life beyond, +Have a bliss to die with, dim-descried. +This foot once planted on the goal, +This glory-garland round my soul, +Could I descry such? Try and test! +I sink back shuddering from the quest. +Earth being so good, would heaven seem best? +Now, heaven and she are beyond this ride. + +And yet - she has not spoke so long! +What if heaven be that, fair and strong +At life's best, with our eyes upturned +Whither life's flower is first discerned, +We, fixed so, ever should so abide? +What if we still ride on, we two, +With life forever old yet new, +Changed not in kind but in degree, +The instant made eternity, - +And heaven just prove that I and she +Ride, ride together, forever ride? + +Robert Browning [1812-1889] + + +YOUTH AND ART + +It once might have been, once only: +We lodged in a street together, +You, a sparrow on the housetop lonely, +I, a lone she-bird of his feather. + +Your trade was with sticks and clay, +You thumbed, thrust, patted, and polished, +Then laughed, "They will see some day +Smith made, and Gibson demolished." + +My business was song, song, song; +I chirped, cheeped, trilled, and twittered, +"Kate Brown's on the boards ere long, +And Grisi's existence embittered!" + +I earned no more by a warble +Than you by a sketch in plaster; +You wanted a piece of marble, +I needed a music-master. + +We studied hard in our styles, +Chipped each at a crust like Hindoos, +For air, looked out on the tiles, +For fun, watched each other's windows. + +You lounged, like a boy of the South, +Cap and blouse - nay, a bit of beard too; +Or you got it, rubbing your mouth +With fingers the clay adhered to. + +And I - soon managed to find +Weak points in the flower-fence facing, +Was forced to put up a blind, +And be safe in my corset-lacing. + +No harm! It was not my fault +If you never turned your eye's tail up, +As I shook upon E in alt., +Or ran the chromatic scale up: + +For spring bade the sparrows pair, +And the boys and girls gave guesses, +And stalls in our street looked rare +With bulrush and water-cresses. + +Why did not you pinch a flower +In a pellet of clay and fling it? +Why did not I put a power +Of thanks in a look, or sing it? + +I did look; sharp as a lynx +(And yet the memory rankles), +When models arrived, some minx +Tripped up-stairs, she and her ankles. + +But I think I gave you as good! +"That foreign fellow, - who can know +How she pays, in a playful mood, +For his tuning her that piano?" + +Could you say so, and never say, +"Suppose we join hands and fortunes, +And I fetch her from over the way, +Her, piano, and long tunes and short tunes"? + +No, no: you would not be rash, +Nor I rasher and something over: +You've to settle yet Gibson's hash, +And Grisi yet lives in clover. + +But you meet the Prince at the Board, +I'm queen myself at bals-pare, +I've married a rich old lord, +And you're dubbed knight and an R. A. + +Each life unfulfilled, you see; +It hangs still, patchy and scrappy: +We have not sighed deep, laughed free, +Starved, feasted, despaired, - been happy. + +And nobody calls you a dunce, +And people suppose me clever: +This could but have happened once, +And we missed it, lost it forever. + +Robert Browning [1812-1889] + + +TWO IN THE CAMPAGNA + +I wonder do you feel to-day +As I have felt since, hand in hand, +We sat down on the grass, to stray +In spirit better through the land, +This morn of Rome and May? + +For me, I touched a thought, I know, +Has tantalized me many times, +(Like turns of thread the spiders throw +Mocking across our path) for rhymes +To catch at and let go. + +Help me to hold it! First it left +The yellowing fennel, run to seed +There, branching from the brickwork's cleft, +Some old tomb's ruin: yonder weed +Took up the floating weft, + +Where one small orange cup amassed +Five beetles, - blind and green they grope +Among the honey-meal: and last, +Everywhere on the grassy slope +I traced it. Hold it fast! + +The champaign with its endless fleece +Of feathery grasses everywhere! +Silence and passion, joy and peace, +And everlasting wash of air - +Rome's ghost since her decease. + +Such life here, through such lengths of hours, +Such miracles performed in play, +Such primal naked forms of flowers, +Such letting Nature have her way +While Heaven looks from its towers! + +How say you? Let us, O my dove, +Let us be unashamed of soul, +As earth lies bare to heaven above! +How is it under our control +To love or not to love? + +I would that you were all to me, +You that are just so much, no more. +Nor yours, nor mine - nor slave nor free! +Where does the fault lie? What the core +Of the wound, since wound must be? + +I would I could adopt your will, +See with your eyes, and set my heart +Beating by yours, and drink my fill +At your soul's springs, - your part, my part +In life, for good and ill. + +No. I yearn upward, touch you close, +Then stand away. I kiss your cheek, +Catch your soul's warmth, - I pluck the rose +And love it more than tongue can speak - +Then the good minute goes. + +Already how am I so far +Out of that minute? Must I go +Still like the thistle-ball, no bar, +Onward, whenever light winds blow, +Fixed by no friendly star? + +Just when I seemed about to learn! +Where is the thread now? Off again! +The old trick! Only I discern - +Infinite passion, and the pain +Of finite hearts that yearn. + +Robert Browning [1812-1889] + + +ONE WAY OF LOVE + +All June I bound the rose in sheaves. +Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves +And strew them where Pauline may pass. +She will not turn aside? Alas! +Let them lie. Suppose they die? +The chance was they might take her eye. + +How many a month I strove to suit +These stubborn fingers to the lute! +To-day I venture all I know. +She will not hear my music? So! +Break the string; fold music's wing: +Suppose Pauline had bade me sing! + +My whole life long I learned to love. +This hour my utmost art I prove +And speak my passion - heaven or hell? +She will not give me heaven? 'Tis well! +Lose who may - I still can say, +Those who win heaven, blest are they! + +Robert Browning [1812-1889] + + +"NEVER THE TIME AND THE PLACE" + +Never the time and the place +And the loved one all together! +This path - how soft to pace! +This May - what magic weather! +Where is the loved one's face? +In a dream that loved one's face meets mine, +But the house is narrow, the place is bleak +Where, outside, rain and wind combine +With a furtive ear, if I strive to speak, +With a hostile eye at my flushing cheek, +With a malice that marks each word, each sign! +O enemy sly and serpentine, +Uncoil thee from the waking man! +Do I hold the Past +Thus firm and fast +Yet doubt if the Future hold I can? +This path so soft to pace shall lead +Through the magic of May to herself indeed! +Or narrow if needs the house must be, +Outside are the storms and strangers: we - +Oh, close, safe, warm sleep I and she, +- I and she! + +Robert Browning [1812-1889] + + +SONG +From "The Saint's Tragedy" + +Oh! that we two were Maying +Down the stream of the soft spring breeze; +Like children with violets playing +In the shade of the whispering trees. + +Oh! that we two sat dreaming +On the sward of some sheep-trimmed down, +Watching the white mist steaming +Over river and mead and town. + +Oh! that we two lay sleeping +In our nest in the churchyard sod, +With our limbs at rest on the quiet earth's breast, +And our souls at home with God! + +Charles Kingsley [1819-1875] + + +FOR HE HAD GREAT POSSESSIONS + +Ah! marvel not if when I come to die +And follow Death the way my fancies went +Year after fading year, the last mad sky +Finds me impenitent; +For though my heart went doubting through the night, +With many a backward glance at heaven's face, +Yet found I many treasures of delight +Within this pleasant place. + +I shall not grieve because the girls were fair +And kinder than the world, nor shall I weep +Because with crying lips and clinging hair +They stole away my sleep. +For lacking this I might not yet have known +How high the heart could climb, or waking seen +The mountains bare their silver breasts of stone +From their chaste robes of green. + +Though it were all a sin, within the mirth +And pain of life I found a song above +Our songs, in her who scattered on the earth +Her glad largesse of love; +And though she held some dream that was not ours +In some far place that was not for our feet, +Where blew across the gladder, madder flowers +A wind more bitter-sweet. + +Ah! who shall hearten when the music stops, +For joy of silence? While they dreamed above +She showed me love upon the mountain tops +And in the valleys, love. +And while the wise found heaven with their charts +And lore of souls, she made an earth for me +More sweet than all, and from our beating hearts +She called the pulsing sea. + +So marvel not if in the days when death +Shall make my body mine, I do not cry +For hours and treasure lost, but with my breath +Praise my mortality. +For lo! this place is fair, and losing all +That I have won and dreamed beneath her kiss, +I would not see the light of morning fall +On any world but this. + +Richard Middleton [1882-1911] + + +WINDLE-STRAWS + +She kissed me on the forehead, +She spoke not any word, +The silence flowed between us, +And I nor spoke nor stirred. + +So hopeless for my sake it was, +So full of ruth, so sweet, +My whole heart rose and blessed her, +- Then died before her feet. + +Edward Dowden [1843-1913] + + +JESSIE + +When Jessie comes with her soft breast, +And yields the golden keys, +Then is it as if God caressed +Twin babes upon His knees - +Twin babes that, each to other pressed, +Just feel the Father's arms, wherewith they both are blessed, + +But when I think if we must part, +And all this personal dream be fled - +O then my heart! O then my useless heart! +Would God that thou wert dead - +A clod insensible to joys and ills - +A stone remote in some bleak gully of the hills! + +Thomas Edward Brown [1830-1897] + + +THE CHESS-BOARD + +My little love, do you remember, +Ere we were grown so sadly wise, +Those evenings in the bleak December, +Curtained warm from the snowy weather, +When you and I played chess together, +Checkmated by each other's eyes? + +Ah! still I see your soft white hand +Hovering warm o'er Queen and Knight; +Brave Pawns in valiant battle stand; +The double Castles guard the wings; +The Bishop, bent on distant things, +Moves, sliding, through the fight. + +Our fingers touch; our glances meet, +And falter; falls your golden hair +Against my cheek; your bosom sweet +Is heaving. Down the field, your Queen +Rides slow, her soldiery all between, +And checks me unaware. + +Ah me! the little battle's done: +Dispersed is all its chivalry. +Full many a move, since then, have we +'Mid Life's perplexing chequers made, +And many a game with Fortune played; - +What is it we have won? +This, this at least, - if this alone: + +That never, never, never more, +As in those old still nights of yore +(Ere we were grown so sadly wise), +Can you and I shut out the skies, +Shut out the world and wintry weather, +And, eyes exchanging warmth with eyes, +Play chess, as then we played together! + +Edward Robert Bulwer Lytton [1831-1891] + + +AUX ITALIENS + +At Paris it was, at the Opera there; - +And she looked like a queen in a book that night, +With the wreath of pearl in her raven hair, +And the brooch on her breast, so bright. + +Of all the operas that Verdi wrote, +The best, to my taste, is the Trovatore; +And Mario can soothe with a tenor note +The souls in Purgatory. + +The moon on the tower slept soft as snow: +And who was not thrilled in the strangest way, +As we heard him sing, while the gas burned low, +"Non ti scordar di me"? + +The Emperor there, in his box of state, +Looked grave, as if he had just then seen +The red flag wave from the city-gate +Where his eagles in bronze had been. + +The Empress, too, had a tear in her eye. +You'd have said that her fancy had gone back again, +For one moment, under the old blue sky, +To the old glad life in Spain. + +Well! there in our front-row box we sat, +Together, my bride-betrothed and I; +My gaze was fixed on my opera-hat, +And hers on the stage hard by. + +And both were silent, and both were sad. +Like a queen she leaned on her full white arm, +With that regal, indolent air she had; +So confident of her charm! + +I have not a doubt she was thinking then +Of her former lord, good soul that he was! +Who died the richest and roundest of men, +The Marquis of Carabas. + +I hope that, to get to the kingdom of heaven, +Through a needle's eye he had not to pass. +I wish him well, for the jointure given +To my lady of Carabas. + +Meanwhile, I was thinking of my first love, +As I had not been thinking of aught for years, +Till over my eyes there began to move +Something that felt like tears. + +I thought of the dress that she wore last time, +When we stood, 'neath the cypress-trees, together, +In that lost land, in that soft clime, +In the crimson evening weather; + +Of that muslin dress (for the eve was hot), +And her warm white neck in its golden chain, +And her full, soft hair, just tied in a knot, +And falling loose again; + +And the jasmine-flower in her fair young breast, +(O the faint, sweet smell of that jasmine-flower!) +And the one bird singing alone to his nest, +And the one star over the tower. + +I thought of our little quarrels and strife, +And the letter that brought me back my ring. +And it all seemed then, in the waste of life, +Such a very little thing! + +For I thought of her grave below the hill, +Which the sentinel cypress-tree stands over; +And I thought . . . "were she only living still, +How I could forgive her, and love her!" + +And I swear, as I thought of her thus, in that hour, +And of how, after all, old things were best, +That I smelt the smell of that jasmine-flower +Which she used to wear in her breast. + +It smelt so faint, and it smelt so sweet, +It made me creep, and it made me cold! +Like the scent that steals from the crumbling sheet +Where a mummy is half unrolled. + +And I turned, and looked. She was sitting there +In a dim box, over the stage; and dressed +In that muslin dress with that full soft hair, +And that jasmine in her breast! + +I was here; and she was there; +And the glittering horseshoe curved between: - +From my bride-betrothed, with her raven hair, +And her sumptuous scornful mien, + +To my early love, with her eyes downcast, +And over her primrose face the shade +(In short from the Future back to the Past). +There was but a step to be made. + +To my early love from my future bride +One moment I looked. Then I stole to the door, +I traversed the passage; and down at her side +I was sitting, a moment more. + +My thinking of her, or the music's strain, +Or something which never will be expressed, +Had brought her back from the grave again, +With the jasmine in her breast. + +She is not dead, and she is not wed! +But she loves me now, and she loved me then! +And the very first word that her sweet lips said, +My heart grew youthful again. + +The Marchioness there, of Carabas, +She is wealthy, and young, and handsome still, +And but for her . . . well, we'll let that pass, +She may marry whomever she will. + +But I will marry my own first love, +With her primrose face: for old things are best, +And the flower in her bosom, I prize it above +The brooch in my lady's breast. + +The world is filled with folly and sin, +And Love must cling where it can, I say: +For Beauty is easy enough to win; +But one isn't loved every day. + +And I think, in the lives of most women and men, +There's a moment when all would go smooth and even, +If only the dead could find out when +To come back, and be forgiven. + +But O the smell of that jasmine-flower! +And O that music! and O the way +That voice rang out from the donjon tower, +Non ti scordar di me, +Non ti scordar di me! + +Edward Robert Bulwer Lytton [1831-1891] + + +SONG + +I saw the day's white rapture +Die in the sunset's flame, +But all her shining beauty +Lives like a deathless name. + +Our lamps of joy are wasted, +Gone is Love's hallowed light; +But you and I remember +Through every starlit night. + +Charles Hanson Towne [1877- + + +THE LONELY ROAD + +I think thou waitest, Love, beyond the Gate - +Eager, with wind-stirred ripples in thy hair; +I have not found thee, and the hour is late, +And harsh the weight I bear. + +Far have I sought, and flung my wealth of years +Like a young traveler, gay at careless inns - +See how the wine-stain whitens 'neath the tears +My burden wins! + +And wilt thou know me, Love, with bended back, +Or wilt thou scorn me, in so drear a guise? +I have a wealth of sorrows in my pack, +One lonely prize - + +Thy dream - and dross of sin. . . . O, dim the fields - +I may not find thee in so dark a land - +Yet I await what hope the turning yields +And beg with empty hand. + +Kenneth Rand [1891- + + +EVENSONG + +Beauty calls and gives no warning, +Shadows rise and wander on the day. +In the twilight, in the quiet evening, +We shall rise and smile and go away. +Over the flaming leaves +Freezes the sky. +It is the season grieves, +Not you, not I. +All our spring-times, all our summers, +We have kept the longing warm within. +Now we leave the after-comers +To attain the dreams we did not win. +Oh, we have wakened, Sweet, and had our birth, +And that's the end of earth; +And we have toiled and smiled and kept the light, +And that's the end of night. + +Ridgely Torrence [1875- + + +THE NYMPH'S SONG TO HYLAS +From "The Life and Death of Jason" + +I know a little garden-close +Set thick with lily and red rose, +Where I would wander if I might +From dewy dawn to dewy night, +And have one with me wandering. + +And though within it no birds sing, +And though no pillared house is there, +And though the apple boughs are bare +Of fruit and blossom, would to God, +Her feet upon the green grass trod, +And I beheld them as before! + +There comes a murmur from the shore, +And in the close two fair streams are, +Drawn from the purple hills afar, +Drawn down unto the restless sea; +Dark hills whose heath-bloom feeds no bee, +Dark shore no ship has ever seen, +Tormented by the billows green, +Whose murmur comes unceasingly +Unto the place for which I cry. + +For which I cry both day and night, +For which I let slip all delight, +Whereby I grow both deaf and blind, +Careless to win, unskilled to find, +And quick to lose what all men seek. + +Yet tottering as I am, and weak, +Still have I left a little breath +To seek within the jaws of death +An entrance to that happy place; +To seek the unforgotten face +Once seen, once kissed, once reft from me +Anigh the murmuring of the sea. + +William Morris [1834-1896] + + +NO AND YES + +If I could choose my paradise, +And please myself with choice of bliss, +Then I would have your soft blue eyes +And rosy little mouth to kiss! +Your lips, as smooth and tender, child, +As rose-leaves in a coppice wild. + +If fate bade choose some sweet unrest, +To weave my troubled life a snare, +Then I would say "her maiden breast +And golden ripple of her hair"; +And weep amid those tresses, child, +Contented to be thus beguiled. + +Thomas Ashe [1836-1889] + + +LOVE IN DREAMS + +Love hath his poppy-wreath, +Not Night alone. +I laid my head beneath +Love's lilied throne: +Then to my sleep he brought +This anodyne - +The flower of many a thought +And fancy fine: +A form, a face, no more; +Fairer than truth; +A dream from death's pale shore; +The soul of youth: +A dream so dear, so deep, +All dreams above, +That still I pray to sleep - +Bring Love back, Love! + +John Addington Symonds [1840-1893] + + +"A LITTLE WHILE I FAIN WOULD LINGER YET" + +A little while (my life is almost set!) +I fain would pause along the downward way, +Musing an hour in this sad sunset-ray, +While, Sweet! our eyes with tender tears are wet: +A little hour I fain would linger yet. + +A little while I fain would linger yet, +All for love's sake, for love that cannot tire; +Though fervid youth be dead, with youth's desire, +And hope has faded to a vague regret, +A little while I fain would linger yet. + +A little while I fain would linger here: +Behold! who knows what strange, mysterious bars +'Twixt souls that love may rise in other stars? +Nor can love deem the face of death is fair: +A little while I still would linger here. + +A little while I yearn to hold thee fast, +Hand locked in hand, and loyal heart to heart; +(O pitying Christ! those woeful words, "We part!") +So, ere the darkness fall, the light be past, +A little while I fain would hold thee fast. + +A little while, when light and twilight meet, - +Behind, our broken years; before, the deep +Weird wonder of the last unfathomed sleep, - +A little while I still would clasp thee, Sweet, +A little while, when night and twilight meet. + +A little while I fain would linger here; +Behold! who knows what soul-dividing bars +Earth's faithful loves may part in other stars? +Nor can love deem the face of death is fair: +A little while I still would linger here. + +Paul Hamilton Hayne [1830-1886] + + +SONG + +I made another garden, yea, +For my new Love: +I left the dead rose where it lay +And set the new above. +Why did my Summer not begin? +Why did my heart not haste? +My old Love came and walked therein, +And laid the garden waste. + +She entered with her weary smile, +Just as of old; +She looked around a little while +And shivered with the cold: +Her passing touch was death to all, +Her passing look a blight; +She made the white rose-petals fall, +And turned the red rose white. + +Her pale robe clinging to the grass +Seemed like a snake +That bit the grass and ground, alas! +And a sad trail did make. +She went up slowly to the gate, +And there, just as of yore, +She turned back at the last to wait +And say farewell once more. + +Arthur O'Shaughnessy [1844-1881] + + +SONG + +Has summer come without the rose, +Or left the bird behind? +Is the blue changed above thee, +O world! or am I blind? +Will you change every flower that grows, +Or only change this spot, +Where she who said, I love thee, +Now says, I love thee not? + +The skies seemed true above thee, +The rose true on the tree; +The bird seemed true the summer through, +But all proved false to me. +World! is there one good thing in you, +Life, love, or death - or what? +Since lips that sang, I love thee, +Have said, I love thee not? + +I think the sun's kiss will scarce fall +Into one flower's gold cup; +I think the bird will miss me, +And give the summer up. +O sweet place! desolate in tall +Wild grass, have you forgot +How her lips loved to kiss me, +Now that they kiss me not? + +Be false or fair above me, +Come back with any face, +Summer! - do I care what you do? +You cannot change one place - +The grass, the leaves, the earth, the dew, +The grave I make the spot - +Here, where she used to love me, +Here, where she loves me not. + +Arthur O'Shaughnessy [1844-1881] + + +AFTER + +A little time for laughter, +A little time to sing, +A little time to kiss and cling, +And no more kissing after. + +A little while for scheming +Love's unperfected schemes; +A little time for golden dreams, +Then no more any dreaming. + +A little while 'twas given +To me to have thy love; +Now, like a ghost, alone I move +About a ruined heaven. + +A little time for speaking +Things sweet to say and hear; +A time to seek, and find thee near, +Then no more any seeking. + +A little time for saying +Words the heart breaks to say; +A short sharp time wherein to pray, +Then no more need of praying; + +But long, long years to weep in, +And comprehend the whole +Great grief that desolates the soul, +And eternity to sleep in. + +Philip Bourke Marston [1850-1887] + + +AFTER SUMMER + +We'll not weep for summer over, - +No, not we: +Strew above his head the clover, - +Let him be! + +Other eyes may weep his dying, +Shed their tears +There upon him, where he's lying +With his peers. + +Unto some of them he proffered +Gifts most sweet; +For our hearts a grave he offered, - +Was this meet? + +All our fond hopes, praying, perished +In his wrath, - +All the lovely dreams we cherished +Strewed his path. + +Shall we in our tombs, I wonder, +Far apart, +Sundered wide as seas can sunder +Heart from heart, + +Dream at all of all the sorrows +That were ours, - +Bitter nights, more bitter morrows; +Poison-flowers + +Summer gathered, as in madness, +Saying, "See, +These are yours, in place of gladness, - +Gifts from me"? + +Nay, the rest that will be ours +Is supreme, - +And below the poppy flowers +Steals no dream. + +Philip Bourke Marston [1850-1887] + + +ROCOCO + +Take hand and part with laughter; +Touch lips and part with tears; +Once more and no more after, +Whatever comes with years. +We twain shall not remeasure +The ways that left us twain; +Nor crush the lees of pleasure +From sanguine grapes of pain. + +We twain once well in sunder, +What will the mad gods do +For hate with me, I wonder, +Or what for love with you? +Forget them till November, +And dream there's April yet, +Forget that I remember, +And dream that I forget. + +Time found our tired love sleeping, +And kissed away his breath; +But what should we do weeping, +Though light love sleep to death? +We have drained his lips at leisure, +Till there's not left to drain +A single sob of pleasure, +A single pulse of pain. + +Dream that the lips once breathless +Might quicken if they would; +Say that the soul is deathless; +Dream that the gods are good; +Say March may wed September, +And time divorce regret; +But not that you remember, +And not that I forget. + +We have heard from hidden places +What love scarce lives and hears: +We have seen on fervent faces +The pallor of strange tears: +We have trod the wine-vat's treasure, +Whence, ripe to steam and stain, +Foams round the feet of pleasure +The blood-red must of pain. + +Remembrance may recover +And time bring back to time +The name of your first lover, +The ring of my first rhyme: +But rose-leaves of December +The frosts of June shall fret, +The day that you remember, +The day that I forget. + +The snake that hides and hisses +In heaven we twain have known; +The grief of cruel kisses, +The joy whose mouth makes moan; +The pulses' pause and measure, +Where in one furtive vein +Throbs through the heart of pleasure +The purpler blood of pain. + +We have done with tears and treasons +And love for treason's sake; +Room for the swift new seasons, +The years that burn and break, +Dismantle and dismember +Men's days and dreams, Juliette; +For love may not remember, +But time will not forget. + +Life treads down love in flying, +Time withers him at root; +Bring all dead things and dying, +Reaped sheaf and ruined fruit, +Where, crushed by three days' pressure +Our three days' love lies slain; +And earlier leaf of pleasure, +And latter flower of pain. + +Breathe close upon the ashes, +It may be flame will leap; +Unclose the soft close lashes, +Lift up the lids and weep. +Light love's extinguished ember, +Let one tear leave it wet +For one that you remember +And ten that you forget. + +Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909] + + +RONDEL + +These many years since we began to be, +What have the Gods done with us? what with me, +What with my love? They have shown me fates and fears, +Harsh springs, and fountains bitterer than the sea, +Grief a fixed star, and joy a vane that veers, +These many years. + +With her, my Love, - with her have they done well? +But who shall answer for her? who shall tell +Sweet things or sad, such things as no man hears? +May no tears fall, if no tears ever fell, +From eyes more dear to me than starriest spheres, +These many years! + +But if tears ever touched, for any grief, +Those eyelids folded like a white-rose leaf, +Deep double shells where through the eye-flower peers, +Let them weep once more only, sweet and brief, +Brief tears and bright, for one who gave her tears +These many years! + +Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909] + + +THE OBLATION + +Ask nothing more of me, sweet; +All I can give you I give. +Heart of my heart, were it more, +More would be laid at your feet: +Love that should help you to live, +Song that should spur you to soar. + +All things were nothing to give +Once to have sense of you more, +Touch you and taste of you, sweet, +Think you and breathe you and live, +Swept of your wings as they soar, +Trodden by chance of your feet. + +I that have love and no more +Give you but love of you, sweet: +He that hath more, let him give; +He that hath wings, let him soar; +Mine is the heart at your feet +Here, that must love you to live. + +Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909] + + +THE SONG OF THE BOWER +From "The House of Life" + +Say, is it day, is it dusk in thy bower, +Thou whom I long for, who longest for me? +Oh! be it light, be it night, 'tis Love's hour, +Love's that is fettered as Love's that is free. +Free Love has leaped to that innermost chamber, +Oh! the last time, and the hundred before: +Fettered Love, motionless, can but remember, +Yet something that sighs from him passes the door. + +Nay, but my heart when it flies to thy bower, +What does it find there that knows it again? +There it must droop like a shower-beaten flower, +Red at the rent core and dark with the rain. +Ah! yet what shelter is still shed above it, - +What waters still image its leaves torn apart? +Thy soul is the shade that clings round it to love it, +And tears are its mirror deep down in thy heart. + +What were my prize, could I enter thy bower, +This day, to-morrow, at eve or at morn? +Large lovely arms and a neck like a tower, +Bosom then heaving that now lies forlorn. +Kindled with love-breath, (the sun's kiss is colder!) +Thy sweetness all near me, so distant to-day; +My hand round thy neck and thy hand on my shoulder, +My mouth to thy mouth as the world melts away. + +What is it keeps me afar from thy bower, - +My spirit, my body, so fain to be there? +Waters engulfing or fires that devour? - +Earth heaped against me or death in the air? +Nay, but in day-dreams, for terror, for pity, +The trees wave their heads with an omen to tell; +Nay, but in night-dreams, throughout the dark city, +The hours, clashed together, lose count in the bell. + +Shall I not one day remember thy bower, +One day when all days are one day to me? - +Thinking, "I stirred not, and yet had the power," +Yearning, "Ah God, if again it might be!" +Peace, peace! such a small lamp illumes, on this highway, +So dimly so few steps in front of my feet, - +Yet shows me that her way is parted from my way. . . . +Out of sight, beyond light, at what goal may we meet? + +Dante Gabriel Rossetti [1828-1882] + + +SONG + +We break the glass, whose sacred wine +To some beloved health we drain, +Lest future pledges, less divine, +Should e'er the hallowed toy profane; +And thus I broke a heart that poured +Its tide of feelings out for thee, +In draughts, by after-times deplored, +Yet dear to memory. + +But still the old, impassioned ways +And habits of my mind remain, +And still unhappy light displays +Thine image chambered in my brain, +And still it looks as when the hours +Went by like flights of singing birds, +Or that soft chain of spoken flowers +And airy gems, - thy words. + +Edward Coote Pinkney [1802-1828] + + +MAUD MULLER + +Maud Muller on a summer's day +Raked the meadow sweet with hay. + +Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth +Of simple beauty and rustic health. + +Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee +The mock-bird echoed from his tree. + +But when she glanced to the far-off town, +White from its hill-slope looking down, + +The sweet song died, and a vague unrest +And a nameless longing filled her breast, - + +A wish that she hardly dared to own, +For something better than she had known. + +The Judge rode slowly down the lane, +Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane. + +He drew his bridle in the shade +Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid, + +And asked a draught from the spring that flowed +Through the meadow across the road. + +She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up, +And filled for him her small tin cup, + +And blushed as she gave it, looking down +On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown. + +"Thanks!" said the Judge; "a sweeter draught +From a fairer hand was never quaffed." + +He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees, +Of the singing birds and the humming bees; + +Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether +The cloud in the west would bring foul weather. + +And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown, +And her graceful ankles bare and brown; + +And listened, while a pleased surprise +Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes. + +At last, like one who for delay +Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away. + +Maud Muller looked and sighed: "Ah me! +That I the Judge's bride might be! + +"He would dress me up in silks so fine, +And praise and toast me at his wine. + +"My father should wear a broadcloth coat; +My brother should sail a painted boat. + +"I'd dress my mother so grand and gay, +And the baby should have a new toy each day. + +"And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor, +And all should bless me who left our door." + +The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill, +And saw Maud Muller standing still. + +"A form more fair, a face more sweet, +Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet. + +"And her modest answer and graceful air +Show her wise and good as she is fair. + +"Would she were mine, and I to-day, +Like her, a harvester of hay; + +"No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, +Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues, + +"But low of cattle and song of birds, +And health and quiet and loving words." + +But he thought of his sisters, proud and cold, +And his mother, vain of her rank and gold. + +So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on, +And Maud was left in the field alone. + +But the lawyers smiled that afternoon, +When he hummed in court an old love-tune; + +And the young girl mused beside the well +Till the rain on the unraked clover fell. + +He wedded a wife of richest dower, +Who lived for fashion, as he for power. + +Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow, +He watched a picture come and go; + +And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes +Looked out in their innocent surprise. + +Oft, when the wine in his glass was red, +He longed for the wayside well instead; + +And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms +To dream of meadows and clover-blooms. + +And the proud man sighed, with a secret pain, +"Ah, that I were free again! + +"Free as when I rode that day, +Where the barefoot maiden raked her hay." + +She wedded a man unlearned and poor, +And many children played round her door. + +But care and sorrow, and childbirth pain, +Left their traces on heart and brain. + +And oft, when the summer sun shone hot +On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot, + +And she heard the little spring brook fall +Over the roadside, through the wall, + +In the shade of the apple-tree again +She saw a rider draw his rein; + +And, gazing down with timid grace, +She felt his pleased eyes read her face. + +Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls +Stretched away into stately halls; + +The weary wheel to a spinet turned, +The tallow candle an astral burned, + +And for him who sat by the chimney lug, +Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug, + +A manly form at her side she saw, +And joy was duty and love was law. + +Then she took up her burden of life again, +Saying only, "It might have been." + +Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, +For rich repiner and household drudge! + +God pity them both! and pity us all, +Who vainly the dreams of youth recall. + +For all sad words of tongue or pen, +The saddest are these: "It might have been!" + +Ah, well! for us all some sweet hope lies +Deeply buried from human eyes; + +And, in the hereafter, angels may +Roll the stone from its grave away! + +John Greenleaf Whittier [1807-1892] + + +LA GRISETTE + +Ah, Clemence! when I saw thee last +Trip down the Rue de Seine, +And turning, when thy form had passed, +I said, "We meet again, - +I dreamed not in that idle glance +Thy latest image came, +And only left to memory's trance +A shadow and a name. + +The few strange words my lips had taught +Thy timid voice to speak, +Their gentler signs, which often brought +Fresh roses to thy cheek, +The trailing of thy long loose hair +Bent o'er my couch of pain, +All, all returned, more sweet, more fair; +Oh, had we met again! + +I walked where saint and virgin keep +The vigil lights of Heaven, +I knew that thou hadst woes to weep, +And sins to be forgiven; +I watched where Genevieve was laid, +I knelt by Mary's shrine, +Beside me low, soft voices prayed; +Alas! but where was thine? + +And when the morning sun was bright, +When wind and wave were calm, +And flamed, in thousand-tinted light, +The rose of Notre Dame, +I wandered through the haunts of men, +From Boulevard to Quai, +Till, frowning o'er Saint Etienne, +The Pantheon's shadow lay. + +In vain, in vain; we meet no more, +Nor dream what fates befall; +And long upon the stranger's shore +My voice on thee may call, +When years have clothed the line in moss +That tells thy name and days, +And withered, on thy simple cross, +The wreaths of Pere-la-Chaise! + +Oliver Wendell Holmes [1809-1894] + + +THE DARK MAN + +Rose o' the World, she came to my bed +And changed the dreams of my heart and head; +For joy of mine she left grief of hers, +And garlanded me with a crown of furze. + +Rose o' the World, they go out and in, +And watch me dream and my mother spin; +And they pity the tears on my sleeping face +While my soul's away in a fairy place. + +Rose o' the World, they have words galore, +And wide's the swing of my mother's door: +And soft they speak of my darkened eyes - +But what do they know, who are all so wise? + +Rose o' the World, the pain you give +Is worth all days that a man may live - +Worth all shy prayers that the colleens say +On the night that darkens the wedding-day. + +Rose o' the World, what man would wed +When he might dream of your face instead? +Might go to the grave with the blessed pain +Of hungering after your face again? + +Rose o' the World, they may talk their fill, +For dreams are good, and my life stands still +While their lives' red ashes the gossips stir; +But my fiddle knows - and I talk to her. + +Nora Hopper [1871-1906] + + +EURYDICE + +He came to call me back from death +To the bright world above. +I hear him yet with trembling breath +Low calling, "O sweet love! +Come back! The earth is just as fair; +The flowers, the open skies are there; +Come back to life and love!" + +Oh! all my heart went out to him, +And the sweet air above. +With happy tears my eyes were dim; +I called him, "O sweet love! +I come, for thou art all to me. +Go forth, and I will follow thee, +Right back to life and love! + +I followed through the cavern black; +I saw the blue above. +Some terror turned me to look back: +I heard him wail, "O love! +What hast thou done! What hast thou done!" +And then I saw no more the sun, +And lost were life and love. + +Francis William Bourdillon [1852-1921] + + +A WOMAN'S THOUGHT + +I am a woman - therefore I may not +Call to him, cry to him, +Fly to him, +Bid him delay not! + +Then when he comes to me, I must sit quiet: +Still as a stone - +All silent and cold. +If my heart riot - +Crush and defy it! +Should I grow bold, +Say one dear thing to him, +All my life fling to him, +Cling to him - +What to atone +Is enough for my sinning! +This were the cost to me, +This were my winning - +That he were lost to me. + +Not as a lover +At last if he part from me, +Tearing my heart from me, +Hurt beyond cure, - +Calm and demure +Then must I hold me, +In myself fold me, +Lest he discover; +Showing no sign to him +By look of mine to him +What he has been to me - +How my heart turns to him, +Follows him, yearns to him, +Prays him to love me. + +Pity me, lean to me, +Thou God above me! + +Richard Watson Gilder [1844-1900] + + +LAUS VENERIS +A Picture By Burne-Jones + +Pallid with too much longing, +White with passion and prayer, +Goddess of love and beauty, +She sits in the picture there, - + +Sits with her dark eyes seeking +Something more subtle still +Than the old delights of loving +Her measureless days to fill. + +She has loved and been loved so often +In her long, immortal years, +That she tires of the worn-out rapture, +Sickens of hopes and fears. + +No joys or sorrows move her, +Done with her ancient pride; +For her head she found too heavy +The crown she has cast aside. + +Clothed in her scarlet splendor, +Bright with her glory of hair +Sad that she is not mortal, - +Eternally sad and fair, + +Longing for joys she knows not, +Athirst with a vain desire, +There she sits in the picture, +Daughter of foam and fire. + +Louise Chandler Moulton [1835-1908] + + +ADONAIS + +Shall we meet no more, my love, at the binding of the sheaves, +In the happy harvest-fields, as the sun sinks low, +When the orchard paths are dim with the drift of fallen leaves, +And the reapers sing together, in the mellow, misty eves: +O, happy are the apples when the south winds blow! + +Love met us in the orchard, ere the corn had gathered plume, - +O, happy are the apples when the south winds blow! +Sweet as summer days that die when the months are in the bloom, +And the peaks are ripe with sunset, like the tassels of the broom, +In the happy harvest-fields as the sun sinks low. + +Sweet as summer days that die, leafing sweeter each to each, - +O, happy are the apples when the south winds blow! +All the heart was full of feeling: love had ripened into speech, +Like the sap that turns to nectar in the velvet of the peach, +In the happy harvest-fields as the sun sinks low. + +Sweet as summer days that die at the ripening of the corn, - +O, happy are the apples when the south winds blow! +Sweet as lovers' fickle oaths, sworn to faithless maids forsworn, +When the musty orchard breathes like a mellow drinking-horn, +Over happy harvest-fields as the sun sinks low. + +Love left us at the dying of the mellow autumn eves, - +O, happy are the apples when the south winds blow! +When the skies are ripe and fading, like the colors of the leaves, +And the reapers kiss and part, at the binding of the sheaves, +In the happy harvest-fields as the sun sinks low. + +Then the reapers gather home, from the gray and misty meres; - +O, happy are the apples when the south winds blow! +Then the reapers gather home, and they bear upon their spears, +One whose face is like the moon, fallen gray among the spheres, +With the daylight's curse upon it, as the sun sinks low. + +Faint as far-off bugles blowing, soft and low the reapers sung; - +O, happy are the apples when the south winds blow! +Sweet as summer in the blood, when the heart is ripe and young, +Love is sweetest in the dying, like the sheaves he lies among, +In the happy harvest-fields as the sun sinks low. + +William Wallace Harney [1831-1912] + + +FACE TO FACE + +If my face could only promise that its color would remain; +If my heart were only certain it would hide the moment's pain; +I would meet you and would greet you in the old familiar tone, +And naught should ever show you the wrong that you have done. + +If my trembling hand were steady, if my smiles had not all fled; +If my eyes spoke not so plainly of the tears they often shed; +I would meet you and would greet you at the old trysting place, +And perchance you'd deem me happy if you met me face to face. + +If the melody of Springtime awoke no wild refrain, +If the Autumn's gold burthen awoke no living pain, +I would meet you and would greet you, as years ago we met, +Before our hearts were shipwrecked on the ocean of regret. + +If my woman's soul were stronger, if my heart were not so true, +I should long have ceased remembering the love I had for you; +But I dare not meet or greet you, in the old familiar way, +Until we meet in Heaven, where all tears have passed away. + +Frances Cochrane [18 - + + +ASHORE + +Out I came from the dancing-place, +The night-wind met me face to face, - + +A wind off the harbor, cold and keen, +"I know," it whistled, "where thou hast been." + +A faint voice fell from the stars above - +"Thou? whom we lighted to shrines of Love!" + +I found when I reached my lonely room +A faint sweet scent in the unlit gloom. + +And this was the worst of all to bear, +For some one had left white lilac there. + +The flower you loved, in times that were. + +Laurence Hope [1865-1904] + + +KHRISTNA AND HIS FLUTE + +Be still, my heart, and listen, +For sweet and yet acute +I hear the wistful music +Of Khristna and his flute. +Across the cool, blue evenings, +Throughout the burning days, +Persuasive and beguiling, +He plays and plays and plays. + +Ah, none may hear such music +Resistant to its charms, +The household work grows weary, +And cold the husband's arms. +I must arise and follow, +To seek, in vain pursuit, +The blueness and the distance, +The sweetness of that flute! + +In linked and liquid sequence, +The plaintive notes dissolve +Divinely tender secrets +That none but he can solve. +O Khristna, I am coming, +I can no more delay. +"My heart has flown to join thee," +How shall my footsteps stay? + +Beloved, such thoughts have peril; +The wish is in my mind +That I had fired the jungle, +And left no leaf behind, - +Burnt all bamboos to ashes, +And made their music mute, - +To save thee from the magic +Of Khristna and his flute. + +Laurence Hope [1865-1904] + + +IMPENITENTIA ULTIMA + +Before my light goes out forever, if God should give me choice of graces, +I would not reck of length of days, nor crave for things to be; +But cry: "One day of the great lost days, one face of all the faces, +Grant me to see and touch once more and nothing more to see! + +"For, Lord, I was free of all Thy flowers, but I chose the world's sad roses, +And that is why my feet are torn and mine eyes are blind with sweat, +But at Thy terrible judgment seat, when this my tired life closes, +I am ready to reap whereof I sowed, and pay my righteous debt. + +"But once, before the sand is run and the silver thread is broken, +Give me a grace and cast aside the veil of dolorous years, +Grant me one hour of all mine hours, and let me see for a token +Her pure and pitiful eyes shine out, and bathe her feet with tears." + +Her pitiful hands should calm and her hair stream down and blind me, +Out of the sight of night, and out of the reach of fear, +And her eyes should be my light whilst the sun went out behind me, +And the viols in her voice be the last sound in mine ear. + +Before the ruining waters fall and my life be carried under, +And Thine anger cleave me through, as a child cuts down a flower, +I will praise Thee, Lord, in hell, while my limbs are racked asunder, +For the last sad sight of her face and the little grace of an hour. + +Ernest Dowson [1867-1900] + + +NON SUM QUALIS ERAM BONAE SUB REGNO CYNARAE + +Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine +There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed +Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine; +And I was desolate and sick of an old passion, +Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head. +I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion. + +All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat, +Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay; +Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet; +But I was desolate and sick of an old passion, +When I awoke and found the dawn was gray: +I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion. + +I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind, +Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng, +Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind; +But I was desolate and sick of an old passion, +Yea, all the time, because the dance was long: +I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion. + +I cried for madder music and for stronger wine, +But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire, +Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine; +And I am desolate and sick of an old passion, +Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire: +I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion. + +Ernest Dowson [1867-1900] + + +QUID NON SPEREMUS, AMANTES? + +Why is there in the least touch of her hands +More grace than other women's lips bestow, +If love is but a slave to fleshly bands +Of flesh to flesh, wherever love may go? + +Why choose vain grief and heavy-hearted hours +For her lost voice, and dear remembered hair, +If love may cull his honey from all flowers, +And girls grow thick as violets, everywhere? + +Nay! She is gone, and all things fall apart; +Or she is cold, and vainly have we prayed; +And broken is the summer's splendid heart, +And hope within a deep, dark grave is laid. + +As man aspires and falls, yet a soul springs +Out of his agony of flesh at last, +So love that flesh enthralls, shall rise on wings +Soul-centered, when the rule of flesh is past. + +Then, most High Love, or wreathed with myrtle sprays, +Or crownless and forlorn, nor less a star, +Thee may I serve and follow all my days, +Whose thorns are sweet as never roses are! + +Ernest Dowson [1867-1900] + + +"SO SWEET LOVE SEEMED" + +So sweet love seemed that April morn, +When first we kissed beside the thorn, +So strangely sweet, it was not strange +We thought that love could never change. + +But I can tell - let truth be told - +That love will change in growing old; +Though day by day is naught to see, +So delicate his motions be. + +And in the end 'twill come to pass +Quite to forget what once he was, +Nor even in fancy to recall +The pleasure that was all in all. + +His little spring, that sweet we found, +So deep in summer floods is drowned, +I wonder, bathed in joy complete, +How love so young could be so sweet. + +Robert Bridges [1844-1930] + + +AN OLD TUNE +After Gerard De Nerval + +There is an air for which I would disown +Mozart's, Rossini's, Weber's melodies, - +A sweet sad air that languishes and sighs, +And keeps its secret charm for me alone. + +Whene'er I hear that music vague and old, +Two hundred years are mist that rolls away; +The thirteenth Louis reigns, and I behold +A green land golden in the dying day. + +An old red castle, strong with stony towers, +And windows gay with many-colored glass; +Wide plains, and rivers flowing among flowers, +That bathe the castle basement as they pass. + +In antique weed, with dark eyes and gold hair, +A lady looks forth from her window high; +It may be that I knew and found her fair, +In some forgotten life, long time gone by. + +Andrew Lang [1844-1912] + + +REFUGE + +Set your face to the sea, fond lover, - +Cold in darkness the sea-winds blow! +Waves and clouds and the night will cover +All your passion and all your woe: +Sobbing waves, and the death within them, +Sweet as the lips that once you pressed - +Pray that your hopeless heart may win them! +Pray that your weary life may rest! + +Set your face to the stars, fond lover, - +Calm, and silent, and bright, and true! - +They will pity you, they will hover +Softly over the deep for you. +Winds of heaven will sigh your dirges, +Tears of heaven for you be spent, +And sweet for you will the murmuring surges +Pour the wail of their low lament. + +Set your face to the lonely spaces, +Vast and gaunt, of the midnight sky! +There, with the drifting cloud, your place is, +There with the griefs that cannot die. +Love is a mocking fiend's derision, +Peace a phantom, and faith a snare! +Make the hope of your heart a vision - +Look to heaven, and find it there! + +William Winter [1836- + + +MIDSUMMER + +After the May time and after the June time +Rare with blossoms and perfume sweet, +Cometh the round world's royal noon time, +The red midsummer of blazing heat, +When the sun, like an eye that never closes, +Bends on the earth its fervid gaze, +And the winds are still, and the crimson roses +Droop and wither and die in its rays. + +Unto my heart has come this season, +O, my lady, my worshiped one, +When, over the stars of Pride and Reason, +Sails Love's cloudless, noonday sun. +Like a great red ball in my bosom burning +With fires that nothing can quench or tame, +It glows till my heart itself seems turning +Into a liquid lake of flame. + +The hopes half shy and the sighs all tender, +The dreams and fears of an earlier day, +Under the noontide's royal splendor, +Droop like roses, and wither away. +From the hills of Doubt no winds are blowing, +From the isles of Pain no breeze is sent, - +Only the sun in a white heat glowing +Over an ocean of great content. + +Sink, O my soul, in this golden glory! +Die, O my heart, in thy rapture-swoon! +For the Autumn must come with its mournful story. +And Love's midsummer will fade too soon. + +Ella Wheeler Wilcox [1850-1919] + + +ASHES OF ROSES + +Soft on the sunset sky +Bright daylight closes, +Leaving when light doth die, +Pale hues that mingling lie - +Ashes of roses. + +When love's warm sun is set, +Love's brightness closes; +Eyes with hot tears are wet, +In hearts there linger yet +Ashes of roses. + +Elaine Goodale Eastman [1863- + + +SYMPATHY + +The color gladdens all your heart; +You call it Heaven, dear, but I - +Now Hope and I are far apart - +Call it the sky. + +I know that Nature's tears have wet +The world with sympathy; but you, +Who know not any sorrow yet, +Call it the dew. + +Althea Gyles [ ? ] + + +THE LOOK + +Strephon kissed me in the spring, +Robin in the fall, +But Colin only looked at me +And never kissed at all. + +Strephon's kiss was lost in jest, +Robin's lost in play, +But the kiss in Colin's eyes +Haunts me night and day. + +Sara Teasdale [1884-1933] + + +"WHEN MY BELOVED SLEEPING LIES" + +When my beloved sleeping lies +I cannot look at him for tears, +Such mournful peace is on his eyes. + +A look of lonely death he wears, +And graven very calm and deep +Lie all the sorrows of old years. + +He is so passionless in sleep, +With all his strength relaxed to rest; +I cannot see him and not weep. + +For weakness life has not confessed +And shadowed scars of old mistakes, +I take his head upon my breast, +And hold my dearest till he wakes. + +Irene Rutherford McLeod [1891- + + +LOVE AND LIFE + +"Give me a fillet, Love," quoth I, +"To bind my Sweeting's heart to me, +So ne'er a chance of earth or sky +Shall part us ruthlessly: +A fillet, Love, but not to chafe +My Sweeting's soul, to cause her pain; +But just to bind her close and safe +Through snow and blossom and sun and rain: +A fillet, boy!" +Love said, "Here's joy." + +"Give me a fetter, Life," quoth I, +"To bind to mine my Sweeting's heart, +So Death himself must fail to pry +With Time the two apart: +A fetter, Life, that each shall wear, +Whose precious bondage each shall know. +I prithee, Life, no more forbear - +Why dost thou wait and falter so? +Haste, Life - be brief!" +Said Life: - "Here's grief." + +Julie Mathilde Lippman [1864- + + +LOVE'S PRISONER + +Sweet love has twined his fingers in my hair, +And laid his hand across my wondering eyes. +I cannot move save in the narrow space +Of his strong arms' embrace, +Nor see but only in my own heart where +His image lies. +How can I tell, +Emprisoned so well, +If in the outer world be sunset or sunrise? +Sweet Love has laid his hand across my eyes. + +Sweet Love has loosed his fingers from my hair, +His lifted hand has left my eyelids wet. +I cannot move save to pursue his fleet +And unreturning feet, +Nor see but in my ruined heart, and there +His face lies yet. +How should I know, +Distraught and blinded so, +If in the outer world be sunrise or sunset? +Sweet Love has freed my eyes, but they are wet. + +Mariana Griswold Van Rensselaer [1851-1934] + + +ROSIES + +There's a rosie-show in Derry, +An' a rosie-show in Down; +An' 'tis like there's wan, I'm thinkin', +'ll be held in Randalstown; +But if I had the choosin' +Av a rosie-prize the day, +'Twould be a pink wee rosie +Like he plucked whin rakin' hay: +Yon pink wee rosie in my hair - +He fixed it troth - an' kissed it there! +White gulls wor wheelin' roun' the sky +Down by - down by. + +Ay, there's rosies sure in Derry, +An' there's famous wans in Down; +Och there's rosies all a-hawkin' +Through the heart av London town! +But if I had the liftin' +Or the buyin' av a few, +I'd choose jist pink wee rosies +That's all drenchin' wid the dew - +Yon pink wee rosies wid the tears! +Och wet, wet tears! - ay, troth, 'tis years +Since we kep' rakin' in the hay +Thon day - thon day! + +Agnes I. Hanrahan [18 + + +AT THE COMEDY + +Last night, in snowy gown and glove, +I saw you watch the play +Where each mock hero won his love +In the old unlifelike way. + +(And, oh, were life their little scene +Where love so smoothly ran, +How different, Dear, this world had been +Since this old world began!) + +For you, who saw them gayly win +Both hand and heart away, +Knew well where dwelt the mockery in +That foolish little play. + +("If love were all - if love were all," +The viols sobbed and cried, +"Then love were best whate'er befall!" +Low, low, the flutes replied.) + +And you, last night, did you forget, +So far from me, so near? +For watching there your eyes were wet +With just an idle tear! + +(And down the great dark curtain fell +Upon their foolish play: +But you and I knew - Oh, too well! - +Life went another way!) + +Arthur Stringer [1874- + + +"SOMETIME IT MAY BE" + +Sometime it may be you and I +In that deserted yard shall lie +Where memories fade away; +Caring no more for our old dreams, +Busy with new and alien themes, +The saints and sages say. + +But let our graves be side by side, +So passers-by at even-tide +May pause a moment's space: +"Ah, they were lovers who lie here! +Else why these low graves laid so near, +In this forgotten place?" + +Arthur Colton [1868- + + +"I HEARD A SOLDIER" + +I heard a soldier sing some trifle +Out in the sun-dried veldt alone: +He lay and cleaned his grimy rifle +Idly, behind a stone. + +"If after death, love, comes a waking, +And in their camp so dark and still +The men of dust hear bugles, breaking +Their halt upon the hill. + +"To me the slow and silver pealing +That then the last high trumpet pours +Shall softer than the dawn come stealing, +For, with its call, comes yours!" + +What grief of love had he to stifle, +Basking so idly by his stone, +That grimy soldier with his rifle +Out in the veldt, alone? + +Herbert Trench [1865-1923] + + +THE LAST MEMORY + +When I am old, and think of the old days, +And warm my hands before a little blaze, +Having forgotten love, hope, fear, desire, +I shall see, smiling out of the pale fire, +One face, mysterious and exquisite; +And I shall gaze, and ponder over it, +Wondering, was it Leonardo wrought +That stealthy ardency, where passionate thought +Burns inward, a revealing flame, and glows +To the last ecstasy, which is repose? +Was it Bronzino, those Borghese eyes? +And, musing thus among my memories, +O unforgotten! you will come to seem, +As pictures do, remembered, some old dream. +And I shall think of you as something strange, +And beautiful, and full of helpless change, +Which I beheld and carried in my heart; +But you, I loved, will have become a part +Of the eternal mystery, and love +Like a dim pain; and I shall bend above +My little fire, and shiver, being cold, +When you are no more young, and I am old. + +Arthur Symons [1865- + + +"DOWN BY THE SALLEY GARDENS" + +Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet; +She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet. +She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree; +But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree. +In a field by the river my love and I did stand, +And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand. +She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs; +But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears. + +William Butler Yeats [1865- + + +ASHES OF LIFE + +Love has gone and left me, and the days are all alike. +Eat I must, and sleep I will - and would that night were here! +But ah, to lie awake and hear the slow hours strike! +Would that it were day again, with twilight near! + +Love has gone and left me, and I don't know what to do; +This or that or what you will is all the same to me; +But all the things that I begin I leave before I'm through - +There's little use in anything as far as I can see. + +Love has gone and left me, and the neighbors knock and borrow, +And life goes on forever like the gnawing of a mouse. +And to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow +There's this little street and this little house. + +Edna St. Vincent Millay [1892- + + +A FAREWELL + +Thou wilt not look on me? +Ah, well! the world is wide; +The rivers still are rolling free, +Song and the sword abide; +And who sets forth to sail the sea +Shall follow with the tide. + +Thrall of my darkling day, +I vassalage fulfil: +Seeking the myrtle and the bay, +(They thrive when hearts are chill!) +The straitness of the narrowing way, +The house where all is still. + +Alice Brown [1857- + + + + + + + +THE PARTED LOVERS + + + + + + +SONG +From "Twelfth Night" + +O mistress mine, where are you roaming? +O, stay and hear; your true Love's coming, +That can sing both high and low: +Trip no further, pretty Sweeting; +Journeys end in lovers meeting, +Every wise man's son doth know. + +What is love? 'tis not hereafter; +Present mirth hath present laughter; +What's to come is still unsure: +In delay there lies no plenty: +Then come kiss me, Sweet-and-twenty, +Youth's a stuff will not endure. + +William Shakespeare [1564-1616] + + +"GO, LOVELY ROSE" + +Go, lovely Rose - +Tell her that wastes her time and me, +That now she knows, +When I resemble her to thee, +How sweet and fair she seems to be. + +Tell her that's young, +And shuns to have her graces spied, +That hadst thou sprung +In deserts, where no men abide, +Thou must have uncommended died. + +Small is the worth +Of beauty from the light retired: +Bid her come forth, +Suffer herself to be desired, +And not blush so to be admired. + +Then die - that she +The common fate of all things rare +May read in thee; +How small a part of time they share +That are so wondrous sweet and fair! + +Edmund Waller [1606-1687] + + +TO THE ROSE: A SONG + +Go, happy Rose, and, interwove +With other flowers, bind my love. +Tell her, too, she must not be +Longer flowing, longer free, +That so oft fettered me. + +Say, if she's fretful, I have bands +Of pearl and gold to bind her hands; +Tell her, if she struggle still, +I have myrtle rods at will +For to tame, though not to kill. + +Take thou my blessing thus, and go +And tell her this, - but do not so! - +Lest a handsome anger fly +Like a lightning from her eye, +And burn thee up, as well as I! + +Robert Herrick [1591-1674] + + +MEMORY +From "Britannia's Pastorals" + +Marina's gone, and now sit I, +As Philomela (on a thorn, +Turned out of nature's livery), +Mirthless, alone, and all forlorn: +Only she sings not, while my sorrows can +Breathe forth such notes as fit a dying swan. + +So shuts the marigold her leaves +At the departure of the sun; +So from the honeysuckle sheaves +The bee goes when the day is done; +So sits the turtle when she is but one, +And so all woe, as I since she is gone. + +To some few birds, kind Nature hath +Made all the summer as one day: +Which once enjoyed, cold winter's wrath +As night, they sleeping pass away. +Those happy creatures are, that know not yet +The pain to be deprived or to forget. + +I oft have heard men say there be +Some that with confidence profess +The helpful Art of Memory: +But could they teach Forgetfulness, +I'd learn; and try what further art could do +To make me love her and forget her too. + +Sad melancholy, that persuades +Men from themselves, to think they be +Headless, or other bodies' shades, +Hath long and bootless dwelt with me; +For could I think she some idea were, +I still might love, forget, and have her here. + +But such she is not: nor would I, +For twice as many torments more, +As her bereaved company +Hath brought to those I felt before, +For then no future time might hap to know +That she deserved; or I did love her so. + +Ye hours, then, but as minutes be! +(Though so I shall be sooner old) +Till I those lovely graces see, +Which, but in her, can none behold; +Then be an age! that we may never try +More grief in parting, but grow old and die. + +William Browne [1591-1643?] + + +TO LUCASTA, GOING TO THE WARS + +Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind, +That from the nunnery +Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind +To war and arms I fly. + +True, a new mistress now I chase, +The first foe in the field; +And with a stronger faith embrace +A sword, a horse, a shield. + +Yet this inconstancy is such +As thou too shalt adore; +I could not love thee, Dear, so much, +Loved I not Honor more. + +Richard Lovelace [1618-1658] + + +TO LUCASTA, GOING BEYOND THE SEAS + +If to be absent were to be +Away from thee; +Or that when I am gone +You or I were alone; +Then, my Lucasta, might I crave +Pity from blustering wind or swallowing wave. + +But I'll not sigh one blast or gale +To swell my sail, +Or pay a tear to 'suage +The foaming blue god's rage; +For whether he will let me pass +Or no, I'm still as happy as I was. + +Though seas and land be twixt us both, +Our faith and troth, +Like separated souls, +All time and space controls: +Above the highest sphere we meet +Unseen, unknown; and greet as Angels greet. + +So then we do anticipate +Our after-fate, +And are alive in the skies, +If thus our lips and eyes +Can speak like spirits unconfined +In Heaven, their earthy bodies left behind. + +Richard Lovelace [1618-1658] + + +SONG TO A FAIR YOUNG LADY, GOING OUT OF THE TOWN IN THE SPRING + +Ask not the cause why sullen Spring +So long delays her flowers to bear; +Why warbling birds forget to sing, +And winter storms invert the year: +Chloris is gone; and fate provides +To make it Spring where she resides. + +Chloris is gone, the cruel fair; +She cast not back a pitying eye: +But left her lover in despair +To sigh, to languish, and to die: +Ah! how can those fair eyes endure +To give the wounds they will not cure? + +Great God of Love, why hast thou made +A face that can all hearts command, +That all religions can invade, +And change the laws of every land? +Where thou hadst placed such power before, +Thou shouldst have made her mercy more. + +When Chloris to the temple comes, +Adoring crowds before her fall; +She can restore the dead from tombs +And every life but mine recall, +I only am by Love designed +To be the victim for mankind. + +John Dryden [1631-1700] + + +SONG +Written At Sea, In The First Dutch War (1665), +The Night Before An Engagement + +To all you ladies now at land +We men at sea indite; +But first would have you understand +How hard it is to write: +The Muses now, and Neptune too, +We must implore to write to you - +With a fa, la, la, la, la. + +For though the Muses should prove kind, +And fill our empty brain, +Yet if rough Neptune rouse the wind +To wave the azure main, +Our paper, pen, and ink, and we, +Roll up and down our ships at sea - +With a fa, la, la, la, la. + +Then if we write not by each post, +Think not we are unkind; +Nor yet conclude our ships are lost +By Dutchmen or by wind: +Our tears we'll send a speedier way, +The tide shall bring them twice a day - +With a fa, la, la, la, la. + +The King with wonder and surprise +Will swear the seas grow bold, +Because the tides will higher rise +Than e'er they did of old: +But let him know it is our tears +Bring floods of grief to Whitehall stairs - +With a fa, la, la, la, la. + +Should foggy Opdam chance to know +Our sad and dismal story, +The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe, +And quit their fort at Goree: +For what resistance can they find +From men who've left their hearts behind? - +With a fa, la, la, la, la. + +Let wind and weather do its worst, +Be you to us but kind; +Let Dutchmen vapor, Spaniards curse, +No sorrow we shall find: +'Tis then no matter how things go, +Or who's our friend, or who's our foe - +With a fa, la, la, la, la. + +To pass our tedious hours away +We throw a merry main, +Or else at serious ombre play: +But why should we in vain +Each other's ruin thus pursue? +We were undone when we left you - +With a fa, la, la, la, la. + +But now our fears tempestuous grow +And cast our hopes away; +Whilst you, regardless of our woe, +Sit careless at a play: +Perhaps permit some happier man +To kiss your hand, or flirt your fan - +With a fa, la, la, la, la. + +When any mournful tune you hear, +That dies in every note +As if it sighed with each man's care +For being so remote, +Think then how often love we've made +To you, when all those tunes were played - +With a fa, la, la, la, la. + +In justice you cannot refuse +To think of our distress, +When we for hopes of honor lose +Our certain happiness: +All those designs are but to prove +Ourselves more worthy of your love - +With a fa, la, la, la, la. + +And now we've told you all our loves, +And likewise all our fears, +In hopes this declaration moves +Some pity for our tears: +Let's hear of no inconstancy - +We have too much of that at sea - +With a fa, la, la, la, la. + +Charles Sackville [1638-1706] + + +SONG + +In vain you tell your parting lover, +You wish fair winds may waft him over. +Alas! what winds can happy prove +That bear me far from what I love? +Alas! what dangers on the main +Can equal those that I sustain +From slighted vows, and cold disdain? + +Be gentle, and in pity choose +To wish the wildest tempests loose: +That, thrown again upon the coast, +Where first my shipwrecked heart was lost, +I may once more repeat my pain; +Once more in dying notes complain +Of slighted vows and cold disdain. + +Matthew Prior [1664-1721] + + +BLACK-EYED SUSAN + +All in the Downs the fleet was moored, +The streamers waving in the wind, +When black-eyed Susan came aboard; +"O! where shall I my true-love find? +Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true +If my sweet William sails among the crew." + +William, who high upon the yard +Rocked with the billow to and fro, +Soon as her well-known voice he heard +He sighed, and cast his eyes below: +The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands, +And, quick as lightning, on the deck he stands. + +So the sweet lark, high poised in air, +Shuts close his pinions to his breast +If chance his mate's shrill call he hear, +And drops at once into her nest: - +The noblest captain in the British fleet +Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet. + +"O Susan, Susan, lovely dear, +My vows shall ever true remain; +Let me kiss off that falling tear; +We only part to meet again. +Change as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be +The faithful compass that still points to thee. + +"Believe not what the landmen say +Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind: +They'll tell thee, sailors, when away, +In every port a mistress find: +Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, +For Thou art present wheresoe'er I go. + +"If to far India's coast we sail, +Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright, +Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale, +Thy skin is ivory so white. +Thus every beauteous object that I view +Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. + +"Though battle call me from thy arms +Let not my pretty Susan mourn; +Though cannons roar, yet, safe from harms, +William shall to his Dear return. +Love turns aside the balls that round me fly, +Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye." + +The boatswain gave the dreadful word, +The sails their swelling bosom spread, +No longer must she stay aboard; +They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head. +Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land; +"Adieu!" she cries; and waved her lily hand. + +John Gay [1685-1732] + + +IRISH MOLLY O + +Oh! who is that poor foreigner that lately came to town, +And like a ghost that cannot rest still wanders up and down? +A poor, unhappy Scottish youth; - if more you wish to know. +His heart is breaking all for love of Irish Molly O! + +She's modest, mild, and beautiful, the fairest I have known - +The primrose of Ireland - all blooming here alone - +The primrose of Ireland, for wheresoe'er I go, +The only one entices me is Irish Molly O! + +When Molly's father heard of it, a solemn oath he swore, +That if she'd wed a foreigner he'd never see her more. +He sent for young MacDonald and he plainly told him so - +"I'll never give to such as you my Irish Molly O!" + +MacDonald heard the heavy news, and grievously did say - +"Farewell, my lovely Molly, since I'm banished far away, +A poor forlorn pilgrim I must wander to and fro, +And all for the sake of my Irish Molly O! + +"There is a rose in Ireland, I thought it would be mine: +But now that she is lost to me, I must for ever pine, +Till death shall come to comfort me, for to the grave I'll go, +And all for the sake of my Irish Molly O! + +"And now that I am dying, this one request I crave, +To place a marble tombstone above my humble grave! +And on the stone these simple words I'd have engraven so - +"'MacDonald lost his life for love of Irish Molly O!'" + +Unknown + + +SONG + +At setting day and rising morn, +Wi' soul that still shall love thee, +I'll ask o' Heaven thy safe return, +Wi' a' that can improve thee. +I'll visit aft the birken bush +Where first thou kindly tauld me +Sweet tales o' love, and hid my blush, +Whilst round thou didst infauld me. + +To a' our haunts I will repair, +By greenwood, shaw, or fountain, +Or where the summer day I'd share +Wi' thee upon yon mountain: +There will I tell the trees an' flooers, +From thoughts unfeigned an' tender; +By vows you're mine, by love is yours +A heart that cannot wander. + +Allan Ramsay [1686-1758] + + +LOCHABER NO MORE + +Farewell to Lochaber, an' farewell my Jean, +Where heartsome wi' thee I hae mony day been; +For Lochaber no more, Lochaber no more! +We'll maybe return to Lochaber no more! +These tears that I shed, they are a' for my dear, +An' no for the dangers attending on weir, +Though borne on rough seas to a far bloody shore, +Maybe to return to Lochaber no more. + +Though hurricanes rise, an' rise every wind, +They'll ne'er mak' a tempest like that in my mind; +Though loudest o' thunders on louder waves roar, +That's naething like leaving my love on the shore. +To leave thee behind me my heart is sair pained; +By ease that's inglorious no fame can be gained; +An' beauty an' love's the reward o' the brave, +An' I must deserve it before I can crave. + +Then glory, my Jeanie, maun plead my excuse; +Since honor commands me, how can I refuse? +Without it I ne'er can have merit for thee, +An' without thy favor I'd better not be, +I gae, then, my lass, to win honor an' fame, +An' if I should luck to come gloriously hame, +I'll bring a heart to thee wi' love running o'er, +An' then I'll leave thee an' Lochaber no more. + +Allan Ramsay [1686-1758] + + +WILLIE AND HELEN + +"Wharefore sou'd ye talk o' love, +Unless it be to pain us? +Wharefore sou'd ye talk o' love +Whan ye say the sea maun twain us?" + +"It's no because my love is light, +Nor for your angry deddy; +It's a' to buy ye pearlins bright, +An' to busk ye like a leddy." + +"O Willy, I can caird an' spin, +Sae ne'er can want for cleedin'; +An' gin I hae my Willy's heart, +I hae a' the pearls I'm heedin'. + +"Will it be time to praise this cheek +Whan years an' tears hae blenched it? +Will it be time to talk o' love +Whan cauld an' care hae quenched it?" + +He's laid ae han' about her waist - +The ither's held to heaven; +An' his luik was like the luik o' man +Wha's heart in twa is riven. + +Hew Ainslie [1792-1878] + + +ABSENCE + +With leaden foot Time creeps along +While Delia is away: +With her, nor plaintive was the song, +Nor tedious was the day. + +Ah, envious Power! reverse my doom; +Now double thy career, +Strain every nerve, stretch every plume, +And rest them when she's here! + +Richard Jago [1715-1781] + + +"MY MOTHER BIDS ME BIND MY HAIR" + +My mother bids me bind my hair +With bands of rosy hue; +Tie up my sleeves with ribbons rare, +And lace my bodice blue! + +"For why," she cries, "sit still and weep, +While others dance and play?" +Alas! I scarce can go, or creep, +While Lubin is away! + +'Tis sad to think the days are gone +When those we love were near! +I sit upon this mossy stone, +And sigh when none can hear: + +And while I spin my flaxen thread, +And sing my simple lay, +The village seems asleep, or dead, +Now Lubin is away! + +Anne Hunter [1742-1821] + + +"BLOW HIGH! BLOW LOW!" + +Blow high, blow low! let tempest tear +The mainmast by the board! +My heart (with thoughts of thee, my dear! +And love well stored) +Shall brave all danger, scorn all fear, +The roaring wind, the raging sea, +In hopes, on shore, +To be once more +Safe moored with thee. + +Aloft, while mountain-high we go, +The whistling winds that scud along, +And the surge roaring from below, +Shall my signal be +To think on thee. +And this shall be my Song, +Blow high, blow low! let tempest tear. . . . + +And on that night (when all the crew +The memory of their former lives, +O'er flowing cans of flip renew, +And drink their sweethearts and their wives), +I'll heave a sigh, +And think of thee. +And, as the ship toils through the sea, +The burden of my Song shall be, +Blow high, blow low! let tempest tear. . . . + +Charles Dibdin [1745-1814] + + +THE SILLER CROUN + +"And ye sall walk in silk attire, +And siller ha'e to spare, +Gin ye'll consent to be his bride, +Nor think o' Donald mair." + +Oh, wha wad buy a silken goun +Wi' a puir broken heart? +Or what's to me a siller croun, +Gin' frae my luve I part? + +The mind wha's every wish is pure +Far dearer is to me; +And ere I'm forced to break my faith, +I'll lay me doun and dee. + +For I ha'e pledged my virgin troth +Brave Donald's fate to share; +And he has gi'en to me his heart, +Wi' a' its virtues rare. + +His gentle manners wan my heart, +He gratefu' took the gift; +Could I but think to tak' it back, +It wad be waur than theft. + +For langest life can ne'er repay +The love he bears to me; +And ere I'm forced to break my troth +I'll lay me doun and dee. + +Susanna Blamire [1747-1794] + + +"MY NANNIE'S AWA'" + +Now in her green mantle blithe Nature arrays, +An' listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes, +While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw; +But to me it's delightless - my Nannie's awa'. + +The snaw-drap an' primrose our woodlands adorn, +An' violets bathe in the weet o' the morn; +They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, +They mind me o' Nannie - an' Nannie's awa'. + +Thou laverock that springs frae the dews of the lawn, +The shepherd to warn o' the gray-breaking dawn, +An' thou mellow mavis that hails the night-fa', +Give over for pity - my Nannie's awa'. + +Come, autumn, sae pensive, in yellow an' gray, +An' soothe me wi' tidings o' Nature's decay; +The dark, dreary winter, an' wild-driving snaw +Alane can delight me - now Nannie's awa'. + +Robert Burns [1759-1796] + + +"AE FOND KISS" + +Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; +Ae fareweel, alas, for ever! +Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, +Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee! + +Who shall say that Fortune grieves him +While the star of Hope she leaves him? +Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me, +Dark despair around benights me. + +I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy; +Naething could resist my Nancy; +But to see her was to love her, +Love but her, and love for ever. + +Had we never loved sae kindly, +Had we never loved sae blindly, +Never met, or never parted, +We had ne'er been broken-hearted. + +Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest! +Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest! +Thine be ilka joy and treasure, +Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure! + +Ae fond kiss, and then we sever! +Ae fareweel, alas, for ever! +Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, +Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee! + +Robert Burns [1759-1796] + + +"THE DAY RETURNS" + +The day returns, my bosom burns, +The blissful day we twa did meet; +Though winter wild in tempest toiled, +Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet. +Than a' the pride that loads the tide, +And crosses o'er the sultry line, - +Than kingly robes, and crowns and globes, +Heaven gave me more, - it made thee mine. + +While day and night can bring delight. +Or Nature aught of pleasure give, - +While joys above my mind can move, +For thee, and thee alone, I live. +When that grim foe of life below +Comes in between to make us part, +The iron hand that breaks our band, +It breaks my bliss, - it breaks my heart. + +Robert Burns [1759-1796] + + +MY BONNIE MARY + +Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, +And fill it in a silver tassie, +That I may drink, before I go, +A service to my bonnie lassie. +The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith, +Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry, +The ship rides by the Berwick-law, +And I maun leave my bonnie Mary. + +The trumpets sound, the banners fly, +The glittering spears are ranked ready; +The shouts o' war are heard afar, +The battle closes thick and bloody; +But it's no the roar o' sea or shore +Wad mak me langer wish to tarry; +Nor shout o' war that's heard afar - +It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary! + +Robert Burns [1759-1796] + + +A RED, RED ROSE + +O, my luve's like a red, red rose +That's newly sprung in June; +O, my luve's like the melodie +That's sweetly played in tune. + +As fair thou art, my bonnie lass, +So deep in luve am I; +And I will luve thee still, my dear, +Till a' the seas gang dry. + +Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, +And the rocks melt wi' the sun; +I will luve thee still, my dear, +While the sands o' life shall run. + +And fare-thee-weel, my only luve! +And fare-thee-weel a while! +And I will come again, my luve, +Though it were ten thousand mile. + +Robert Burns [1759-1796] + + +I LOVE MY JEAN + +Of a' the airts the wind can blaw +I dearly like the west, +For there the bonnie lassie lives, +The lassie I lo'e best: +There's wild woods grow, and rivers row, +And monie a hill between; +But day and night my fancy's flight +Is ever wi' my Jean. + +I see her in the dewy flowers, +I see her sweet and fair: +I hear her in the tunefu' birds, +I hear her charm the air: +There's not a bonnie flower that springs +By fountain, shaw, or green, +There's not a bonnie bird that sings +But minds me o' my Jean. + +O blaw ye westlin winds, blaw saft +Amang the leafy trees; +Wi' balmy gale, frae hill and dale +Bring hame the laden bees; +And bring the lassie back to me +That's aye sae neat and clean; +Ae smile o' her wad banish care, +Sae charming is my Jean. + +What sighs and vows amang the knowes +Hae passed atween us twa! +How fond to meet, how wae to part +That night she gaed awa! +The Powers aboon can only ken +To whom the heart is seen, +That nane can be sae dear to me +As my sweet lovely Jean! + +The first two stanzas by Robert Burns [1759-1796] +The last two by John Hamilton [1761-1814] + + +THE ROVER'S ADIEU +From "Rokeby" + +"A weary lot is thine, fair maid, +A weary lot is thine! +To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, +And press the rue for wine. +A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, +A feather of the blue, +A doublet of the Lincoln green - +No more of me ye knew, +My Love! +No more of me ye knew. + +"This morn is merry June, I trow, +The rose is budding fain; +But she shall bloom in winter snow +Ere we two meet again." +- He turned his charger as he spake +Upon the river shore, +He gave the bridle-reins a shake, +Said "Adieu for evermore, +My Love! +And adieu for evermore." + +Walter Scott [1771-1832] + + +"LOUDOUN'S BONNIE WOODS AND BRAES" + +"Loudoun's bonnie woods and braes, +I maun lea' them a', lassie; +Wha can thole when Britain's faes +Wad gi'e Britons law, lassie? +Wha wad shun the field o' danger? +Wha frae fame wad live a stranger? +Now when freedom bids avenge her, +Wha wad shun her ca', lassie? +Loudoun's bonnie woods and braes +Hae seen our happy bridal days, +And gentle Hope shall soothe thy waes +When I am far awa', lassie." + +"Hark! the swelling bugle sings, +Yielding joy to thee, laddie, +But the dolefu' bugle brings +Waefu' thoughts to me, laddie. +Lanely I maun climb the mountain, +Lanely stray beside the fountain, +Still the weary moments countin', +Far frae love and thee, laddie. +O'er the gory fields of war, +When Vengeance drives his crimson car, +Thou'lt maybe fa', frae me afar, +And nane to close thy e'e, laddie." + +"O! resume thy wonted smile! +O! suppress thy fears, lassie! +Glorious honor crowns the toil +That the soldier shares, lassie; +Heaven will shield thy faithful lover +Till the vengeful strife is over; +Then we'll meet nae mair to sever; +Till the day we dee, lassie. +'Midst our bonnie woods and braes +We'll spend our peaceful, happy days, +As blithe's yon lightsome lamb that plays +On Loudoun's flowery lea, lassie." + +Robert Tannahill [1774-1810] + + +"FARE THEE WELL" + +Fare thee well and if for ever, +Still for ever, fare thee well: +Even though unforgiving, never +'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel. + +Would that breast were bared before thee +Where thy head so oft hath lain, +While that placid sleep came o'er thee +Which thou ne'er canst know again: + +Would that breast, by thee glanced over, +Every inmost thought could show! +Then thou wouldst at last discover +'Twas not well to spurn it so. + +Though the world for this commend thee, - +Though it smile upon the blow, +Even its praises must offend thee, +Founded on another's woe: + +Though my many faults defaced me, +Could no other arm be found +Than the one which once embraced me, +To inflict a cureless wound? + +Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not; +Love may sink by slow decay, +But by sudden wrench, believe not +Hearts can thus be torn away: + +Still thine own its life retaineth; - +Still must mine, though bleeding, beat; +And the undying thought which paineth +Is - that we no more may meet. + +These are words of deeper sorrow +Than the wail above the dead; +Both shall live, but every morrow +Wake us from a widowed bed. + +And when thou wouldst solace gather, +When our child's first accents flow, +Wilt thou teach her to say "Father!" +Though his care she must forego? + +When her little hands shall press thee, +When her lip to thine is pressed, +Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee, +Think of him thy love had blessed! + +Should her lineaments resemble +Those thou nevermore may'st see, +Then thy heart will softly tremble +With a pulse yet true to me. + +All my faults perchance thou knowest, +All my madness none can know; +All my hopes, where'er thou goest, +Whither, yet with thee they go. + +Every feeling hath been shaken; +Pride, which not a world could bow, +Bows to thee, - by thee forsaken, +Even my soul forsakes me now: + +But 'tis done, - all words are idle, - +Words from me are vainer still; +But the thoughts we cannot bridle +Force their way without the will. + +Fare thee well! - thus disunited, +Torn from every nearer tie, +Seared in heart, and lone, and blighted, +More than this I scarce can die. + +George Gordon Byron [1788-1824] + + +"MAID OF ATHENS, ERE WE PART" + +Maid of Athens, ere we part, +Give, oh, give me back my heart! +Or, since that has left my breast, +Keep it now, and take the rest! +Hear my vow before I go, +Zoe mou, sas agapo. (My life, I love you.) + +By those tresses unconfined, +Wooed by each Aegean wind; +By those lids whose jetty fringe +Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge; +By those wild eyes like the roe, +Zoe mou, sas agapo. (My life, I love you.) + +By that lip I long to taste; +By that zone-encircled waist; +By all the token-flowers that tell +What words can never speak so well; +By love's alternate joy and woe, +Zoe mou, sas agapo. (My life, I love you.) + +Maid of Athens! I am gone: +Think of me, sweet! when alone. +Though I fly to Istambol, +Athens holds my heart and soul: +Can I cease to love thee? No! +Zoe mou, sas agapo. (My life, I love you.) + +George Gordon Byron [1788-1824] + + +"WHEN WE TWO PARTED" + +When we two parted +In silence and tears, +Half broken-hearted, +To sever for years, +Pale grew thy cheek and cold, +Colder thy kiss; +Truly that hour foretold +Sorrow to this! + +The dew of the morning +Sunk chill on my brow; +It felt like the warning +Of what I feel now. +Thy vows are all broken, +And light is thy fame: +I hear thy name spoken +And share in its shame. + +They name thee before me, +A knell to mine ear; +A shudder comes o'er me - +Why wert thou so dear? +They know not I knew thee +Who knew thee too well: +Long, long shall I rue thee +Too deeply to tell. + +In secret we met: +In silence I grieve +That thy heart could forget, +Thy spirit deceive. +If I should meet thee +After long years, +How should I greet thee? - +With silence and tears. + +George Gordon Byron [1788-1824] + + +"GO, FORGET ME" + +Go, forget me! Why should sorrow +O'er that brow a shadow fling? +Go, forget me, - and to-morrow +Brightly smile and sweetly sing. +Smile - though I shall not be near thee. +Sing - though I shall never hear thee. +May thy soul with pleasure shine, +Lasting as the gloom of mine. + +Like the sun, thy presence glowing +Clothes the meanest things in light; +And when thou, like him, art going, +Loveliest objects fade in night. +All things looked so bright about thee, +That they nothing seem without thee; +By that pure and lucid mind +Earthly things are too refined. + +Go, thou vision, wildly gleaming, +Softly on my soul that fell; +Go, for me no longer beaming - +Hope and Beauty, fare ye well! +Go, and all that once delighted +Take - and leave me, all benighted, +Glory's burning, generous swell, +Fancy, and the poet's shell. + +Charles Wolfe [1791-1823] + + +LAST NIGHT + +I sat with one I love last night, +She sang to me an olden strain; +In former times it woke delight, +Last night - but pain. + +Last night we saw the stars arise, +But clouds soon dimmed the ether blue: +And when we sought each other's eyes +Tears dimmed them too! + +We paced along our favorite walk, +But paced in silence broken-hearted: +Of old we used to smile and talk; +Last night - we parted. + +George Darley [1795-1846] + + +ADIEU + +Let time and chance combine, combine, +Let time and chance combine; +The fairest love from heaven above, +That love of yours was mine, +My dear, +That love of yours was mine. + +The past is fled and gone, and gone, +The past is fled and gone; +If naught but pain to me remain, +I'll fare in memory on, +My dear, +I'll fare in memory on. + +The saddest tears must fall, must fall, +The saddest tears must fall; +In weal or woe, in this world below, +I love you ever and all, +My dear, +I love you ever and all. + +A long road full of pain, of pain, +A long road full of pain; +One soul, one heart, sworn ne'er to part, - +We ne'er can meet again, +My dear, +We ne'er can meet again. + +Hard fate will not allow, allow, +Hard fate will not allow; +We blessed were as the angels are, - +Adieu forever now, +My dear, +Adieu forever now. + +Thomas Carlyle [1795-1881] + + +JEANIE MORRISON + +I've wandered east, I've wandered west, +Through mony a weary way; +But never, never can forget +The luve o' life's young day! +The fire that's blawn on Beltane e'en, +May weel be black gin Yule; +But blacker fa' awaits the heart +Where first fond luve grows cule. + +O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, +The thochts o' bygane years +Still fling their shadows owre my path, +And blind my een wi' tears: +They blind my een wi' saut, saut tears; +And sair and sick I pine, +As Memory idly summons up +The blithe blinks o' langsyne. + +'Twas then we luvit ilk ither weel, +'Twas then we twa did part; +Sweet time, sad time! - twa bairns at schule, +Twa bairns, and but ae heart! +'Twas then we sat on ae laigh bink, +To leir ilk ither lear; +And tones, and looks, and smiles were shed, +Remembered evermair. + +I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet, +When sitting on that bink, +Cheek touchin' cheek, loof locked in loof, +What our wee heads could think! +When baith bent doun owre ae braid page, +Wi' ae buik on our knee, +Thy lips were on thy lesson, but +My lesson was in thee. + +Oh, mind ye how we hung our heads, +How cheeks brent red wi' shame, +Whene'er the schule-weans, laughin', said, +We cleek'd thegither hame? +And mind ye o' the Saturdays +(The schule then skail't at noon), +When we ran aff to speel the braes - +The broomy braes o' June? + +My head rins round and round about, +My heart flows like a sea, +As, ane by ane, the thochts rush back +O' schule-time and o' thee. +Oh, mornin' life! Oh, mornin' luve! +Oh, lichtsome days and lang, +When hinnied hopes around our hearts, +Like simmer blossoms, sprang! + +Oh, mind ye, luve, how aft we left +The deavin' dinsome toun, +To wander by the green burnside, +And hear its waters croon? +The simmer leaves hung owre our heads, +The flowers burst round our feet, +And in the gloamin' o' the wud +The throssil whusslit sweet. + +The throssil whusslit in the wud, +The burn sung to the trees, +And we, with Nature's heart in tune, +Concerted harmonies; +And on the knowe abune the burn +For hours thegither sat +In the silentness o' joy, till baith +Wi' very gladness grat. + +Ay, ay, dear Jeanie Morrison, +Tears trinkled doun your cheek, +Like dew-beads on a rose, yet nane +Had ony power to speak! +That was a time, a blessed time, +When hearts were fresh and young, +When freely gushed all feelings forth, +Unsyllabled - unsung! + +I marvel, Jeanie Morrison, +Gin I hae been to thee +As closely twined wi' earliest thochts +As ye hae been to me? +Oh! tell me gin their music fills +Thine ear as it does mine; +Oh! say gin e'er your heart grows great +Wi' dreamings o' langsyne? + +I've wandered east, I've wandered west, +I've borne a weary lot; +But in my wanderings, far or near, +Ye never were forgot. +The fount that first burst frae this heart, +Still travels on its way; +And channels deeper as it rins +The luve o' life's young day. + +O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, +Since we were sindered young, +I've never seen your face, nor heard +The music o' your tongue; +But I could hug all wretchedness, +And happy could I dee, +Did I but ken your heart still dreamed +O' bygane days and me! + +William Motherwell [1797-1835] + + +THE SEA-LANDS + +Would I were on the sea-lands, +Where winds know how to sting; +And in the rocks at midnight +The lost long murmurs sing. + +Would I were with my first love +To hear the rush and roar +Of spume below the doorstep +And winds upon the door. + +My first love was a fair girl +With ways forever new; +And hair a sunlight yellow, +And eyes a morning blue. + +The roses, have they tarried +Or are they dun and frayed? +If we had stayed together, +Would love, indeed, have stayed? + +Ah, years are filled with learning, +And days are leaves of change! +And I have met so many +I knew . . . and found them strange. + +But on the sea-lands tumbled +By winds that sting and blind, +The nights we watched, so silent, +Come back, come back to mind . . . + +I mind about my first love, +And hear the rush and roar +Of spume below the doorstep +And winds upon the door. + +Orrick Johns [1887- + + +FAIR INES + +O saw ye not fair Ines? +She's gone into the West, +To dazzle when the sun is down, +And rob the world of rest: +She took our daylight with her, +The smiles that we love best, +With morning blushes on her cheek, +And pearls upon her breast. + +O turn again, fair Ines, +Before the fall of night, +For fear the Moon should shine alone, +And stars unrivaled bright; +And blessed will the lover be +That walks beneath their light, +And breathes the love against thy cheek +I dare not even write! + +Would I had been, fair Ines, +That gallant cavalier, +Who rode so gaily by thy side, +And whispered thee so near! +Were there no bonny dames at home, +Or no true lovers here, +That he should cross the seas to win +The dearest of the dear? + +I saw thee, lovely Ines, +Descend along the shore, +With bands of noble gentlemen, +And banners waved before; +And gentle youth and maidens gay, +And snowy plumes they wore: +It would have been a beauteous dream, - +If it had been no more! + +Alas, alas! fair Ines, +She went away with song, +With Music waiting on her steps, +And shoutings of the throng; +But some were sad, and felt no mirth, +But only Music's wrong, +In sounds that sang Farewell, farewell, +To her you've loved so long. + +Farewell, farewell, fair Ines! +That vessel never bore +So fair a lady on its deck, +Nor danced so light before, - +Alas for pleasure on the sea, +And sorrow on the shore! +The smile that blessed one lover's heart +Has broken many more! + +Thomas Hood [1799-1845] + + +A VALEDICTION + +God be with thee, my beloved, - God be with thee! +Else alone thou goest forth, +Thy face unto the north, +Moor and pleasance all around thee and beneath thee +Looking equal in one snow; +While I, who try to reach thee, +Vainly follow, vainly follow +With the farewell and the hollo, +And cannot reach thee so. +Alas, I can but teach thee! +God be with thee, my beloved, - God be with thee! + +Can I teach thee, my beloved, - can I teach thee? +If I said, "Go left or right," +The counsel would be light, +The wisdom, poor of all that could enrich thee; +My right would show like left; +My raising would depress thee, +My choice of light would blind thee, +Of way - would leave behind thee, +Of end - would leave bereft. +Alas, I can but bless thee! +May God teach thee, my beloved, - may God teach thee! + +Can I bless thee, my beloved, - can I bless thee? +What blessing word can I +From mine own tears keep dry? +What flowers grow in my field wherewith to dress thee? +My good reverts to ill; +My calmnesses would move thee, +My softnesses would prick thee, +My bindings up would break thee, +My crownings curse and kill. +Alas, I can but love thee! +May God bless thee, my beloved, - may God bless thee! + +Can I love thee, my beloved, - can I love thee? +And is this like love, to stand +With no help in my hand, +When strong as death I fain would watch above thee? +My love-kiss can deny +No tear that falls beneath it; +Mine oath of love can swear thee +From no ill that comes near thee, +And thou diest while I breathe it, +And I - I can but die! +May God love thee, my beloved, - may God love thee! + +Elizabeth Barrett Browning [1806-1861] + + +FAREWELL + +Thou goest; to what distant place +Wilt thou thy sunlight carry? +I stay with cold and clouded face: +How long am I to tarry? +Where'er thou goest, morn will be; +Thou leavest night and gloom to me. + +The night and gloom I can but take; +I do not grudge thy splendor: +Bid souls of eager men awake; +Be kind and bright and tender. +Give day to other worlds; for me +It must suffice to dream of thee. + +John Addington Symonds [1840-1893] + + +"I DO NOT LOVE THEE" + +I do not love thee! - no! I do not love thee! +And yet when thou art absent I am sad; +And envy even the bright blue sky above thee, +Whose quiet stars may see thee and be glad. + +I do not love thee! - yet, I know not why, +Whate'er thou dost seems still well done, to me: +And often in my solitude I sigh +That those I do love are not more like thee! + +I do not love thee! - yet, when thou art gone, +I hate the sound (though those who speak be near) +Which breaks the lingering echo of the tone +Thy voice of music leaves upon my ear. + +I do not love thee! - yet thy speaking eyes, +With their deep, bright, and most expressive blue, +Between me and the midnight heaven arise, +Oftener than any eyes I ever knew. + +I know I do not love thee! - yet, alas! +Others will scarcely trust my candid heart; +And oft I catch them smiling as they pass, +Because they see me gazing where thou art. + +Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton [1808-1870] + + +THE PALM-TREE AND THE PINE + +Beneath an Indian palm a girl +Of other blood reposes, +Her cheek is clear and pale as pearl, +Amid that wild of roses. + +Beside a northern pine a boy +Is leaning fancy-bound, +Nor listens where with noisy joy +Awaits the impatient hound. + +Cool grows the sick and feverish calm, - +Relaxed the frosty twine, - +The pine-tree dreameth of the palm, +The palm-tree of the pine. + +As soon shall nature interlace +Those dimly-visioned boughs, +As these young lovers face to face +Renew their early vows! + +Richard Monckton Milnes [1809-1885] + + +"O SWALLOW, SWALLOW, FLYING SOUTH" +From "The Princess" + +O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South, +Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves, +And tell her, tell her what I tell to thee. + +O, tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each, +That bright and fierce and fickle is the South, +And dark and true and tender is the North. + +O Swallow, Swallow, if I could follow, and light +Upon her lattice, I would pipe and trill, +And cheep and twitter twenty million loves. + +O, were I thou that she might take me in, +And lay me on her bosom, and her heart +Would rock the snowy cradle till I died! + +Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with love, +Delaying as the tender ash delays +To clothe herself, when all the woods are green? + +O, tell her, Swallow, that thy brood is flown; +Say to her, I do but wanton in the South, +But in the North long since my nest is made. + +O, tell her, brief is life but love is long, +And brief the sun of summer in the North, +And brief the moon of beauty in the South. + +O Swallow, flying from the golden woods, +Fly to her, and pipe and woo her, and make her mine, +And tell her, tell her, that I follow thee. + +Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] + + +THE FLOWER'S NAME + +Here's the garden she walked across, +Arm in my arm, such a short while since: +Hark, now I push its wicket, the moss +Hinders the hinges and makes them wince! +She must have reached this shrub ere she turned, +As back with that murmur the wicket swung; +For she laid the poor snail, my chance foot spurned, +To feed and forget it the leaves among. + +Down this side of the gravel-walk +She went while her robe's edge brushed the box: +And here she paused in her gracious talk +To point me a moth on the milk-white phlox. +Roses, ranged in valiant row, +I will never think that she passed you by! +She loves you, noble roses, I know; +But yonder see where the rock-plants lie! + +This flower she stopped at, finger on lip, +Stooped over, in doubt, as settling its claim; +Till she gave me, with pride to make no slip, +Its soft meandering Spanish name: +What a name! Was it love or praise? +Speech half-asleep, or song half-awake? +I must learn Spanish, one of these days, +Only for that slow sweet name's sake. + +Roses, if I live and do well, +I may bring her, one of these days, +To fix you fast with as fine a spell, +Fit you each with his Spanish phrase: +But do not detain me now; for she lingers +There, like sunshine over the ground, +And ever I see her soft white fingers +Searching after the bud she found. + +Flower, you Spaniard, look that you grow not, +Stay as you are and be loved forever! +Bud, if I kiss you, 'tis that you blow not, +Mind, the shut pink mouth opens never! +For while it pouts, her fingers wrestle, +Twinkling the audacious leaves between, +Till round they turn, and down they nestle - +Is not the dear mark still to be seen? + +Where I find her not, beauties vanish; +Whither I follow her, beauties flee; +Is there no method to tell her in Spanish +June's twice June since she breathed it with me? +Come, bud, show me the least of her traces, +Treasure my lady's lightest footfall! +- Ah, you may flout and turn up your faces, - +Roses, you are not so fair after all! + +Robert Browning [1812-1889] + + +TO MARGUERITE + +Yes: in the sea of life enisled, +With echoing straits between us thrown, +Dotting the shoreless watery wild, +We mortal millions live alone. +The islands feel the enclasping flow, +And then their endless bounds they know. + +But when the moon their hollows lights, +And they are swept by balms of spring, +And in their glens, on starry nights, +The nightingales divinely sing; +And lovely notes, from shore to shore, +Across the sounds and channels pour; + +O then a longing like despair +Is to their farthest caverns sent! +For surely once, they feel, we were +Parts of a single continent. +Now round us spreads the watery plain - +O might our marges meet again! + +Who ordered that their longing's fire +Should be, as soon as kindled, cooled? +Who renders vain their deep desire? - +A God, a God their severance ruled; +And bade betwixt their shores to be +The unplumbed, salt, estranging sea. + +Matthew Arnold [1822-1888] + + +SEPARATION + +Stop! - not to me, at this bitter departing, +Speak of the sure consolations of time! +Fresh be the wound, still-renewed be its smarting, +So but thy image endure in its prime. + +But, if the steadfast commandment of Nature +Wills that remembrance should always decay - +If the loved form and the deep-cherished feature +Must, when unseen, from the soul fade away - + +Me let no half-effaced memories cumber! +Fled, fled at once, be all vestige of thee! +Deep be the darkness and still be the slumber - +Dead be the past and its phantoms to me! + +Then, when we meet, and thy look strays towards me, +Scanning my face and the changes wrought there: +Who, let me say, is this stranger regards me, +With the gray eyes, and the lovely brown hair? + +Matthew Arnold [1822-1888] + + +LONGING + +Come to me in my dreams, and then +By day I shall be well again! +For then the night will more than pay +The hopeless longing of the day. + +Come, as thou cam'st a thousand times, +A messenger from radiant climes, +And smile on thy new world, and be +As kind to others as to me! + +Or, as thou never cam'st in sooth, +Come now, and let me dream it truth; +And part my hair, and kiss my brow, +And say: My love! why sufferest thou? + +Come to me in my dreams, and then +By day I shall be well again! +For then the night will more than pay +The hopeless longing of the day + +Matthew Arnold [1822-1888] + + +DIVIDED + +I +An empty sky, a world of heather, +Purple of foxglove, yellow of broom; +We two among them wading together, +Shaking out honey, treading perfume. + +Crowds of bees are giddy with clover, +Crowds of grasshoppers skip at our feet, +Crowds of larks at their matins hang over, +Thanking the Lord for a life so sweet. + +Flusheth the rise with her purple favor, +Gloweth the cleft with her golden ring, +'Twixt the two brown butterflies waver, +Lightly settle, and sleepily swing. + +We two walk till the purple dieth, +And short dry grass under foot is brown, +But one little streak at a distance lieth +Green like a ribbon to prank the down. + +II +Over the grass we stepped unto it, +And God He knoweth how blithe we were! +Never a voice to bid us eschew it: +Hey the green ribbon that showed so fair! + +Hey the green ribbon! we kneeled beside it, +We parted the grasses dewy and sheen: +Drop over drop there filtered and slided +A tiny bright beck that trickled between. + +Tinkle, tinkle, sweetly it sung to us, +Light was our talk as of fairy bells; - +Fairy wedding-bells faintly rung to us +Down in their fortunate parallels. + +Hand in hand, while the sun peered over, +We lapped the grass on that youngling spring; +Swept back its rushes, smoothed its clover, +And said, "Let us follow it westering." + +III +A dappled sky, a world of meadows, +Circling above us the black rooks fly +Forward, backward; lo their dark shadows +Flit on the blossoming tapestry; - + +Flit on the beck; for her long grass parteth +As hair from a maid's bright eyes blown back: +And, lo, the sun like a lover darteth +His flattering smile on her wayward track. + +Sing on! we sing in the glorious weather +Till one steps over the tiny strand, +So narrow, in sooth, that still together +On either brink we go hand in hand. + +The beck grows wider, the hands must sever. +On either margin, our songs all done, +We move apart, while she singeth ever, +Taking the course of the stooping sun. + +He prays, "Come over," - I may not follow; +I cry, "Return," - but he cannot come: +We speak, we laugh, but with voices hollow; +Our hands are hanging, our hearts are numb. + +IV +A breathing sigh, a sigh for answer, +A little talking of outward things: +The careless beck is a merry dancer, +Keeping sweet time to the air she sings. + +A little pain when the beck grows wider; +"Cross to me now; for her wavelets swell"; +"I may not cross," - and the voice beside her +Faintly reacheth, though heeded well. + +No backward path; ah! no returning; +No second crossing that ripple's flow: +"Come to me now, for the west is burning; +Come ere it darkens. - Ah, no! ah, no!" + +Then cries of pain, and arms outreaching, - +The beck grows wider and swift and deep: +Passionate words as of one beseeching: +The loud beck drowns them: we walk, and weep. + +V +A yellow moon in splendor drooping, +A tired queen with her state oppressed, +Low by rushes and swordgrass stooping, +Lies she soft on the waves at rest. + +The desert heavens have felt her sadness; +Her earth will weep her some dewy tears; +The wild beck ends her tune of gladness, +And goeth stilly as soul that fears. + +We two walk on in our grassy places +On either marge of the moonlit flood, +With the moon's own sadness in our faces, +Where joy is withered, blossom and bud. + +VI +A shady freshness, chafers whirring; +A little piping of leaf-hid birds; +A flutter of wings, a fitful stirring; +A cloud to the eastward snowy as curds. + +Bare grassy slopes, where kids are tethered, +Round valleys like nests all ferny-lined, +Round hills, with fluttering tree-tops feathered, +Swell high in their freckled robes behind. + +A rose-flush tender, a thrill, a quiver, +When golden gleams to the tree-tops glide; +A flashing edge for the milk-white river, +The beck, a river - with still sleek tide. + +Broad and white, and polished as silver, +On she goes under fruit-laden trees: +Sunk in leafage cooeth the culver, +And 'plaineth of love's disloyalties. + +Glitters the dew, and shines the river, +Up comes the lily and dries her bell; +But two are walking apart forever, +And wave their hands for a mute farewell. + +VII +A braver swell, a swifter sliding; +The river hasteth, her banks recede. +Wing-like sails on her bosom gliding +Bear down the lily, and drown the reed. + +Stately prows are rising and bowing +(Shouts of mariners winnow the air), +And level sands for banks endowing +The tiny green ribbon that showed so fair. + +While, O my heart! as white sails shiver, +And clouds are passing, and banks stretch wide, +How hard to follow, with lips that quiver, +That moving speck on the far-off side. + +Farther, farther; I see it, know it - +My eyes brim over, it melts away: +Only my heart to my heart shall show it +As I walk desolate day by day. + +VIII +And yet I know past all doubting, truly, - +A knowledge greater than grief can dim, - +I know, as he loved, he will love me duly, - +Yea, better, e'en better than I love him. + +And as I walk by the vast calm river, +The awful river so dread to see, +I say, "Thy breadth and thy depth forever +Are bridged by his thoughts that cross to me." + +Jean Ingelow [1820-1897] + + +MY PLAYMATE + +The pines were dark on Ramoth hill, +Their song was soft and low; +The blossoms in the sweet May wind +Were falling like the snow. + +The blossoms drifted at our feet, +The orchard birds sang clear; +The sweetest and the saddest day +It seemed of all the year. + +For, more to me than birds or flowers, +My playmate left her home, +And took with her the laughing spring, +The music and the bloom. + +She kissed the lips of kith and kin, +She laid her hand in mine: +What more could ask the bashful boy +Who fed her father's kine? + +She left us in the bloom of May: +The constant years told o'er +Their seasons with as sweet May morns, +But she came back no more. + +I walk, with noiseless feet, the round +Of uneventful years; +Still o'er and o'er I sow the spring +And reap the autumn ears. + +She lives where all the golden year +Her summer roses blow; +The dusky children of the sun +Before her come and go. + +There haply with her jeweled hands +She smooths her silken gown, - +No more the homespun lap wherein +I shook the walnuts down. + +The wild grapes wait us by the brook, +The brown nuts on the hill, +And still the May-day flowers make sweet +The woods of Follymill. + +The lilies blossom in the pond, +The bird builds in the tree, +The dark pines sing on Ramoth hill +The slow song of the sea. + +I wonder if she thinks of them, +And how the old time seems, - +If ever the pines of Ramoth wood +Are sounding in her dreams. + +I see her face, I hear her voice: +Does she remember mine? +And what to her is now the boy +Who fed her father's kine? + +What cares she that the orioles build +For other eyes than ours, - +That other laps with nuts are filled, +And other hands with flowers? + +O playmate in the golden time! +Our mossy seat is green, +Its fringing violets blossom yet, +The old trees o'er it lean. + +The winds so sweet with birch and fern +A sweeter memory blow; +And there in spring the veeries sing +The song of long ago. + +And still the pines of Ramoth wood +Are moaning like the sea, - +The moaning of the sea of change +Between myself and thee! + +John Greenleaf Whittier [1807-1892] + + +A FAREWELL + +With all my will, but much against my heart, +We two now part. +My Very Dear, +Our solace is, the sad road lies so clear. +It needs no art, +With faint, averted feet +And many a tear, +In our opposed paths to persevere. +Go thou to East, I West. +We will not say +There's any hope, it is so far away. +But, O, my Best, +When the one darling of our widowhead, +The nursling Grief +Is dead, +And no dews blur our eyes +To see the peach-bloom come in evening skies, +Perchance we may, +Where now this night is day, +And even through faith of still averted feet, +Making full circle of our banishment, +Amazed meet; +The bitter journey to the bourne so sweet +Seasoning the termless feast of our content +With tears of recognition never dry. + +Coventry Patmore [1823-1896] + + +DEPARTURE + +It was not like your great and gracious ways! +Do you, that have naught other to lament, +Never, my Love, repent +Of how, that July afternoon, +You went, +With sudden, unintelligible phrase, +And frightened eye, +Upon your journey of so many days +Without a single kiss, or a good-bye? +I knew, indeed, that you were parting soon; +And so we sate, within the low sun's rays, +You whispering to me, for your voice was weak, +Your harrowing praise. +Well, it was well +To hear you such things speak, +And I could tell +What made your eyes a glowing gloom of love, +As a warm South-wind sombers a March grove. + +And it was like your great and gracious ways +To turn your talk on daily things, my Dear, +Lifting the luminous, pathetic lash +To let the laughter flash, +Whilst I drew near, +Because you spoke so low that I could scarcely hear. +But all at once to leave me at the last, +More at the wonder than the loss aghast, +With huddled, unintelligible phrase, +And frightened eye, +And go your journey of all days +With not one kiss, or a good-bye, +And the only loveless look the look with which you passed: +'Twas all unlike your great and gracious ways. + +Coventry Patmore [1823-1896] + + +A SONG OF PARTING + +My dear, the time has come to say +Farewell to London town, +Farewell to each familiar street, +The room where we looked down +Upon the people going by, +The river flowing fast: +The innumerable shine of lamps, +The bridges and - our past. + +Our past of London days and nights, +When every night we dreamed +Of Love and Art and Happiness, +And every day it seemed +Ah! little room, you held my life, +In you I found my all; +A white hand on the mantelpiece, +A shadow on the wall. + +My dear, what dinners we have had, +What cigarettes and wine +In faded corners of Soho, +Your fingers touching mine! +And now the time has come to say +Farewell to London town; +The prologue of our play is done, +So ring the curtain down. + +There lies a crowded life ahead +In field and sleepy lane, +A fairer picture than we saw +Framed in our window-pane. +There'll be the stars on summer nights, +The white moon through the trees, +Moths, and the song of nightingales +To float along the breeze. + +And in the morning we shall see +The swallows in the sun, +And hear the cuckoo on the hill +Welcome a day begun. +And life will open with the rose +For me, sweet, and for you, +And on our life and on the rose +How soft the falling dew! + +So let us take this tranquil path, +But drop a parting tear +For town, whose greatest gift to us +Was to be lovers here. + +H. C. Compton Mackenzie [1833- + + +SONG +From "The Earthly Paradise" + +Fair is the night, and fair the day, +Now April is forgot of May, +Now into June May falls away: +Fair day! fair night! O give me back +The tide that all fair things did lack +Except my Love, except my Sweet! + +Blow back, O wind! thou art not kind, +Though thou art sweet: thou hast no mind +Her hair about my Sweet to bind. +O flowery sward! though thou art bright, +I praise thee not for thy delight, - +Thou hast not kissed her silver feet. + +Thou know'st her not, O rustling tree! +What dost thou then to shadow me, +Whose shade her breast did never see? +O flowers! in vain ye bow adown: +Ye have not felt her odorous gown +Brush past your heads my lips to meet. + +Flow on, great river! thou mayst deem +That far away, a summer stream, +Thou saw'st her limbs amidst the gleam, +And kissed her foot, and kissed her knee: +Yet get thee swift unto the sea! +With naught of true thou wilt me greet. + +And Thou that men call by my name! +O helpless One! hast thou no shame +That thou must even look the same +As while agone, as while agone +When Thou and She were left alone, +And hands and lips and tears did meet? + +Grow weak and pine, lie down to die, +O body! in thy misery, +Because short time and sweet goes by. +O foolish heart! how weak thou art: +Break, break, because thou needs must part +From thine own Love, from thine own Sweet! + +William Morris [1834-1896] + + +AT PARTING + +For a day and a night Love sang to us, played with us, +Folded us round from the dark and the light; +And our hearts were fulfilled of the music he made with us, +Made with our hearts and our lips while he stayed with us, +Stayed in mid passage his pinions from flight +For a day and a night. + +From his foes that kept watch with his wings had he hidden us, +Covered us close from the eyes that would smite, +From the feet that had tracked and the tongues that had chidden us +Sheltering in shade of the myrtles forbidden us +Spirit and flesh growing one with delight +For a day and a night. + +But his wings will not rest and his feet will not stay for us: +Morning is here in the joy of its might; +With his breath has he sweetened a night and a day for us: +Now let him pass, and the myrtles make way for us; +Love can but last in us here at his height +For a day and a night. + +Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909] + + +"IF SHE BUT KNEW" + +If she but knew that I am weeping +Still for her sake, +That love and sorrow grow with keeping +Till they must break, +My heart that breaking will adore her, +Be hers and die; +If she might hear me once implore her, +Would she not sigh? + +If she but knew that it would save me +Her voice to hear, +Saying she pitied me, forgave me, +Must she forbear? +If she were told that I was dying, +Would she be dumb? +Could she content herself with sighing? +Would she not come? + +Arthur O'Shaughnessy [1844-1881] + + +KATHLEEN MAVOURNEEN + +Kathleen Mavourneen! the gray dawn is breaking, +The horn of the hunter is heard on the hill; +The lark from her light wing the bright dew is shaking, - +Kathleen Mavourneen! what, slumbering still? +Oh, hast thou forgotten how soon we must sever? +Oh! hast thou forgotten this day we must part? +It may be for years, and it may be forever! +Oh, why art thou silent, thou voice of my heart? +Oh! why art thou silent, Kathleen Mavourneen? + +Kathleen Mavourneen, awake from thy slumbers! +The blue mountains glow in the sun's golden light; +Ah, where is the spell that once hung on my numbers? +Arise in thy beauty, thou star of my night! +Mavourneen, Mavourneen, my sad tears are falling, +To think that from Erin and thee I must part! +It may be for years, and it may be forever! +Then why art thou silent, thou voice of my heart? +Then why art thou silent, Kathleen Mavourneen? + +Louisa Macartney Crawford [1790-1858] + + +ROBIN ADAIR + +What's this dull town to me? +Robin's not near, - +He whom I wished to see, +Wished for to hear; +Where's all the joy and mirth +Made life a heaven on earth? +O, they're all fled with thee, +Robin Adair! + +What made the assembly shine? +Robin Adair: +What made the ball so fine? +Robin was there: +What, when the play was o'er, +What made my heart so sore? +O, it was parting with +Robin Adair! + +But now thou art far from me, +Robin Adair; +But now I never see +Robin Adair; +Yet him I loved so well +Still in my heart shall dwell; +O, I can ne'er forget +Robin Adair! + +Welcome on shore again, +Robin Adair! +Welcome once more again, +Robin Adair! +I feel thy trembling hand; +Tears in thy eyelids stand, +To greet thy native land, +Robin Adair! + +Long I ne'er saw thee, love, +Robin Adair; +Still I prayed for thee, love, +Robin Adair; +When thou wert far at sea, +Many made love to me, +But still I thought on thee, +Robin Adair! + +Come to my heart again, +Robin Adair; +Never to part again, +Robin Adair; +And if thou still art true, +I will be constant too, +And will wed none but you, +Robin Adair! + +Caroline Keppel [1735- ? ] + + +"IF YOU WERE HERE" +A Song In Winter + +O love, if you were here +This dreary, weary day, - +If your lips, warm and dear, +Found some sweet word to say, - +Then hardly would seem drear +These skies of wintry gray. + +But you are far away, - +How far from me, my dear! +What cheer can warm the day? +My heart is chill with fear, +Pierced through with swift dismay; +A thought has turned Life sere: + +If you, from far away, +Should come not back, my dear; +If I no more might lay +My hand on yours, nor hear +That voice, now sad, now gay, +Caress my listening ear; + +If you, from far away, +Should come no more, my dear, - +Then with what dire dismay +Year joined to hostile year +Would frown, if I should stay +Where memories mock and jeer! + +But I would come away +To dwell with you, my dear; +Through unknown worlds to stray, - +Or sleep; nor hope, nor fear, +Nor dream beneath the clay +Of all our days that were. + +Philip Bourke Marston [1850-1887] + + +"COME TO ME, DEAREST" + +Come to me, dearest, I'm lonely without thee; +Daytime and night-time, I'm thinking about thee; +Night-time and daytime in dreams I behold thee; +Unwelcome the waking which ceases to fold thee. +Come to me, darling, my sorrows to lighten, +Come in thy beauty to bless and to brighten; +Come in thy womanhood, meekly and lowly, +Come in thy lovingness, queenly and holy. + +Swallows will flit round the desolate ruin, +Telling of spring and its joyous renewing; +And thoughts of thy love and its manifold treasure, +Are circling my heart with a promise of pleasure. +O Spring of my spirit, O May of my bosom, +Shine out on my soul, till it bourgeon and blossom; +The waste of my life has a rose-root within it, +And thy fondness alone to the sunshine can win it. + +Figure that moves like a song through the even; +Features lit up by a reflex of heaven; +Eyes like the skies of poor Erin, our mother, +Where shadow and sunshine are chasing each other; +Smiles coming seldom, but childlike and simple, +Planting in each rosy cheek a sweet dimple; - +O, thanks to the Saviour, that even thy seeming +Is left to the exile to brighten his dreaming. + +You have been glad when you knew I was gladdened; +Dear, are you sad now to hear I am saddened? +Our hearts ever answer in tune and in time, love, +As octave to octave, and rhyme unto rhyme, love: +I cannot weep but your tears will be flowing, +You cannot smile but my cheek will be glowing; +I would not die without you at my side, love, +You will not linger when I shall have died, love. + +Come to me, dear, ere I die of my sorrow, +Rise on my gloom like the sun of to-morrow; +Strong, swift, and fond are the words which I speak, love, +With a song on your lip and a smile on your cheek, love. +Come, for my heart in your absence is weary, - +Haste, for my spirit is sickened and dreary, - +Come to my arms which alone should caress thee, +Come to the heart which is throbbing to press thee! + +Joseph Brenan [1829-1857] + + +SONG + +'Tis said that absence conquers love! +But, oh! believe it not; +I've tried, alas! its power to prove, +But thou art not forgot. +Lady, though fate has bid us part, +Yet still thou art as dear, +As fixed in this devoted heart, +As when I clasped thee here. + +I plunge into the busy crowd, +And smile to hear thy name; +And yet, as if I thought aloud, +They know me still the same; +And when the wine-cup passes round, +I toast some other fair, - +But when I ask my heart the sound, +Thy name is echoed there. + +And when some other name I learn, +And try to whisper love, +Still will my heart to thee return +Like the returning dove. +In vain! I never can forget, +And would not be forgot; +For I must bear the same regret, +Whate'er may be my lot. + +E'en as the wounded bird will seek +Its favorite bower to die, +So, lady! I would hear thee speak, +And yield my parting sigh. +'Tis said that absence conquers love! +But, oh! believe it not; +I've tried, alas! its power to prove, +But thou art not forgot. + +Frederick William Thomas [1811-1864] + + +PARTING + +Too fair, I may not call thee mine: +Too dear, I may not see +Those eyes with bridal beacons shine; +Yet, Darling, keep for me - +Empty and hushed, and safe apart, - +One little corner of thy heart. + +Thou wilt be happy, dear! and bless +Thee: happy mayst thou be. +I would not make thy pleasure less; +Yet, Darling, keep for me - +My life to light, my lot to leaven, - +One little corner of thy Heaven. + +Good-by, dear heart! I go to dwell +A weary way from thee; +Our first kiss is our last farewell; +Yet, Darling, keep for me - +Who wander outside in the night, - +One little corner of thy light. + +Gerald Massey [1828-1907] + + +THE PARTING HOUR + +Not yet, dear love, not yet: the sun is high; +You said last night, "At sunset I will go." +Come to the garden, where when blossoms die +No word is spoken; it is better so: +Ah! bitter word "Farewell." + +Hark! how the birds sing sunny songs of spring! +Soon they will build, and work will silence them; +So we grow less light-hearted as years bring +Life's grave responsibilities - and then +The bitter word "Farewell." + +The violets fret to fragrance 'neath your feet, +Heaven's gold sunlight dreams aslant your hair: +No flower for me! your mouth is far more sweet. +O, let my lips forget, while lingering there, +Love's bitter word "Farewell." + +Sunset already! have we sat so long? +The parting hour, and so much left unsaid! +The garden has grown silent - void of song, +Our sorrow shakes us with a sudden dread! +Ah! bitter word "Farewell." + +Olive Custance [1874- + + +A SONG OF AUTUMN + +All through the golden weather +Until the autumn fell, +Our lives went by together +So wildly and so well. + +But autumn's wind uncloses +The heart of all your flowers; +I think, as with the roses, +So hath it been with ours. + +Like some divided river +Your ways and mine will be, +To drift apart for ever, +For ever till the sea. + +And yet for one word spoken, +One whisper of regret, +The dream had not been broken, +And love were with us yet. + +Rennell Rodd [1858- + + +THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME + +The dames of France are fond and free, +And Flemish lips are willing, +And soft the maids of Italy, +And Spanish eyes are thrilling; +Still, though I bask beneath their smile, +Their charms fail to bind me, +And my heart falls back to Erin's Isle, +To the girl I left behind me. + +For she's as fair as Shannon's side, +And purer than its water, +But she refused to be my bride +Though many a year I sought her; +Yet, since to France I sailed away, +Her letters oft remind me +That I promised never to gainsay +The girl I left behind me. + +She says, "My own dear love, come home, +My friends are rich and many, +Or else abroad with you I'll roam, +A soldier stout as any; +If you'll not come, nor let me go, +I'll think you have resigned me," - +My heart nigh broke when I answered "No," +To the girl I left behind me. + +For never shall my true love brave +A life of war and toiling, +And never as a skulking slave +I'll tread my native soil on; +But, were it free or to be freed, +The battle's close would find me +To Ireland bound, nor message need +From the girl I left behind me. + +Unknown + + +"WHEN WE ARE PARTED" + +When we are parted let me lie +In some far corner of thy heart, +Silent, and from the world apart, +Like a forgotten melody: +Forgotten of the world beside, +Cherished by one, and one alone, +For some loved memory of its own; +So let me in thy heart abide +When we are parted. + +When we are parted, keep for me +The sacred stillness of the night; +That hour, sweet Love, is mine by right; +Let others claim the day of thee! +The cold world sleeping at our feet, +My spirit shall discourse with thine; - +When stars upon thy pillow shine, +At thy heart's door I stand and beat, +Though we are parted. + +Hamilton Aide [1826-1906] + + +REMEMBER OR FORGET + +I sat beside the streamlet, +I watched the water flow, +As we together watched it +One little year ago: +The soft rain pattered on the leaves, +The April grass was wet. +Ah! folly to remember; +'Tis wiser to forget. + +The nightingales made vocal +June's palace paved with gold; +I watched the rose you gave me +Its warm red heart unfold; +But breath of rose and bird's song +Were fraught with wild regret. +'Tis madness to remember; +'Twere wisdom to forget. + +I stood among the gold corn, +Alas! no more, I knew, +To gather gleaner's measure +Of the love that fell from you. +For me, no gracious harvest - +Would God we ne'er had met! +'Tis hard, Love, to remember, +But 'tis harder to forget. + +The streamlet now is frozen, +The nightingales are fled, +The cornfields are deserted, +And every rose is dead. +I sit beside my lonely fire, +And pray for wisdom yet: +For calmness to remember, +Or courage to forget. + +Hamilton Aide [1826-1906] + + +NANCY DAWSON + +Nancy Dawson, Nancy Dawson, +Not so very long ago +Some one wronged you from sheer love, dear; +Little thinking it would crush, dear, +All I cherished in you so. +But now, what's the odds, my Nancy? +Where's the guinea, there's the fancy. +Are you Nancy, that old Nancy? +Nancy Dawson. + +Nancy Dawson, Nancy Dawson, +I forget you, what you were; +Till I feel the sad hours creep, dear, +O'er my heart; as o'er my cheek, dear, +Once of old, that old, old hair: +And then, unawares, my Nancy, +I remember, and I fancy +You are Nancy, that old Nancy; +Nancy Dawson. + +Herbert P. Horne [1864- + + +MY LITTLE LOVE + +God keep you safe, my little love, +All through the night. +Rest close in His encircling arms +Until the light. +My heart is with you as I kneel to pray, +"Good night! God keep you in His care alway." + +Thick shadows creep like silent ghosts +About my bed. +I lose myself in tender dreams +While overhead +The moon comes stealing through the window bars. +A silver sickle gleaming 'mid the stars. + +For I, though I am far away, +Feel safe and strong, +To trust you thus, dear love, and yet +The night is long. +I say with sobbing breath the old fond prayer, +"Good night! Sweet dreams! God keep you everywhere!" + +Charles B. Hawley [1858- + + +FOR EVER + +Thrice with her lips she touched my lips, +Thrice with her hand my hand, +And three times thrice looked towards the sea, +But never to the land: +Then, "Sweet," she said, "no more delay, +For Heaven forbids a longer stay." + +I, with my passion in my heart, +Could find no words to waste; +But striving often to depart, +I strained her to my breast: +Her wet tears washed my weary cheek; +I could have died, but could not speak. + +The anchor swings, the sheet flies loose +And, bending to the breeze, +The tall ship, never to return, +Flies through the foaming seas: +Cheerily ho! the sailors cry; - +My sweet love lessening to my eye. + +O Love, turn towards the land thy sight! +No more peruse the sea; +Our God, who severs thus our hearts, +Shall surely care for thee: +For me let waste-wide ocean swing, +I too lie safe beneath His wing. + +William Caldwell Roscoe [1823-1859] + + +AUF WIEDERSEHEN + +The little gate was reached at last, +Half hid in lilacs down the lane; +She pushed it wide, and, as she passed, +A wistful look she backward cast, +And said, - "Auf wiedersehen!" + +With hand on latch, a vision white +Lingered reluctant, and again +Half doubting if she did aright, +Soft as the dews that fell that night, +She said, - "Auf wiedersehen!" + +The lamp's clear gleam flits up the stair; +I linger in delicious pain; +Ah, in that chamber, whose rich air +To breathe in thought I scarcely dare, +Thinks she, - "Auf wiedersehen?" . . . + +'Tis thirteen years; once more I press +The turf that silences the lane; +I hear the rustle of her dress, +I smell the lilacs, and - ah, yes, +I hear, - "Auf wiedersehen!" + +Sweet piece of bashful maiden art! +The English words had seemed too fain, +But these - they drew us heart to heart, +Yet held us tenderly apart; +She said, - "Auf wiedersehen!" + +James Russell Lowell [1819-1891] + + +"FOREVER AND A DAY" + +I little know or care +If the blackbird on the bough +Is filling all the air +With his soft crescendo now; +For she is gone away, +And when she went she took +The springtime in her look, +The peachblow on her cheek, +The laughter from the brook, +The blue from out the May - +And what she calls a week +Is forever and a day! + +It's little that I mind +How the blossoms, pink or white, +At every touch of wind +Fall a-trembling with delight; +For in the leafy lane, +Beneath the garden-boughs, +And through the silent house +One thing alone I seek. +Until she come again +The May is not the May, +And what she calls a week +Is forever and a day! + +Thomas Bailey Aldrich [1837-1907] + + +OLD GARDENS + +The white rose tree that spent its musk +For lovers' sweeter praise, +The stately walks we sought at dusk, +Have missed thee many days. + +Again, with once-familiar feet, +I tread the old parterre - +But, ah, its bloom is now less sweet +Than when thy face was there. + +I hear the birds of evening call; +I take the wild perfume; +I pluck a rose - to let it fall +And perish in the gloom. + +Arthur Upson [1877-1908] + + +FERRY HINKSEY + +Beyond the ferry water +That fast and silent flowed, +She turned, she gazed a moment, +Then took her onward road + +Between the winding willows +To a city white with spires; +It seemed a path of pilgrims +To the home of earth's desires. + +Blue shade of golden branches +Spread for her journeying, +Till he that lingered lost her +Among the leaves of Spring. + +Laurence Binyon [1869 - + + +WEARYIN' FER YOU + +Jest a-wearyin' fer you - +All the time a-feelin' blue; +Wishin' fer you - wonderin' when +You'll be comin' home again; +Restless - don't know what to do - +Jest a-wearyin' fer you! + +Keep a-mopin' day by day: +Dull - in everybody's way; +Folks they smile an' pass along +Wonderin' what on earth is wrong; +'Twouldn't help 'em if they knew - +Jest a-wearyin' fer you. + +Room's so lonesome, with your chair +Empty by the fireplace there, +Jest can't stand the sight o' it! +Go outdoors an' roam a bit: +But the woods is lonesome, too, +Jest a-wearyin' fer you. + +Comes the wind with sounds that' jes' +Like the rustlin' o' your dress; +An' the dew on flower an' tree +Tinkles like your steps to me! +Violets, like your eyes so blue - +Jest a-wearyin' fer you! + +Mornin' comes, the birds awake +(Them that sung so fer your sake!), +But there's sadness in the notes +That come thrillin' from their throats! +Seem to feel your absence, too - +Jest a-wearyin' fer you. + +Evenin' comes: I miss you more +When the dark is in the door; +'Pears jest like you orter be +There to open fer me! +Latch goes tinklin' - thrills me through, +Sets me wearyin' fer you! + +. . . . . . . . . + +Jest a-wearyin' fer you - +All the time a-feelin' blue! +Wishin' fer you - wonderin' when +You'll be comin' home again; +Restless - don't know what to do - +Jest a-wearyin' fer you! + +Frank L. Stanton [1857-1927] + + +THE LOVERS OF MARCHAID + +Dominic came riding down, sworded, straight and splendid, +Drave his hilt against her door, flung a golden chain. +Said: "I'll teach your lips a song sweet as his that's ended, +Ere the white rose call the bee, the almond flower again." + +But he only saw her head bent within the gloom +Over heaps of bridal thread bright as apple-bloom, +Silver silk like rain that spread across the driving loom. + +Dreaming Fanch, the cobbler's son, took his tools and laces, +Wrought her shoes of scarlet dye, shoes as pale as snow; +"They shall lead her wildrose feet all the fairy paces +Danced along the road of love, the road such feet should go" - + +But he only saw her eyes turning from his gift +Out towards the silver skies where the white clouds drift, +Where the wild gerfalcon flies, where the last sails lift. + +Bran has built his homestead high where the hills may shield her, +Where the young bird waits the spring, where the dawns are fair, +Said: "I'll name my trees for her, since I may not yield her +Stars of morning for her feet, of evening for her hair." + +But he did not see them ride, seven dim sail and more, +All along the harbor-side, white from shore to shore, +Nor heard the voices of the tide crying at her door. + +Jean-Marie has touched his pipe down beside the river +When the young fox bends the fern, when the folds are still, +Said: "I send her all the gifts that my love may give her, - +Golden notes like golden birds to seek her at my will." + +But he only found the waves, heard the sea-gull's cry, +In and out the ocean caves, underneath the sky, +All above the wind-washed graves where dead seamen lie. + +Marjorie L. C. Pickthall [1883-1922] + + +SONG + +She's somewhere in the sunlight strong, +Her tears are in the falling rain, +She calls me in the wind's soft song, +And with the flowers she comes again. + +Yon bird is but her messenger, +The moon is but her silver car; +Yea! sun and moon are sent by her, +And every wistful waiting star. + +Richard Le Gallienne [1866- + + +THE LOVER THINKS OF HIS LADY IN THE NORTH + +Now many are the stately ships that northward steam away, +And gray sails northward blow black hulls, and many more are they; +And myriads of viking gulls flap to the northern seas: +But Oh my thoughts that go to you are more than all of these! + +The winds blow to the northward like a million eager wings, +The driven sea a million white-capped waves to northward flings: +I send you thoughts more many than the waves that fleck the sea, +More eager than tempestuous winds, O Love long leagues from me! + +O Love, long leagues from me, I would I trod the drenched deck +Of some ship speeding to the North and staunch against all wreck, +I would I were a sea-gull strong of wing and void of fear: +Unfaltering and fleet I'd fly the long way to my Dear! + +O if I were the sea, upon your northern land I'd beat +Until my waves flowed over all, and kissed your wandering feet; +And if I were the winds, I'd waft you perfumes from the South, +And give my pleadings to your ears, my kisses to your mouth. + +Though many ships are sailing, never one will carry me, +I may not hurry northward with the gulls, the winds, the sea; +But fervid thoughts they say can flash across long leagues of blue - +Ah, so my love and longing must be known, Dear Heart, to you! + +Shaemas O Sheel [1886- + + +CHANSON DE ROSEMONDE + +The dawn is lonely for the sun, +And chill and drear; +The one lone star is pale and wan +As one in fear. + +But when day strides across the hills, +The warm blood rushes through +The bared soft bosom of the blue +And all the glad east thrills. + +Oh, come, my king! The hounds of joy +Are waiting for thy horn +To chase the doe of heart's desire +Across the heights of morn. + +Oh, come, my Sun, and let me know +The rapture of the day! +Oh, come, my love! Oh, come, my love! +Thou art so long away! + +Richard Hovey [1864-1900] + + +AD DOMNULAM SUAM + +Little lady of my heart! +Just a little longer, +Love me: we will pass and part, +Ere this love grow stronger. + +I have loved thee, Child! too well, +To do aught but leave thee: +Nay! my lips should never tell +Any tale to grieve thee. + +Little lady of my heart! +Just a little longer +I may love thee: we will part +Ere my love grow stronger. + +Soon thou leavest fairy-land; +Darker grow thy tresses: +Soon no more of hand in hand; +Soon no more caresses! + +Little lady of my heart! +Just a little longer +Be a child; then we will part, +Ere this love grow stronger. + +Ernest Dowson [1867-1900] + + +MARIAN DRURY + +Marian Drury, Marian Drury, +How are the marshes full of the sea! +Acadie dreams of your coming home +All year through, and her heart gets free, - + +Free on the trail of the wind to travel, +Search and course with the roving tide, +All year long where his hands unravel +Blossom and berry the marshes hide. + +Marian Drury, Marian Drury, +How are the marshes full of the surge! +April over the Norland now +Walks in the quiet from verge to verge. + +Burying, brimming, the building billows +Fret the long dikes with uneasy foam. +Drenched with gold weather, the idling willows +Kiss you a hand from the Norland home. + +Marian Drury, Marian Drury, +How are the marshes full of the sun! +Blomidon waits for your coming home, +All day long where the white wings run. + +All spring through they falter and follow, +Wander, and beckon the roving tide, +Wheel and float with the veering swallow, +Lift you a voice from the blue hillside. + +Marian Drury, Marian Drury, +How are the marshes full of the rain! +April over the Norland now +Bugles for rapture, and rouses pain, - + +Halts before the forsaken dwelling, +Where in the twilight, too spent to roam, +Love, whom the fingers of death are quelling, +Cries you a cheer from the Norland home. + +Marian Drury, Marian Drury, +How are the marshes filled with you! +Grand Pre dreams of your coming home, - +Dreams while the rainbirds all night through, + +Far in the uplands calling to win you, +Tease the brown dusk on the marshes wide; +And never the burning heart within you +Stirs in your sleep by the roving tide. + +Bliss Carman [1861-1929] + + +LOVE'S ROSARY + +All day I tell my rosary +For now my love's away: +To-morrow he shall come to me +About the break of day; +A rosary of twenty hours, +And then a rose of May; +A rosary of fettered flowers, +And then a holy-day. + +All day I tell my rosary, +My rosary of hours: +And here's a flower of memory, +And here's a hope of flowers, +And here's an hour that yearns with pain +For old forgotten years, +An hour of loss, an hour of gain, +And then a shower of tears. + +All day I tell my rosary, +Because my love's away; +And never a whisper comes to me, +And never a word to say; +But, if it's parting more endears, +God bring him back, I pray; +Or my heart will break in the darkness +Before the break of day. + +All day I tell my rosary, +My rosary of hours, +Until an hour shall bring to me +The hope of all the flowers . . . +I tell my rosary of hours, +For O, my love's away; +And - a dream may bring him back to me +About the break of day. + +Alfred Noyes [1880- + + +WHEN SHE COMES HOME + +When she comes home again! A thousand ways +I fashion, to myself, the tenderness +Of my glad welcome: I shall tremble - yes; +And touch her, as when first in the old days +I touched her girlish hand, nor dared upraise +Mine eyes, such was my faint heart's sweet distress +Then silence: and the perfume of her dress: +The room will sway a little, and a haze +Cloy eyesight - soul-sight, even - for a space; +And tears - yes; and the ache here in the throat, +To know that I so ill deserve the place +Her arms make for me; and the sobbing note +I stay with kisses, ere the tearful face +Again is hidden in the old embrace. + +James Whitcomb Riley [1849-1916] + + + + + + + +THE TRAGEDY OF LOVE + + + + + + +SONG + +My silks and fine array, +My smiles and languished air, +By Love are driven away; +And mournful lean Despair +Brings me yew to deck my grave: +Such end true lovers have. + +His face is fair as heaven +When springing buds unfold: +O why to him was't given, +Whose heart is wintry cold? +His breast is Love's all-worshipped tomb, +Where all Love's pilgrims come. + +Bring me an ax and spade, +Bring me a winding-sheet; +When I my grave have made, +Let winds and tempests beat: +Then down I'll lie, as cold as clay: +True love doth pass away! + +William Blake [1757-1827] + + +THE FLIGHT OF LOVE + +When the lamp is shattered +The light in the dust lies dead - +When the cloud is scattered, +The rainbow's glory is shed. +When the lute is broken, +Sweet tones are remembered not; +When the lips have spoken, +Loved accents are soon forgot. + +As music and splendor +Survive not the lamp and the lute, +The heart's echoes render +No song when the spirit is mute - +No song but sad dirges, +Like the wind through a ruined cell, +Or the mournful surges +That ring the dead seaman's knell. + +When hearts have once mingled, +Love first leaves the well-built nest; +The weak one is singled +To endure what it once possessed. +O Love! who bewailest +The frailty of all things here, +Why choose you the frailest +For your cradle, your home, and your bier? + +Its passions will rock thee +As the storms rock the ravens on high; +Bright reason will mock thee, +Like the sun from a wintry sky. +From thy nest every rafter +Will rot, and thine eagle home +Leave thee naked to laughter, +When leaves fall and cold winds come. + +Percy Bysshe Shelley [1792-1822] + + +"FAREWELL! IF EVER FONDEST PRAYER" + +Farewell! if ever fondest prayer +For other's weal availed on high, +Mine will not all be lost in air, +But waft thy name beyond the sky. +'Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh: +Oh! more than tears of blood can tell, +When wrung from guilt's expiring eye, +Are in that word - Farewell! - Farewell! + +These lips are mute, these eyes are dry: +But in my breast and in my brain +Awake the pangs that pass not by, +The thought that ne'er shall sleep again. +My soul nor deigns nor dares complain, +Though grief and passion there rebel: +I only know we loved in vain - +I only feel - Farewell! - Farewell! + +George Gordon Byron [1788-1824] + + +PORPHYRIA'S LOVER + +The rain set early in to-night, +The sullen wind was soon awake, +It tore the elm-tops down for spite, +And did its worst to vex the lake: +I listened with heart fit to break. +When glided in Porphyria; straight +She shut the cold out and the storm, +And kneeled and made the cheerless grate +Blaze up, and all the cottage warm; +Which done, she rose, and from her form +Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl, +And laid her soiled gloves by, untied +Her hat and let the damp hair fall, +And, last, she sat down by my side +And called me. When no voice replied, +She put my arm about her waist, +And made her smooth white shoulder bare, +And all her yellow hair displaced, +And, stooping, made my cheek lie there, +And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair, +Murmuring how she loved me - she +Too weak, for all her heart's endeavor, +To set its struggling passion free +From pride, and vainer ties dissever, +And give herself to me for ever. +But passion sometimes would prevail, +Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain +A sudden thought of one so pale +For love of her, and all in vain: +So, she was come through wind and rain. +Be sure I looked up at her eyes +Happy and proud; at last I knew +Porphyria worshipped me; surprise +Made my heart swell, and still it grew +While I debated what to do. +That moment she was mine, mine, fair, +Perfectly pure and good: I found +A thing to do, and all her hair +In one long yellow string I wound +Three times her little throat around, +And strangled her. No pain felt she; +I am quite sure she felt no pain. +As a shut bud that holds a bee, +I warily oped her lids: again +Laughed the blue eyes without a stain. +And I untightened next the tress +About her neck; her cheek once more +Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss: +I propped her head up as before, +Only, this time my shoulder bore +Her head, which droops upon it still: +The smiling rosy little head, +So glad it has its utmost will, +That all it scorned at once is fled, +And I, its love, am gained instead! +Porphyria's love: she guessed not how +Her darling one wish would he heard. +And thus we sit together now, +And all night long we have not stirred, +And yet God has not said a word! + +Robert Browning [1812-1889] + + +MODERN BEAUTY + +I am the torch, she saith, and what to me +If the moth die of me? I am the flame +Of Beauty, and I burn that all may see +Beauty, and I have neither joy nor shame. +But live with that clear light of perfect fire +Which is to men the death of their desire. + +I am Yseult and Helen, I have seen +Troy burn, and the most loving knight lies dead. +The world has been my mirror, time has been +My breath upon the glass; and men have said, +Age after age, in rapture and despair, +Love's poor few words, before my image there. + +I live, and am immortal; in my eyes +The sorrow of the world, and on my lips +The joy of life, mingle to make me wise; +Yet now the day is darkened with eclipse: +Who is there lives for beauty? Still am I +The torch, but where's the moth that still dares die? + +Arthur Symons [1865- + + +LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI + +O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, +Alone and palely loitering? +The sedge has withered from the lake, +And no birds sing. + +O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms +So haggard and so woe-begone? +The squirrel's granary is full, +And the harvest's done. + +I see a lily on thy brow +With anguish moist and fever-dew, +And on thy cheeks a fading rose +Fast withereth too. + +I met a lady in the meads, +Full beautiful - a fairy's child, +Her hair was long, her foot was light, +And her eyes were wild. + +I made a garland for her head, +And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; +She looked at me as she did love, +And made sweet moan. + +I set her on my pacing steed +And nothing else saw all day long, +For sidelong would she bend, and sing +A fairy's song. + +She found me roots of relish sweet, +And honey wild and manna-dew, +And sure in language strange she said, +"I love thee true." + +She took me to her elfin grot, +And there she wept and sighed full sore; +And there I shut her wild, wild eyes +With kisses four. + +And there she lulled me asleep, +And there I dreamed - Ah! woe betide! +The latest dream I ever dreamed +On the cold hill's side. + +I saw pale kings and princes too, +Pale warriors, death-pale were they all: +They cried - "La belle dame sans merci +Hath thee in thrall!" + +I saw their starved lips in the gloam +With horrid warning gaped wide, +And I awoke and found me here +On the cold hill's side. + +And this is why I sojourn here +Alone and palely loitering, +Though the sedge is withered from the lake, +And no birds sing. + +John Keats [1795-1821] + + +TANTALUS - TEXAS + +"If I may trust your love," she cried, +"And you would have me for a bride, +Ride over yonder plain, and bring +Your flask full from the Mustang spring; +Fly, fast as western eagle's wing, +O'er the Llano Estacado!" + +He heard, and bowed without a word, +His gallant steed he lightly spurred! +He turned his face, and rode away +Toward the grave of dying day, +And vanished with its parting ray +On the Llano Estacado. + +Night came, and found him riding on, +Day came, and still he rode alone. +He spared not spur, he drew not rein, +Across that broad, unchanging plain, +Till he the Mustang spring might gain, +On the Llano Estacado. + +A little rest, a little draught, +Hot from his hand, and quickly quaffed, +His flask was filled, and then he turned. +Once more his steed the maguey spurned, +Once more the sky above him burned, +On the Llano Estacado. + +How hot the quivering landscape glowed! +His brain seemed boiling as he rode - +Was it a dream, a drunken one, +Or was he really riding on? +Was that a skull that gleamed and shone +On the Llano Estacado? + +"Brave steed of mine, brave steed!" he cried, +"So often true, so often tried, +Bear up a little longer yet!" +His mouth was black with blood and sweat - +Heaven! how he longed his lips to wet +On the Llano Estacado. + +And still, within his breast, he held +The precious flask so lately filled. +Oh, for a drink! But well he knew +If empty it should meet her view, +Her scorn - but still his longing grew +On the Llano Estacado. + +His horse went down. He wandered on, +Giddy, blind, beaten, and alone. +While upon cushioned couch you lie, +Oh, think how hard it is to die, +Beneath the cruel, cloudless sky +On the Llano Estacado. + +At last he staggered, stumbled, fell, +His day was done, he knew full well, +And raising to his lips the flask, +The end, the object of his task, +Drank to her - more she could not ask. +Ah, the Llano Estacado! + +That night in the Presidio, +Beneath the torchlight's wavy glow, +She danced - and never thought of him, +The victim of a woman's whim, +Lying, with face upturned and grim, +On the Llano Estacado. + +Joaquin Miller [1839-1913] + + +ENCHAINMENT + +I went to her who loveth me no more, +And prayed her bear with me, if so she might; +For I had found day after day too sore, +And tears that would not cease night after night. +And so I prayed her, weeping, that she bore +To let me be with her a little; yea, +To soothe myself a little with her sight, +Who loved me once, ah many a night and day. + +Then she who loveth me no more, maybe +She pitied somewhat: and I took a chain +To bind myself to her, and her to me; +Yea, so that I might call her mine again. +Lo! she forbade me not; but I and she +Fettered her fair limbs, and her neck more fair, +Chained the fair wasted white of love's domain. +And put gold fetters on her golden hair. + +Oh! the vain joy it is to see her lie +Beside me once again; beyond release, +Her hair, her hand, her body, till she die, +All mine, for me to do with what I please! +For, after all, I find no chain whereby +To chain her heart to love me as before, +Nor fetter for her lips, to make them cease +From saying still she loveth me no more. + +Arthur O'Shaughnessy [1844-1881] + + +AULD ROBIN GRAY + +When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame, +And a' the warld to rest are gane, +The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e, +While my gudeman lies sound by me. + +Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride; +But saving a croun he had naething else beside: +To make the croun a pund, young Jamie gaed to sea; +And the croun and the pund were baith for me. + +He hadna been awa' a week but only twa, +When my father brak his arm, and the kye was stown awa'; +My mother she fell sick, - and my Jamie at the sea - +And auld Robin Gray came a-courtin' me. + +My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin; +I toiled day and night, but their bread I couldna win; +Auld Rob maintained them baith, and wi' tears in his e'e +Said, "Jennie, for their sakes, O, marry me!" + +My heart it said nay; I looked for Jamie back; +But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack; +His ship it was a wrack - Why didna Jamie dee? +Or why do I live to cry, Wae's me! + +My father urged me sair: my mother didna speak; +But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break: +They gi'ed him my hand, though my heart was in the sea; +Sae auld Robin Gray he was gudeman to me. + +I hadna been a wife a week but only four, +When mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the door, +I saw my Jamie's wraith, - for I couldna think it he, +Till he said, "I'm come hame to marry thee." + +O, sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say; +We took but ae kiss, and we tore ourselves away: +I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to dee; +And why was I born to say, Wae's me! + +I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin; +I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin; +But I'll do my best a gude wife aye to be, +For auld Robin Gray he is kind unto me. + +Anne Barnard [1750-1825] + + +LOST LIGHT + +My heart is chilled and my pulse is slow, +But often and often will memory go, +Like a blind child lost in a waste of snow, +Back to the days when I loved you so - +The beautiful long ago. + +I sit here dreaming them through and through, +The blissful moments I shared with you - +The sweet, sweet days when our love was new, +When I was trustful and you were true - +Beautiful days, but few! + +Blest or wretched, fettered or free, +Why should I care how your life may be, +Or whether you wander by land or sea? +I only know you are dead to me, +Ever and hopelessly. + +Oh, how often at day's decline +I pushed from my window the curtaining vine, +To see from your lattice the lamp-light shine - +Type of a message that, half divine, +Flashed from your heart to mine. + +Once more the starlight is silvering all; +The roses sleep by the garden wall; +The night bird warbles his madrigal, +And I hear again through the sweet air fall +The evening bugle-call. + +But summers will vanish and years will wane, +And bring no light to your window pane; +Nor gracious sunshine nor patient rain +Can bring dead love back to life again: +I call up the past in vain. + +My heart is heavy, my heart is old, +And that proves dross which I counted gold; +I watch no longer your curtain's fold; +The window is dark and the night is cold, +And the story forever told. + +Elizabeth Akers [1832-1911] + + +A SIGH + +It was nothing but a rose I gave her, - +Nothing but a rose +Any wind might rob of half its savor, +Any wind that blows. + +When she took it from my trembling fingers +With a hand as chill - +Ah, the flying touch upon them lingers, +Stays, and thrills them still! + +Withered, faded, pressed between the pages, +Crumpled fold on fold, - +Once it lay upon her breast, and ages +Cannot make it old! + +Harriet Prescott Spofford [1835-1921] + + +HEREAFTER + +Love, when all the years are silent, vanished quite and laid to rest, +When you and I are sleeping, folded breathless breast to breast, +When no morrow is before us, and the long grass tosses o'er us, +And our grave remains forgotten, or by alien footsteps pressed - + +Still that love of ours will linger, that great love enrich the earth, +Sunshine in the heavenly azure, breezes blowing joyous mirth; +Fragrance fanning off from flowers, melody of summer showers, +Sparkle of the spicy wood-fires round the happy autumn hearth. + +That's our love. But you and I, dear - shall we linger with it yet, +Mingled in one dew-drop, tangled in one sunbeam's golden net - +On the violet's purple bosom, I the sheen, but you the blossom, +Stream on sunset winds, and be the haze with which some hill is wet? + +Or, beloved - if ascending - when we have endowed the world +With the best bloom of our being, whither will our way be whirled, +Through what vast and starry spaces, toward what awful, holy places, +With a white light on our faces, spirit over spirit furled? + +Only this our yearning answers: wheresoe'er that way defile, +Not a film shall part us through the eons of that mighty while, +In the fair eternal weather, even as phantoms still together, +Floating, floating, one forever, in the light of God's great smile. + +Harriet Prescott Spofford [1835-1921] + + +ENDYMION + +The apple trees are hung with gold, +And birds are loud in Arcady, +The sheep lie bleating in the fold, +The wild goat runs across the wold, +But yesterday his love he told, +I know he will come back to me. +O rising moon! O Lady moon! +Be you my lover's sentinel, +You cannot choose but know him well, +For he is shod with purple shoon, +You cannot choose but know my love, +For he a shepherd's crook doth bear, +And he is soft as any dove, +And brown and curly is his hair. + +The turtle now has ceased to call +Upon her crimson-footed groom, +The gray wolf prowls about the stall, +The lily's singing seneschal +Sleeps in the lily-bell, and all +The violet hills are lost in gloom. +O risen moon! O holy moon! +Stand on the top of Helice, +And if my own true love you see, +Ah! if you see the purple shoon, +The hazel crook, the lad's brown hair, +The goat-skin wrapped about his arm, +Tell him that I am waiting where +The rushlight glimmers in the Farm. + +The falling dew is cold and chill, +And no bird sings in Arcady, +The little fauns have left the hill, +Even the tired daffodil +Has closed its gilded doors, and still +My lover comes not back to me. +False moon! False moon! O waning moon! +Where is my own true lover gone, +Where are the lips vermilion, +The shepherd's crook, the purple shoon? +Why spread that silver pavilion, +Why wear that veil of drifting mist? +Ah! thou hast young Endymion, +Thou hast the lips that should be kissed! + +Oscar Wilde [1856-1900] + + +"LOVE IS A TERRIBLE THING" + +I went out to the farthest meadow, +I lay down in the deepest shadow; + +And I said unto the earth, "Hold me," +And unto the night, "O enfold me!" + +And unto the wind petulantly +I cried, "You know not for you are free!" + +And I begged the little leaves to lean +Low and together for a safe screen; + +Then to the stars I told my tale: +"That is my home-light, there in the vale, + +"And O, I know that I shall return, +But let me lie first mid the unfeeling fern; + +"For there is a flame that has blown too near, +And there is a name that has grown too dear, +And there is a fear" . . . . + +And to the still hills and cool earth and far sky I made moan, +"The heart in my bosom is not my own! + +"O would I were free as the wind on wing; +Love is a terrible thing!" + +Grace Fallow Norton [1876- + + +THE BALLAD OF THE ANGEL + +"Who is it knocking in the night, +That fain would enter in?" +"The ghost of Lost Delight am I, +The sin you would not sin, +Who comes to look in your two eyes +And see what might have been." + +"Oh, long ago and long ago +I cast you forth," he said, +"For that your eyes were all too blue, +Your laughing mouth too red, +And my torn soul was tangled in +The tresses of your head." + +"Now mind you with what bitter words +You cast me forth from you?" +"I bade you back to that fair Hell +From whence your breath you drew, +And with great blows I broke my heart +Lest it might follow too. + +"Yea, from the grasp of your white hands +I freed my hands that day, +And have I not climbed near to God +As these His henchmen may?" +"Ah, man, - ah, man! 'twas my two hands +That led you all the way." + +"I hid my eyes from your two eyes +That they might see aright." +"Yet think you 'twas a star that led +Your feet from height to height? +It was the flame of my two eyes +That drew you through the night." + +With trembling hands he threw the door, +Then fell upon his knee: +"O, Vision armed and cloaked in light, +Why do you honor me?" +"The Angel of your Strength am I +Who was your sin," quoth she. + +"For that you slew me long ago +My hands have raised you high; +For that mine eyes you closed, mine eyes +Are lights to lead you by; +And 'tis my touch shall swing the gates +Of Heaven when you die!" + +Theodosia Garrison [1874- + + +"LOVE CAME BACK AT FALL O' DEW" + +Love came back at fall o' dew, +Playing his old part; +But I had a word or two, +That would break his heart. + +"He who comes at candlelight, +That should come before, +Must betake him to the night +From a barred door." + +This the word that made us part +In the fall o' dew; +This the word that brake his heart - +Yet it brake mine, too! + +Lizette Woodworth Reese [1856-1935] + + +I SHALL NOT CARE + +When I am dead and over me bright April +Shakes out her rain-drenched hair, +Though you should lean above me broken-hearted, +I shall not care. + +I shall have peace, as leafy trees are peaceful +When rain bends down the bough, +And I shall be more silent and cold-hearted +Than you are now. + +Sara Teasdale [1884-1933] + + +OUTGROWN + +Nay, you wrong her, my friend, she's not fickle; her love + she has simply outgrown: +One can read the whole matter, translating her heart + by the light of one's own. + +Can you bear me to talk with you frankly? There is much that + my heart would say; +And you know we were children together, have quarreled + and "made up" in play. + +And so, for the sake of old friendship, I venture to tell you + the truth, - +As plainly, perhaps, and as bluntly, as I might in our + earlier youth. + +Five summers ago, when you wooed her, you stood on the + selfsame plane, +Face to face, heart to heart, never dreaming your souls + should be parted again. + +She loved you at that time entirely, in the bloom, of her life's + early May; +And it is not her fault, I repeat it, that she does not love you + to-day. + +Nature never stands still, nor souls either: they ever go up + or go down; +And hers has been steadily soaring - but how has it been + with your own? + +She has struggled and yearned and aspired, grown purer and wiser each year: +The stars are not farther above you in yon luminous atmosphere! + +For she whom you crowned with fresh roses, down yonder, five summers ago, +Has learned that the first of our duties to God and ourselves is to grow. + +Her eyes they are sweeter and calmer: but their vision is clearer as well; +Her voice has a tender cadence, but is pure as a silver bell. + +Her face has the look worn by those who with God and his angels have talked: +The white robes she wears are less white than the spirits with whom she has walked. + +And you? Have you aimed at the highest? Have you, too, + aspired and prayed? +Have you looked upon evil unsullied? Have you conquered it + undismayed? + +Have you, too, grown purer and wiser, as the months + and the years have rolled on? +Did you meet her this morning rejoicing in the triumph + of victory won? + +Nay, hear me! The truth cannot harm you. When to-day + in her presence you stood +Was the hand that you gave her as white and clean as that + of her womanhood? + +Go measure yourself by her standard; look back on the years + that have fled: +Then ask, if you need, why she tells you that the love of her + girlhood is dead. + +She cannot look down to her lover: her love, like her soul, aspires; +He must stand by her side, or above her, who would kindle its + holy fires. + +Now farewell! For the sake of old friendship I have ventured + to tell you the truth, +As plainly, perhaps, and as bluntly as I might in our earlier youth. + +Julia C. R. Dorr [1825-1913] + + +A TRAGEDY + +Among his books he sits all day +To think and read and write; +He does not smell the new-mown hay, +The roses red and white. + +I walk among them all alone, +His silly, stupid wife; +The world seems tasteless, dead and done - +An empty thing is life. + +At night his window casts a square +Of light upon the lawn; +I sometimes walk and watch it there +Until the chill of dawn. + +I have no brain to understand +The books he loves to read; +I only have a heart and hand +He does not seem to need. + +He calls me "Child" - lays on my hair +Thin fingers, cold and mild; +Oh! God of Love, who answers prayer, +I wish I were a child! + +And no one sees and no one knows +(He least would know or see), +That ere Love gathers next year's rose +Death will have gathered me. + +Edith Nesbit [1858-1924] + + +LEFT BEHIND + +It was the autumn of the year; +The strawberry-leaves were red and sere; +October's airs were fresh and chill, +When, pausing on the windy hill, +The hill that overlooks the sea, +You talked confidingly to me, - +Me whom your keen, artistic sight +Has not yet learned to read aright, +Since I have veiled my heart from you, +And loved you better than you knew. + +You told me of your toilsome past; +The tardy honors won at last, +The trials borne, the conquests gained, +The longed-for boon of Fame attained; +I knew that every victory +But lifted you away from me, +That every step of high emprise +But left me lowlier in your eyes; +I watched the distance as it grew, +And loved you better than you knew. + +You did not see the bitter trace +Of anguish sweep across my face; +You did not hear my proud heart beat, +Heavy and slow, beneath your feet; +You thought of triumphs still unwon, +Of glorious deeds as yet undone; +And I, the while you talked to me, +I watched the gulls float lonesomely, +Till lost amid the hungry blue, +And loved you better than you knew. + +You walk the sunny side of fate; +The wise world smiles, and calls you great; +The golden fruitage of success +Drops at your feet in plenteousness; +And you have blessings manifold: - +Renown and power and friends and gold, - +They build a wall between us twain, +Which may not be thrown down again, +Alas! for I, the long years through, +Have loved you better than you knew. + +Your life's proud aim, your art's high truth, +Have kept the promise of your youth; +And while you won the crown, which now +Breaks into bloom upon your brow, +My soul cried strongly out to you +Across the ocean's yearning blue, +While, unremembered and afar, +I watched you, as I watch a star +Through darkness struggling into view, +And loved you better than you knew. + +I used to dream in all these years +Of patient faith and silent tears, +That Love's strong hand would put aside +The barriers of place and pride, +Would reach the pathless darkness through, +And draw me softly up to you; +But that is past. If you should stray +Beside my grave, some future day, +Perchance the violets o'er my dust +Will half betray their buried trust, +And say, their blue eyes full of dew, +"She loved you better than you knew." + +Elizabeth Akers [1832-1911] + + +THE FORSAKEN MERMAN + +Come, dear children, let us away; +Down and away below! +Now my brothers call from the bay, +Now the great winds shoreward blow, +Now the salt tides seaward flow; +Now the wild white horses play, +Champ and chafe and toss in the spray. +Children dear, let us away! +This way, this way! + +Call her once before you go. - +Call once yet! +In a voice that she will know: +"Margaret! Margaret!" +Children's voices should be dear +(Call once more) to a mother's ear; +Children's voices, wild with pain, - +Surely she will come again! +Call her once and come away; +This way, this way! +"Mother dear, we cannot stay! +The wild white horses foam and fret." +Margaret! Margaret! + +Come, dear children, come away down; +Call no more! +One last look at the white-walled town, +And the little gray church on the windy shore; +Then come down! +She will not come, though you call all day; +Come away, come away! + +Children dear, was it yesterday +We heard the sweet bells over the bay? +In the caverns where we lay, +Through the surf and through the swell, +The far-off sound of a silver bell? +Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep, +Where the winds are all asleep; +Where the spent lights quiver and gleam, +Where the salt weed sways in the stream, +Where the sea-beasts, ranged all round, +Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground; +Where the sea-snakes coil and twine, +Dry their mail and bask in the brine; +Where great whales come sailing by, +Sail and sail, with unshut eye, +Round the world for ever and aye? +When did music come this way? +Children dear, was it yesterday? + +Children dear, was it yesterday +(Call yet once) that she went away? +Once she sate with you and me, +On a red gold throne in the heart of the sea, +And the youngest sate on her knee. +She combed its bright hair, and she tended it well, +When down swung the sound of the far-off bell. +She sighed, she looked up through the clear green sea; +She said: "I must go, for my kinsfolk pray +In the little gray church on the shore to-day. +'Twill he Easter-time in the world, - ah me! +And I lose my poor soul, Merman, here with thee." +I said: "Go up, dear heart, through the waves: +Say thy prayer, and come back to the kind sea-caves!" +She smiled, she went up through the surf in the bay. +Children dear, was it yesterday? + +Children dear, were we long alone? +"The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan; +Long prayers," I said, "in the world they say; +Come!" I said, and we rose through the surf in the bay. +We went up the beach, by the sandy down +Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white-walled town, +Through the narrow paved streets, where all was still, +To the little gray church on the windy hill. +From the church came a murmur of folk at their prayers, +But we stood without in the cold blowing airs. +We climbed on the graves, on the stones worn with rains, +And we gazed up the aisle through the small leaded panes. +She sate by the pillar; we saw her clear: +"Margaret, hist! come quick, we are here! +Dear heart," I said, "we are long alone; +The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan." +But, ah, she gave me never a look, +For her eyes were sealed to the holy book! +Loud prays the priest; shut stands the door. +Come away, children, call no more! +Come away, come down, call no more! + +Down, down, down! +Down to the depths of the sea! +She sits at her wheel in the humming town, +Singing most joyfully. +Hark what she sings: "O joy, O joy, +From the humming street, and the child with its toy! +From the priest, and the bell, and the holy well; +From the wheel where I spun, +And the blessed light of the sun!" +And so she sings her fill, +Singing most joyfully, +Till the spindle drops from her hand, +And the whizzing wheel stands still. +She steals to the window, and looks at the sand, +And over the sand at the sea; +And her eyes are set in a stare, +And anon there breaks a sigh, +And anon there drops a tear, +From a sorrow-clouded eye, +And a heart sorrow-laden, +A long, long sigh; +For the cold strange eyes of a little Mermaiden, +And the gleam of her golden hair. + +Come away, away, children; +Come, children, come down! +The hoarse wind blows colder; +Lights shine in the town. +She will start from her slumber +When gusts shake the door; +She will hear the winds howling, +Will hear the waves roar. +We shall see, while above us +The waves roar and whirl, +A ceiling of amber, +A pavement of pearl. +Singing: "Here came a mortal, +But faithless was she! +And alone dwell for ever +The kings of the sea." + +But, children, at midnight, +When soft the winds blow, +When clear falls the moonlight, +When spring-tides are low; +When sweet airs come seaward +From heaths starred with broom, +And high rocks throw mildly +On the blanched sands a gloom; +Up the still, glistening beaches, +Up the creeks we will hie; +Over banks of bright seaweed +The ebb-tide leaves dry. +We will gaze, from the sand-hills, +At the white, sleeping town; +At the church on the hillside - +And then come back down. +Singing: "There dwells a loved one, +But cruel is she! +She left lonely for ever +The kings of the sea." + +Matthew Arnold [1822-1888] + + +THE PORTRAIT + +Midnight past! Not a sound of aught +Through the silent house, but the wind at his prayers. +I sat by the dying fire, and thought +Of the dear dead woman up-stairs. + +A night of tears! for the gusty rain +Had ceased, but the eaves were dripping yet; +And the moon looked forth, as though in pain, +With her face all white and wet: + +Nobody with me, my watch to keep, +But the friend of my bosom, the man I love: +And grief had sent him fast to sleep +In the chamber up above. + +Nobody else, in the country place +All round, that knew of my loss beside, +But the good young Priest with the Raphael-face, +Who confessed her when she died. + +That good young Priest is of gentle nerve, +And my grief had moved him beyond control; +For his lip grew white, as I could observe, +When he speeded her parting soul. + +I sat by the dreary hearth alone: +I thought of the pleasant days of yore: +I said, "The staff of my life is gone: +The woman I loved is no more. + +"On her cold dead bosom my portrait lies, +Which next to her heart she used to wear - +Haunting it o'er with her tender eyes +When my own face was not there. + +"It is set all round with rubies red, +And pearls which a Pen might have kept. +For each ruby there my heart hath bled: +For each pearl my eyes have wept." + +And I said - The thing is precious to me: +They will bury her soon in the churchyard clay; +It lies on her heart, and lost must be +If I do not take it away." + +I lighted my lamp at the dying flame, +And crept up the stairs that creaked for fright, +Till into the chamber of death I came, +Where she lay all in white. + +The moon shone over her winding-sheet, +There stark she lay on her carven bed: +Seven burning tapers about her feet, +And seven about her head. + +As I stretched my hand, I held my breath; +I turned as I drew the curtains apart: +I dared not look on the face of death: +I knew where to find her heart. + +I thought at first, as my touch fell there, +It had warmed that heart to life, with love; +For the thing I touched was warm, I swear, +And I could feel it move. + +'Twas the hand of a man, that was moving slow +O'er the heart of the dead, - from the other side: +And at once the sweat broke over my brow: +"Who is robbing the corpse?" I cried. + +Opposite me by the tapers' light, +The friend of my bosom, the man I loved, +Stood over the corpse, and all as white, +And neither of us moved. + +"What do you here, my friend?". . .The man +Looked first at me, and then at the dead. +"There is a portrait here," he began: +"There is. It is mine," I said. + +Said the friend of my bosom, "Yours, no doubt, +The portrait was, till a month ago, +When this suffering angel took that out, +And placed mine there, I know." + +"This woman, she loved me well," said I. +"A month ago," said my friend to me: +"And in your throat," I groaned, "you lie!" +He answered, . . . "Let us see." + +"Enough!" I returned, "let the dead decide: +And whosesoever the portrait prove, +His shall it be, when the cause is tried, +Where Death is arraigned by Love." + +We found the portrait there, in its place: +We opened it by the tapers' shine: +The gems were all unchanged: the face +Was - neither his nor mine. + +"One nail drives out another, at least! +The face of the portrait there," I cried, +"Is our friend's, the Raphael-faced young Priest, +Who confessed her when she died." + +The setting is all of rubies red, +And pearls which a Peri might have kept. +For each ruby there my heart hath bled: +For each pearl my eyes have wept. + +Edward Robert Bulwer Lytton [1831-1891] + + +THE ROSE AND THORN + +She's loveliest of the festal throng +In delicate form and Grecian face, - +A beautiful, incarnate song, +A marvel of harmonious grace; +And yet I know the truth I speak: +From those gay groups she stands apart, +A rose upon her tender cheek, +A thorn within her heart. + +Though bright her eyes' bewildering gleams, +Fair tremulous lips and shining hair, +A something born of mournful dreams +Breathes round her sad enchanted air; +No blithesome thoughts at hide and seek +From out her dimples smiling start; +If still the rose be on her cheek, +A thorn is in her heart. + +Young lover, tossed 'twixt hope and fear, +Your whispered vow and yearning eyes +Yon marble Clytie pillared near +Could move as soon to soft replies: +Or, if she thrill at words you speak, +Love's memory prompts the sudden start; +The rose has paled upon her cheek, +The thorn has pierced her heart. + +Paul Hamilton Hayne [1830-1886] + + +TO HER - UNSPOKEN + +Go to him, ah, go to him, and lift your eyes aglow to him; +Fear not royally to give whatever he may claim; +All your spirit's treasury scruple not to show to him. +He is noble; meet him with a pride too high for shame. + +Say to him, ah, say to him, that soul and body sway to him; +Cast away the cowardice that counsels you to flight, +Lest you turn at last to find that you have lost the way to him, +Lest you stretch your arms in vain across a starless night. + +Be to him, ah, be to him, the key that sets joy free to him, +Teach him all the tenderness that only love can know, +And if ever there should come a memory of me to him, +Bid him judge me gently for the sake of long ago. + +Amelia Josephine Burr [1878- + + +A LIGHT WOMAN + +So far as our story approaches the end, +Which do you pity the most of us three? - +My friend, or the mistress of my friend +With her wanton eyes, or me? + +My friend was already too good to lose, +And seemed in the way of improvement yet, +When she crossed his path with her hunting-noose, +And over him drew her net. + +When I saw him tangled in her toils, +A shame, said I, if she adds just him +To her nine-and-ninety other spoils, +The hundredth for a whim! + +And before my friend be wholly hers, +How easy to prove to him, I said, +An eagle's the game her pride prefers, +Though she snaps at a wren instead! + +So, I gave her eyes my own eyes to take, +My hand sought hers as in earnest need, +And round she turned for my noble sake, +And gave me herself indeed. + +The eagle am I, with my fame in the world, +The wren is he, with his maiden face. +- You look away and your lip is curled? +Patience, a moment's space! + +For see, my friend goes shaking and white; +He eyes me as the basilisk: +I have turned, it appears, his day to night, +Eclipsing his sun's disk. + +And I did it, he thinks, as a very thief: +"Though I love her - that, he comprehends - +One should master one's passions, (love, in chief) +And be loyal to one's friends!" + +And she, - she lies in my hand as tame +As a pear late basking over a wall; +Just a touch to try and off it came; +'Tis mine, - can I let it fall? + +With no mind to eat it, that's the worst! +Were it thrown in the road, would the case assist? +'Twas quenching a dozen blue-flies' thirst +When I gave its stalk a twist. + +And I, - what I seem to my friend, you see: +What I soon shall seem to his love, you guess: +What I seem to myself, do you ask of me? +No hero I confess. + +'Tis an awkward thing to play with souls, +And matter enough to save one's own: +Yet think of my friend, and the burning coals +He played with for bits of stone! + +One likes to show the truth for the truth; +That the woman was light is very true: +But suppose she says, - Never mind that youth! +What wrong have I done to you? + +Well, anyhow, here the story stays, +So far at least as I understand; +And, Robert Browning, you writer of plays, +Here's a subject made to your hand! + +Robert Browning [1812-1889] + + +FROM THE TURKISH + +The chain I gave was fair to view, +The lute I added sweet in sound, +The heart that offered both was true, +And ill deserved the fate it found. + +These gifts were charmed by secret spell +Thy truth in absence to divine; +And they have done their duty well, +Alas! they could not teach thee thine. + +That chain was firm in every link, +But not to bear a stranger's touch; +That lute was sweet - till thou couldst think +In other hands its notes were such. + +Let him, who from thy neck unbound +The chain which shivered in his grasp, +Who saw that lute refuse to sound, +Restring the chords, renew the clasp. + +When thou wert changed, they altered too; +The chain is broke, the music mute: +'Tis past - to them and thee adieu - +False heart, frail chain, and silent lute. + +George Gordon Byron [1788-1824] + + +A SUMMER WOOING + +The wind went wooing the rose, +For the rose was fair. +How the rough wind won her, who knows? +But he left her there. +Far away from her grave he blows: +Does the free wind care? + +Louise Chandler Moulton [1835-1908] + + +BUTTERFLIES + +At sixteen years she knew no care; +How could she, sweet and pure as light? +And there pursued her everywhere +Butterflies all white. + +A lover looked. She dropped her eyes +That glowed like pansies wet with dew; +And lo, there came from out the skies +Butterflies all blue. + +Before she guessed her heart was gone; +The tale of love was swiftly told; +And all about her wheeled and shone +Butterflies all gold. + +Then he forsook her one sad morn; +She wept and sobbed, "Oh, love, come back!" +There only came to her forlorn +Butterflies all black. + +John Davidson [1857-1909] + + +UNSEEN SPIRITS + +The shadows lay along Broadway, +'Twas near the twilight-tide, +And slowly there a lady fair +Was walking in her pride. +Alone walked she; but, viewlessly, +Walked spirits at her side. + +Peace charmed the street beneath her feet, +And Honor charmed the air; +And all astir looked kind on her, +And called her good as fair, - +For all God ever gave to her +She kept with chary care. + +She kept with care her beauties rare +From lovers warm and true, +For her heart was cold to all but gold, +And the rich came not to woo - +But honored well are charms to sell +If priests the selling do. + +Now walking there was one more fair - +A slight girl, lily-pale; +And she had unseen company +To make the spirit quail: +'Twixt Want and Scorn she walked forlorn, +And nothing could avail. + +No mercy now can clear her brow +For this world's peace to pray; +For, as love's wild prayer dissolved in air, +Her woman's heart gave way! - +But the sin forgiven by Christ in heaven +By man is cursed alway! + +Nathaniel Parker Willis [1806-1867] + + +"GRANDMITHER, THINK NOT I FORGET" + +Grandmither, think not I forget, when I come back to town, +An' wander the old ways again, an' tread them up and down. +I never smell the clover bloom, nor see the swallows pass, +Without I mind how good ye were unto a little lass. +I never hear the winter rain a-pelting all night through, +Without I think and mind me of how cold it falls on you. +And if I come not often to your bed beneath the thyme, +Mayhap 'tis that I'd change wi' ye, and gie my bed for thine, +Would like to sleep in thine. + +I never hear the summer winds among the roses blow, +Without I wonder why it was ye loved the lassie so. +Ye gave me cakes and lollipops and pretty toys a store, - +I never thought I should come back and ask ye now for more. +Grandmither, gie me your still, white hands, that lie upon your breast, +For mine do beat the dark all night, and never find me rest; +They grope among the shadows, an' they beat the cold black air, +They go seekin' in the darkness, an' they never find him there, +They never find him there. + +Grandmither, gie me your sightless eyes, that I may never see +His own a-burnin' full o' love that must not shine for me. +Grandmither, gie me your peaceful lips, white as the kirkyard snow, +For mine be tremblin' wi' the wish that he must never know. +Grandmither, gie me your clay-stopped ears, that I may never hear +My lad a-singin' in the night when I am sick wi' fear; +A-singin' when the moonlight over a' the land is white - +Ah, God! I'll up an' go to him a-singin' in the night, +A-callin' in the night. + +Grandmither, gie me your clay-cold heart that has forgot to ache, +For mine be fire within my breast and yet it cannot break. +Wi' every beat it's callin' for things that must not be, - +An' can ye not let me creep in an' rest awhile by ye? +A little lass afeard o' dark slept by ye years agone - +Ah, she has found what night can hold 'twixt sundown an' the dawn! +So when I plant the rose an' rue above your grave for ye, +Ye'll know it's under rue an' rose that I would like to be, +That I would like to be. + +Willa Sibert Cather [1875- + + +LITTLE WILD BABY + +Through the fierce fever I nursed him, and then he said +I was the woman - I! - that he would wed; +He sent a boat with men for his own white priest, +And he gave my father horses, and made a feast. +I am his wife: if he has forgotten me, +I will not live for scorning eyes to see. +(Little wild baby, that knowest not where thou art going, +Lie still! lie still! Thy mother will do the rowing.) + +Three moons ago - it was but three moons ago - +He took his gun, and started across the snow; +For the river was frozen, the river that still goes down +Every day, as I watch it, to find the town; +The town whose name I caught from his sleeping lips, +A place of many people and many ships. +(Little wild baby, that knowest not where thou art going, +Lie still! lie still! Thy mother will do the rowing.) + +I to that town am going, to search the place, +With his little white son in my arms, till I see his face. +Only once shall I need to look in his eyes, +To see if his soul, as I knew it, lives or dies. +If it lives, we live, and if it is dead, we die, +And the soul of my baby will never ask me why. +(Little wild baby, that knowest not where thou art going, +Lie still! lie still! Thy mother will do the rowing.) + +I have asked about the river: one answered me, +That after the town it goes to find the sea; +That great waves, able to break the stoutest bark, +Are there, and the sea is very deep and dark. +If he is happy without me, so best, so best; +I will take his baby and go away to my rest. +(Little wild baby, that knowest not where thou art going, +Lie still! lie still! Thy mother will do the rowing. +The river flows swiftly, the sea is dark and deep: +Little wild baby, lie still! Lie still and sleep.) + +Margaret Thomson Janvier [1845-1913] + + +A CRADLE SONG + +Come little babe, come silly soul, +Thy father's shame, thy mother's grief, +Born as I doubt to all our dole, +And to thyself unhappy chief: +Sing lullaby, and lap it warm, +Poor soul that thinks no creature harm. + +Thou little think'st and less dost know +The cause of this thy mother's moan; +Thou want'st the wit to wail her woe, +And I myself am all alone: +Why dost thou weep? why dost thou wail? +And know'st not yet what thou dost ail. + +Come, little wretch - ah, silly heart! +Mine only joy, what can I more? +If there be any wrong thy smart, +That may the destinies implore: +'Twas I, I say, against my will, +I wail the time, but be thou still. + +And dost thou smile? O, thy sweet face! +Would God Himself He might thee see! - +No doubt thou wouldst soon purchase grace, +I know right well, for thee and me: +But come to mother, babe, and play, +For father false is fled away. + +Sweet boy, if it by fortune chance +Thy father home again to send, +If death do strike me with his lance, +Yet may'st thou me to him commend: +If any ask thy mother's name, +Tell how by love she purchased blame. + +Then will his gentle heart soon yield: +I know him of a noble mind: +Although a lion in the field, +A lamb in town thou shalt him find: +Ask blessing, babe, be not afraid, +His sugared words hath me betrayed. + +Then may'st thou joy and be right glad; +Although in woe I seem to moan, +Thy father is no rascal lad, +A noble youth of blood and bone: +His glancing looks, if he once smile, +Right honest women may beguile. + +Come, little boy, and rock asleep; +Sing lullaby and be thou still; +I, that can do naught else but weep, +Will sit by thee and wail my fill: +God bless my babe, and lullaby +From this thy father's quality. + +Nicholas Breton [1545?-1626?] + + +LADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT + +Balow, my babe, lie still and sleep! +It grieves me sore to see thee weep. +Wouldst thou be quiet I'se be glad, +Thy mourning makes my sorrow sad: +Balow my boy, thy mother's joy, +Thy father breeds me great annoy - +Balow, la-low! + +When he began to court my love, +And with his sugared words me move, +His feignings false and flattering cheer +To me that time did not appear: +But now I see most cruelly +He cares ne for my babe nor me - +Balow, la-low! + +Lie still, my darling, sleep awhile, +And when thou wak'st thou'll sweetly smile: +But smile not as thy father did, +To cozen maids: nay, God forbid! +But yet I fear thou wilt go near +Thy father's heart and face to bear - +Balow, la-low! + +I cannot choose but ever will +Be loving to thy father still; +Where'er he go, where'er he ride, +My love with him doth still abide; +In weal or woe, where'er he go, +My heart shall ne'er depart him fro - +Balow, la-low! + +But do not, do not, pretty mine, +To feignings false thy heart incline! +Be loyal to thy lover true, +And never change her for a new: +If good or fair, of her have care +For women's banning's wondrous sair - +Balow, la-low! + +Bairn, by thy face I will beware; +Like Sirens' words, I'll come not near; +My babe and I together will live; +He'll comfort me when cares do grieve. +My babe and I right soft will lie, +And ne'er respect man's cruelty - +Balow, la-low! + +Farewell, farewell, the falsest youth +That ever kissed a woman's mouth! +I wish all maids be warned by me +Never to trust man's courtesy; +For if we do but chance to bow, +They'll use us then they care not how - +Balow, la-low! + +Unknown + + +A WOMAN'S LOVE + +A sentinel angel, sitting high in glory, +Heard this shrill wail ring out from Purgatory: +"Have mercy, mighty angel, hear my story! + +"I loved, - and, blind with passionate love, I fell. +Love brought me down to death, and death to Hell; +For God is just, and death for sin is well. + +"I do not rage against His high decree, +Nor for myself do ask that grace shall be; +But for my love on earth who mourns for me. + +"Great Spirit! Let me see my love again +And comfort him one hour, and I were fain +To pay a thousand years of fire and pain." + +Then said the pitying angel, "Nay, repent +That wild vow! Look, the dial-finger's bent +Down to the last hour of thy punishment!" + +But still she wailed, "I pray thee, let me go! +I cannot rise to peace and leave him so. +O, let me soothe him in his bitter woe!" + +The brazen gates ground sullenly ajar, +And upwards, joyous, like a rising star, +She rose and vanished in the ether far. + +But soon adown the dying sunset sailing, +And like a wounded bird her pinions trailing, +She fluttered back, with broken-hearted wailing, + +She sobbed, "I found him by the summer sea +Reclined, his head upon a maiden's knee, - +She curled his hair and kissed him. Woe is me!" + +She wept, "Now let my punishment begin! +I have been fond and foolish. Let me in +To expiate my sorrow and my sin." + +The angel answered, "Nay, sad soul, go higher! +To be deceived in your true heart's desire +Was bitterer than a thousand years of fire!" + +John Hay [1838-1905] + + +A TRAGEDY + +She was only a woman, famished for loving, +Mad with devotion, and such slight things; +And he was a very great musician, +And used to finger his fiddle-strings. + +Her heart's sweet gamut is cracking and breaking +For a look, for a touch, - for such slight things; +But he's such a very great musician +Grimacing and fingering his fiddle-strings. + +Theophile Marzials [1850- + + +"MOTHER, I CANNOT MIND MY WHEEL" + +Mother, I cannot mind my wheel; +My fingers ache, my lips are dry: +O, if you felt the pain I feel! +But O, who ever felt as I? + +No longer could I doubt him true - +All other men may use deceit; +He always said my eyes were blue, +And often swore my lips were sweet. + +Walter Savage Lander [1775-1864] + + +AIRLY BEACON + +Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon; +O the pleasant sight to see +Shires and towns from Airly Beacon, +While my love climbed up to me! + +Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon; +O the happy hours we lay +Deep in fern on Airly Beacon, +Courting through the summer's day! + +Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon; +O the weary haunt for me, +All alone on Airly Beacon, +With his baby on my knee! + +Charles Kingsley [1819-1875] + + +A SEA CHILD + +The lover of child Marjory +Had one white hour of life brim full; +Now the old nurse, the rocking sea, +Hath him to lull. + +The daughter of child Marjory +Hath in her veins, to beat and run, +The glad indomitable sea, +The strong white sun. + +Bliss Carmen [1861-1929] + + +FROM THE HARBOR HILL + +"Is it a sail?" she asked. +"No," I said. +"Only a white sea-gull with its pinions spread." + +"Is it a spar?" she asked. +"No," said I. +"Only the slender light-house tower against the sky." + +"Flutters a pennant there?" +"No," I said. +"Only a shred of cloud in the sunset red." + +"Surely a hull, a hull!" +"Where?" I cried. +"Only a rock half-bared by the ebbing tide." + +"Wait you a ship?" I asked. +"Aye!" quoth she. +"The Harbor Belle; her mate comes home to marry me. + +"Surely the good ship hath +Met no harm?" +Was it the west wind wailed or the babe on her arm? + +"The Harbor Belle!" she urged. +Naught said I. - +For I knew o'er the grave o' the Harbor Belle the sea-gulls fly. + +Gustav Kobbe [1857-1918] + + +ALLAN WATER + +On the banks of Allan Water, +When the sweet spring-time did fall, +Was the miller's lovely daughter, +Fairest of them all. + +For his bride a soldier sought her, +And a winning tongue had he, +On the banks of Allan Water, +None so gay as she. + +On the banks of Allan Water, +When brown autumn spread his store, +There I saw the miller's daughter, +But she smiled no more. + +For the summer grief had brought her, +And the soldier false was he, +On the banks of Allan Water, +None so sad as she. + +On the banks of Allan Water, +When the winter snow fell fast, +Still was seen the miller's daughter, +Chilling blew the blast. + +But the miller's lovely daughter, +Both from cold and care was free; +On the banks of Allan Water, +There a corse lay she. + +Matthew Gregory Lewis [1775-1818] + + +FORSAKEN + +O waly waly up the bank, +And waly waly down the brae, +And waly waly yon burn-side +Where I and my Love wont to gae! +I leaned my back unto an aik, +I thought it was a trusty tree; +But first it bowed, and syne it brak, +Sae my true Love did lichtly me. + +O waly waly, but love be bonny +A little while when it is new; +But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld +And fades awa' like morning dew. +O wherefore should I busk my head? +Or wherefore should I kame my hair? +For my true Love has me forsook, +And says he'll never loe me mair. + +Now Arthur-seat sall be my bed; +The sheets shall ne'er be pressed by me: +Saint Anton's well sall be my drink, +Since my true Love has forsaken me. +Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw +And shake the green leaves aff the tree? +O gentle Death, when wilt thou come? +For of my life I am wearie. + +'Tis not the frost, that freezes fell, +Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie; +'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, +But my Love's heart grown cauld to me. +When we cam in by Glasgow town +We were a comely sight to see; +My Love was clad in black velvet. +And I mysel in cramasie. + +But had I wist, before I kissed, +That love had been sae ill to win; +I had locked my heart in a case of gowd +And pinned it with a siller pin. +And, O! if my young babe were born, +And sat upon the nurse's knee, +And I mysel were dead and gane, +And the green grass growing over me! + +Unknown + + +BONNIE DOON + +Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, +How can ye bloom sae fair! +How can ye chant, ye little birds, +And I sae fu' o' care! + +Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird +That sings upon the bough; +Thou minds me o' the happy days +When my fause Luve was true. + +Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird +That sings beside thy mate; +For sae I sat, and sae I sang, +And wist na o' my fate. + +Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon +To see the woodbine twine, +And ilka bird sang o' its love; +And sae did I o' mine. + +Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, +Frae aff its thorny tree; +And my fause luver staw the rose, +But left the thorn wi' me. + +Robert Burns [1759-1796] + + +THE TWO LOVERS + +The lover of her body said: +"She is more beautiful than night, - +But like the kisses of the dead +Is my despair and my delight." + +The lover of her soul replied: +"She is more wonderful than death, - +But bitter as the aching tide +Is all the speech of love she saith." + +The lover of her body said: +"To know one secret of her heart, +For all the joy that I have had, +Is past the reach of all my art." + +The lover of her soul replied: +"The secrets of her heart are mine, - +Save how she lives, a riven bride, +Between the dust and the divine." + +The lover of her body sware: +"Though she should hate me, wit you well, +Rather than yield one kiss of her +I give my soul to burn in hell." + +The lover of her soul cried out: +"Rather than leave her to your greed, +I would that I were walled about +With death, - and death were death indeed!" + +The lover of her body wept, +And got no good of all his gain, +Knowing that in her heart she kept +The penance of the other's pain. + +The lover of her soul went mad, +But when he did himself to death, +Despite of all the woe he had, +He smiled as one who vanquisheth. + +Richard Hovey [1864-1900] + + +THE VAMPIRE +As suggested By The Painting By Philip Burne-Jones + +A fool there was and he made his prayer +(Even as you and I!) +To a rag and a bone and a hank of hair +(We called her the woman who did not care), +But the fool he called her his lady fair +(Even as you and I!) + +Oh the years we waste and the tears we waste, +And the work of our head and hand, +Belong to the woman who did not know +(And now we know that she never could know) +And did not understand. + +A fool there was and his goods he spent +(Even as you and I!) +Honor and faith and a sure intent +(And it wasn't the least what the lady meant), +But a fool must follow his natural bent +(Even as you and I!) + +Oh the toil we lost and the spoil we lost, +And the excellent things we planned, +Belong to the woman who didn't know why +(And now we know she never knew why) +And did not understand. + +The fool was stripped to his foolish hide +(Even as you and I!) +Which she might have seen when she threw him aside, - +(But it isn't on record the lady tried) +So some of him lived but the most of him died - +(Even as you and I!) + +And it isn't the shame and it isn't the blame +That stings like a white-hot brand. +It's coming to know that she never knew why +(Seeing at last she could never know why) +And never could understand. + +Rudyard Kipling [1865-1936] + + +AGATHA + +She wanders in the April woods, +That glisten with the fallen shower; +She leans her face against the buds, +She stops, she stoops, she plucks a flower. +She feels the ferment of the hour: +She broodeth when the ringdove broods; +The sun and flying clouds have power +Upon her cheek and changing moods. +She cannot think she is alone, +As o'er her senses warmly steal +Floods of unrest she fears to own. +And almost dreads to feel. + +Along the summer woodlands wide +Anew she roams, no more alone; +The joy she feared is at her side, +Spring's blushing secret now is known. +The thrush's ringing note hath died; +But glancing eye and glowing tone +Fall on her from her god, her guide. +She knows not, asks not, what the goal, +She only feels she moves towards bliss, +And yields her pure unquestioning soul +To touch and fondling kiss. + +And still she haunts those woodland ways, +Though all fond fancy finds there now +To mind of spring or summer days, +Are sodden trunk and songless bough. +The past sits widowed on her brow, +Homeward she wends with wintry gaze, +To walls that house a hollow vow, +To hearth where love hath ceased to blaze: +Watches the clammy twilight wane, +With grief too fixed for woe or tear; +And, with her forehead 'gainst the pane, +Envies the dying year. + +Alfred Austin [1835-1913] + + +"A ROSE WILL FADE" + +You were always a dreamer, Rose - red Rose, +As you swung on your perfumed spray, +Swinging, and all the world was true, +Swaying, what did it trouble you? +A rose will fade in a day. + +Why did you smile to his face, red Rose, +As he whistled across your way? +And all the world went mad for you, +All the world it knelt to woo. +A rose will bloom in a day. + +I gather your petals, Rose - red Rose, +The petals he threw away. +And all the world derided you; +Ah! the world, how well it knew +A rose will fade in a day! + +Dora Sigerson Shorter [1862-1918] + + +AFFAIRE D'AMOUR + +One pale November day +Flying Summer paused, +They say: +And growing bolder, +O'er rosy shoulder +Threw her lover such a glance +That Autumn's heart began to dance. +(O happy lover!) + +A leafless peach-tree bold +Thought for him she smiled, +I'm told; +And, stirred by love, +His sleeping sap did move, +Decking each naked branch with green +To show her that her look was seen! +(Alas, poor lover!) + +But Summer, laughing fled, +Nor knew he loved her! +'Tis said +The peach-tree sighed, +And soon he gladly died: +And Autumn, weary of the chase, +Came on at Winter's sober pace +(O careless lover!) + +Margaret Deland [1857- + + +A CASUAL SONG + +She sang of lovers met to play +"Under the may bloom, under the may," +But when I sought her face so fair, +I found the set face of Despair. + +She sang of woodland leaves in spring, +And joy of young love dallying; +But her young eyes were all one moan, +And Death weighed on her heart like stone. + +I could not ask, I know not now, +The story of that mournful brow; +It haunts me as it haunted then, +A flash from fire of hellbound men. + +Roden Noel [1834-1894] + + +THE WAY OF IT + +The wind is awake, pretty leaves, pretty leaves, +Heed not what he says; he deceives, he deceives: +Over and over +To the lowly clover +He has lisped the same love (and forgotten it, too) +He will soon be lisping and pledging to you. + +The boy is abroad, pretty maid, pretty maid, +Beware his soft words; I'm afraid, I'm afraid: +He has said them before +Times many a score, +Ay, he died for a dozen ere his beard pricked through, +And the very same death he will die for you. + +The way of the boy is the way of the wind, +As light as the leaves is dainty maid-kind; +One to deceive, +And one to believe - +That is the way of it, year to year; +But I know you will learn it too late, my dear. + +John Vance Cheney [1848-1922] + + +"WHEN LOVELY WOMAN STOOPS TO FOLLY" +From "The Vicar of Wakefield" + +When lovely woman stoops to folly +And finds too late that men betray, - +What charm can soothe her melancholy, +What art can wash her guilt away? + +The only art her guilt to cover, +To hide her shame from every eye, +To give repentance to her lover +And wring his bosom, is - to die. + +Oliver Goldsmith [1728-1774] + + +FOLK-SONG + +Back she came through the trembling dusk; +And her mother spoke and said: +"What is it makes you late to-day, +And why do you smile and sing as gay +As though you just were wed?" +"Oh mother, my hen that never had chicks +Has hatched out six!" + +Back she came through the flaming dusk; +And her mother spoke and said: +"What gives your eyes that dancing light, +What makes your lips so strangely bright, +And why are your cheeks so red?" +"Oh mother, the berries I ate in the lane +Have left a stain." + +Back she came through the faltering dusk; +And her mother spoke and said: +"You are weeping; your footstep is heavy with care - +What makes you totter and cling to the stair, +And why do you hang your head?" +"Oh mother - oh mother - you never can know - +I loved him so!" + +Louis Untermeyer [1885- + + +A VERY OLD SONG + +"Daughter, thou art come to die: +Sound be thy sleeping, lass." +"Well: without lament or cry, +Mother, let me pass." + +"What things on mould were best of all? +(Soft be thy sleeping, lass.)" +"The apples reddening till they fall +In the sun beside the convent wall. +Let me pass." + +"Whom on earth hast thou loved best? +(Sound be thy sleeping, lass.)" +"Him that shared with me thy breast; +Thee and a knight last year our guest. +He hath an heron to his crest. +Let me pass." + +"What leavest thou of fame or hoard? +(Soft be thy sleeping, lass.)" +"My far-blown shame for thy reward; +To my brother, gold to get him a sword. +Let me pass." + +"But what wilt leave thy lover, Grim? +(Sound be thy sleeping, lass.)" +"The hair he kissed to strangle him. +Mother, let me pass." + +William Laird [1888- + + +"SHE WAS YOUNG AND BLITHE AND FAIR" + +She was young and blithe and fair, +Firm of purpose, sweet and strong; +Perfect was her crown of hair, +Perfect most of all her song. + +Yesterday beneath an oak, +She was chanting in the wood: +Wandering harmonies awoke; +Sleeping echoes understood. + +To-day without a song, without a word, +She seems to drag one piteous fallen wing +Along the ground, and, like a wounded bird, +Move silent, having lost the heart to sing. + +She was young and blithe and fair, +Firm of purpose, sweet and strong; +Perfect was her crown of hair, +Perfect most of all her song. + +Harold Monro [1879-1932] + + +THE LASS THAT DIED OF LOVE + +Life is not dear or gay +Till lovers kiss it, +Love stole my life away +Ere I might miss it. +In sober March I vowed +I'd have no lover, +Love laid me in my shroud +Ere June was over. + +I felt his body take +My body to it, +And knew my heart would break +Ere I should rue it; +June roses are not sad +When dew-drops steep them, +My moments were so glad +I could not keep them. + +Proud was I love had made +Desire to fill me, +I shut my eyes and prayed +That he might kill me. +I saw new wonders wreathe +The stars above him. +And oh, I could not breathe +For kissing of him. + +Is love too sweet to last, +Too fierce to cherish, +Can kisses fall too fast +And lovers perish? +Who heeds since love disarms +Death, ere we near him? +Within my lover's arms +I did not fear him! + +But since I died in sin +And all unshriven, +They would not let me win +Into their heaven; +They would not let my bier +Into God's garden, +But bade me tarry here +And pray for pardon. + +I lie and wait for grace +That shall surround me, +His kisses on my face, +His arms around me; +And sinless maids draw near +To drop above me +A virginal sad tear +For envy of me. + +Richard Middleton [1882-1911] + + +THE PASSION-FLOWER + +My love gave me a passion-flower. +I nursed it well - so brief its hour! +My eyelids ache, my throat is dry: +He told me that it would not die. + +My love and I are one, and yet +Full oft my cheeks with tears are wet - +So sweet the night is and the bower! +My love gave me a passion-flower. + +So sweet! Hold fast my hands. Can God +Make all this joy revert to sod, +And leave to me but this for dower - +My love gave me a passion-flower. + +Margaret Fuller [1871- + + +NORAH + +I knew his house by the poplar-trees, +Green and silvery in the breeze; + +"A heaven-high hedge," were the words he said, +"And holly-hocks, pink and white and red. . . ." + +It seemed so far from McChesney's Hall - +Where first he told me about it all. + +A long path runs inside from the gate, - +He still can take it, early or late; + +But where in the world is the path for me +Except the river that runs to the sea! + +Zoe Akins [1886- + + +OF JOAN'S YOUTH + +I would unto my fair restore +A simple thing: +The flushing cheek she had before! +Out-velveting +No more, no more, +On our sad shore, +The carmine grape, the moth's auroral wing. + +Ah, say how winds in flooding grass +Unmoor the rose; +Or guileful ways the salmon pass +To sea, disclose; +For so, alas, +With Love, alas, +With fatal, fatal Love a girlhood goes. + +Louise Imogen Guiney [1861-1920] + + +THERE'S WISDOM IN WOMEN + +"On love is fair, and love is rare;" my dear one she said, +"But love goes lightly over." I bowed her foolish head, +And kissed her hair and laughed at her. Such a child was she; +So new to love, so true to love, and she spoke so bitterly. + +But there's wisdom in women, of more than they have known, +And thoughts go blowing through them, are wiser than their own, +Or how should my dear one, being ignorant and young, +Have cried on love so bitterly, with so true a tongue? + +Rupert Brooke [1887-1915] + + +GOETHE AND FREDERIKA + +Wander, oh, wander, maiden sweet, +In the fairy bower, while yet you may; +See in rapture he lies at your feet; +Rest on the truth of the glorious youth, +Rest - for a summer day. +That great clear spirit of flickering fire +You have lulled awhile in magic sleep, +But you cannot fill his wide desire. +His heart is tender, his eyes are deep, +His words divinely flow; +But his voice and his glance are not for you; +He never can be to a maiden true; +Soon will he wake and go. +Well, well, 'twere a piteous thing +To chain forever that strong young wing. +Let the butterfly break for his own sweet sake +The gossamer threads that have bound him; +Let him shed in free flight his rainbow light, +And gladden the world around him. +Short is the struggle and slight is the strain; +Such a web was made to be broken, +And she that wove it may weave again +Or, if no power of love to bless +Can heal the wound in her bosom true, +It is but a lorn heart more or less, +And hearts are many and poets few, +So his pardon is lightly spoken. + +Henry Sidgwick [1838-1901] + + +THE SONG OF THE KING'S MINSTREL + +I sing no longer of the skies, +And the swift clouds like driven ships, +For there is earth upon my eyes +And earth between my singing lips. +Because the King loved not my song +That he had found so sweet before, +I lie at peace the whole night long, +And sing no more. +The King liked well my song that night; +Upon the palace roof he lay +With his fair Queen, and as I might +I sang, until the morning's gray +Crept o'er their faces, and the King, +Mocked by the breaking dawn above, +Clutched at his youth and bade me sing +A song of love. + +Well it might be - the King was old, +And though his Queen was passing fair, +His dull eyes might not catch the gold +That tangled in her wayward hair, +It had been much to see her smile, +But with my song I made her weep. +Our heavens last but a little while, +So now I sleep. + +More than the pleasures that I had +I would have flung away to know +My song of love could make her sad, +Her sweet eyes fill and tremble so. +What were my paltry store of years, +My body's wretched life to stake, +Against the treasure of her tears, +For my love's sake? + +Not lightly is a King made wise; +My body ached beneath his whips, +And there is earth upon my eyes, +And earth between my singing lips. +But I sang once - and for that grace +I am content to lie and store +The vision of her dear, wet face, +And sing no more. + +Richard Middleton [1882-1911] + + +ANNIE SHORE AND JOHNNIE DOON + +Annie Shore, 'twas, sang last night +Down in South End saloon; +A tawdry creature in the light, +Painted cheeks, eyes over bright, +Singing a dance-hall tune. + +I'd be forgetting Annie's singing - +I'd not have thought again - +But for the thing that cried and fluttered +Through all the shrill refrain: +Youth crying above foul words, cheap music, +And innocence in pain. + +They sentenced Johnnie Doon today +For murder, stark and grim: +Death's none too dear a price, they say, +For such-like men as him to pay: +No need to pity him! + +And Johnnie Doon I'd not be pitying - +I could forget him now - +But for the childish look of trouble +That fell across his brow, +For the twisting hands he looked at dumbly +As if they'd sinned, he knew not how. + +Patrick Orr [18 + + +EMMY + +Emmy's exquisite youth and her virginal air, +Eyes and teeth in the flash of a musical smile, +Come to me out of the past, and I see her there +As I saw her once for a while. + +Emmy's laughter rings in my ears, as bright, +Fresh and sweet as the voice of a mountain brook, +And still I hear her telling us tales that night, +Out of Boccaccio's book. + +There, in the midst of the villainous dancing-hall, +Leaning across the table, over the beer, +While the music maddened the whirling skirts of the ball, +As the midnight hour drew near, + +There with the women, haggard, painted and old, +One fresh bud in a garland withered and stale, +She, with her innocent voice and her clear eyes, told +Tale after shameless tale. + +And ever the witching smile, to her face beguiled, +Paused and broadened, and broke in a ripple of fun, +And the soul of a child looked out of the eyes of a child, +Or ever the tale was done. + +O my child, who wronged you first, and began +First the dance of death that you dance so well? +Soul for soul: and I think the soul of a man +Shall answer for yours in hell. + +Arthur Symons [1865- + + +THE BALLAD OF CAMDEN TOWN + +I walked with Maisie long years back +The streets of Camden Town, +I splendid in my suit of black, +And she divine in brown. + +Hers was a proud and noble face, +A secret heart, and eyes +Like water in a lonely place +Beneath unclouded skies. + +A bed, a chest, a faded mat, +And broken chairs a few, +Were all we had to grace our flat +In Hazel Avenue. + +But I could walk to Hampstead Heath, +And crown her head with daisies, +And watch the streaming world beneath, +And men with other Maisies. + +When I was ill and she was pale +And empty stood our store, +She left the latchkey on its nail, +And saw me nevermore. + +Perhaps she cast herself away +Lest both of us should drown: +Perhaps she feared to die, as they +Who die in Camden Town. + +What came of her? The bitter nights +Destroy the rose and lily, +And souls are lost among the lights +Of painted Piccadilly. + +What came of her? The river flows +So deep and wide and stilly, +And waits to catch the fallen rose +And clasp the broken lily. + +I dream she dwells in London still +And breathes the evening air, +And often walk to Primrose Hill, +And hope to meet her there. + +Once more together we will live, +For I will find her yet: +I have so little to forgive; +So much, I can't forget. + +James Elroy Flecker [1884-1915] + + + + + + + +LOVE AND DEATH + + + + + + +HELEN OF KIRCONNELL + +I wish I were where Helen lies, +Night and day on me she cries; +O that I were where Helen lies, +On fair Kirconnell lea! + +Cursed be the heart that thought the thought, +And cursed the hand that fired the shot, +When in my arms burd Helen dropped, +And died to succor me! + +O think na ye my heart was sair, +When my Love dropped and spak nae mair! +There did she swoon wi' meikle care, +On fair Kirconnell lea. + +As I went down the water side, +None but my foe to be my guide, +None but my foe to be my guide, +On fair Kirconnell lea; + +I lighted down my sword to draw, +I hacked him in pieces sma', +I hacked him in pieces sma', +For her sake that died for me. + +O Helen fair, beyond compare! +I'll mak a garland o' thy hair, +Shall bind my heart for evermair, +Until the day I dee! + +O that I were where Helen lies + Night and day on me she cries; +Out of my bed she bids me rise, +Says, Haste, and come to me!" + +O Helen fair! O Helen chaste! +If I were with thee, I'd be blest, +Where thou lies low and taks thy rest, +On fair Kirconnell lea. + +I wish my grave were growing green, +A winding-sheet drawn owre my e'en, +And I in Helen's arms lying, +On fair Kirconnell lea. + +I wish I were where Helen lies! +Night and day on me she cries; +And I am weary of the skies, +For her sake that died for me. + +Unknown + + +WILLY DROWNED IN YARROW + +"Willy's rare, and Willy's fair, +And Willy's wondrous bonny; +And Willy hecht to marry me, +Gin e'er he married ony. + +"Yestreen I made my bed fu' braid, +This night I'll make it narrow; +Fpr a' the livelang winter night +I lie twined of my marrow. + +"Oh came you by yon water-side? +Pu'd you the rose or lily? +Or came you by yon meadow green? +Or saw you my sweet Willy?" + +She sought him east, she sought him west, +She sought him braid and narrow; +Syne in the cleaving of a craig, +She found him drowned in Yarrow. + +Unknown + + +ANNAN WATER + +"Annan Water's wading deep, +And my Love Annie's wondrous bonny; +And I am laith she should wet her feet, +Because I love her best of ony." + +He's loupen on his bonny gray, +He rade the right gate and the ready; +For all the storm he wadna stay, +For seeking of his bonny lady. + +And he has ridden o'er field and fell, +Through moor, and moss, and many a mire; +His spurs of steel were sair to bide, +And from her four feet flew the fire. + +"My bonny gray, now play your part! +If ye be the steed that wins my dearie, +With corn and hay ye'll be fed for aye, +And never spur shall make you wearie." + +The gray was a mare, and a right gude mare; +But when she wan the Annan Water, +She could not have ridden the ford that night +Had a thousand merks been wadded at her. + +"O boatman, boatman, put off your boat, +Put off your boat for golden money!" +But for all the gold in fair Scotland, +He dared not take him through to Annie. + +"Oh, I was sworn so late yestreen, +Not by a single oath, but mony! +I'll cross the drumly stream tonight, +Or never could I face my honey." + +The side was stey, and the bottom deep, +From bank to brae the water pouring; +The bonny gray mare she swat for fear, +For she heard the water-kelpy roaring. + +He spurred her forth into the flood, +I wot she swam both strong and steady; +But the stream was broad, and her strength did fail, +And he never saw his bonny lady! + +Unknown + + +THE LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW + +My love he built me a bonnie bower, +And clad it a' wi' lily flower; +A brawer bower ye ne'er did see, +Than my true-love he built for me. + +There came a man, by middle day, +He spied his sport, and went away; +And brought the king that very night, +Who brake my bower, and slew my knight. + +He slew my knight, to me sae dear; +He slew my knight, and poin'd his gear: +My servants all for life did flee, +And left me in extremitie. + +I sewed his sheet, making my mane; +I watched the corpse, mysel alane; +I watched his body night and day; +No living creature came that way. + +I took his body on my back, +And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sat; +I digged a grave, and laid him in, +And happed him with the sod sae green. + +But think na ye my heart was sair, +When I laid the moul' on his yellow hair? +O, think na ye my heart was wae, +When I turned about, away to gae? + +Nae living man I'll love again, +Since that my lovely knight is slain; +Wi' ae lock o' his yellow hair +I'll chain my heart for evermair. + +Unknown + + +ASPATIA'S SONG +From "The Maid's Tragedy" + +Lay a garland on my hearse +Of the dismal yew; +Maidens, willow branches bear; +Say, I died true. + +My love was false, but I was firm +From my hour of birth. +Upon my buried body lie +Lightly, gentle earth! + +John Fletcher [1579-1625] + + +A BALLAD +From the "What-d'ye-call-it" + +'Twas when the seas were roaring +With hollow blasts of wind, +A damsel lay deploring, +All on a rock reclined. +Wide o'er the foaming billows +She cast a wistful look; +Her head was crowned with willows, +That trembled o'er the brook. + +"Twelve months are gone and over, +And nine long tedious days; +Why didst thou, venturous lover, +Why didst thou trust the seas? +Cease, cease thou cruel ocean, +And let my lover rest; +Ah! what's thy troubled motion +To that within my breast? + +"The merchant robbed of pleasure, +Sees tempests in despair; +But what's the loss of treasure, +To losing of my dear? +Should you some coast be laid on, +Where gold and diamonds grow, +You'd find a richer maiden, +But none that loves you so. + +"How can they say that nature +Has nothing made in vain; +Why then, beneath the water, +Should hideous rocks remain? +No eyes the rocks discover +That lurk beneath the deep, +To wreck the wandering lover, +And leave the maid to weep." + +All melancholy lying, +Thus wailed she for her dear; +Repaid each blast with sighing, +Each billow with a tear. +When, o'er the white wave stooping, +His floating corpse she spied, +Then, like a lily drooping, +She bowed her head, and died. + +John Gay [1685-1732] + + +THE BRAES OF YARROW + +Thy braes were bonnie, Yarrow stream, +When first on them I met my lover: +Thy braes how dreary, Yarrow stream, +When now thy waves his body cover! +Forever now, O Yarrow stream! +Thou art to me a stream of sorrow; +For never on thy banks shall I +Behold my love, the flower of Yarrow. + +He promised me a milk-white steed, +To bear me to his father's bowers; +He promised me a little page, +To squire me to his father's towers; +He promised me a wedding-ring, - +The wedding-day was fixed to-morrow; +Now he is wedded to his grave, +Alas! his watery grave, in Yarrow. + +Sweet were his words when last we met: +My passion I as freely told him: +Clasped in his arms, I little thought +That I should never more behold him! +Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost; +It vanished with a shriek of sorrow; +Thrice did the water-wraith ascend, +And gave a doleful groan through Yarrow. + +His mother from the window looked, +With all the longing of a mother; +His little sister weeping walked +The greenwood path to meet her brother. +They sought him east, they sought him west, +They sought him all the forest thorough; +They only saw the cloud of night, +They only heard the roar of Yarrow! + +No longer from thy window look, - +Thou hast no son, thou tender mother! +No longer walk, thou little maid; +Alas! thou hast no more a brother. +No longer seek him east or west, +And search no more the forest thorough; +For, wandering in the night so dark, +He fell a lifeless corse in Yarrow. + +The tear shall never leave my cheek, +No other youth shall be my marrow: +I'll seek thy body in the stream, +And then with thee I'll sleep in Yarrow. +The tear did never leave her cheek, +No other youth became her marrow; +She found his body in the stream, +And now with him she sleeps in Yarrow. + +John Logan [1748-1788] + + +THE CHURCHYARD ON THE SANDS + +My love lies in the gates of foam, +The last dear wreck of shore; +The naked sea-marsh binds her home, +The sand her chamber door. + +The gray gull flaps the written stones, +The ox-birds chase the tide; +And near that narrow field of bones +Great ships at anchor ride. + +Black piers with crust of dripping green, +One foreland, like a hand, +O'er intervals of grass between +Dim lonely dunes of sand. + +A church of silent weathered looks, +A breezy reddish tower, +A yard whose mounded resting-nooks +Are tinged with sorrel flower. + +In peace the swallow's eggs are laid +Along the belfry walls; +The tempest does not reach her shade, +The rain her silent halls. + +But sails are sweet in summer sky, +The lark throws down a lay; +The long salt levels steam and dry, +The cloud-heart melts away. + +But patches of the sea-pink shine, +The pied crows poise and come; +The mallow hangs, the bind-weeds twine, +Where her sweet lips are dumb. + +The passion of the wave is mute; +No sound or ocean shock; +No music save the trilling flute +That marks the curlew flock. + +But yonder when the wind is keen, +And rainy air is clear, +The merchant city's spires are seen, +The toil of men grows near. + +Along the coast-way grind the wheels +Of endless carts of coal; +And on the sides of giant keels +The shipyard hammers roll. + +The world creeps here upon the shout, +And stirs my heart to pain; +The mist descends and blots it out, +And I am strong again. + +Strong and alone, my dove, with thee; +And though mine eyes be wet, +There's nothing in the world to me +So dear as my regret. + +I would not change my sorrow sweet +For others' nuptial hours; +I love the daisies at thy feet +More than their orange flowers. + +My hand alone shall tend thy tomb +From leaf-bud to leaf-fall, +And wreathe around each season's bloom +Till autumn ruins all. + +Let snowdrops early in the year +Droop o'er her silent breast; +And bid the later cowslip rear +The amber of its crest. + +Come hither, linnets tufted-red; +Drift by, O wailing tern; +Set pure vale lilies at her head, +At her feet lady-fern. + +Grow, samphire, at the tidal brink, +Wave pansies of the shore, +To whisper how alone I think +Of her for evermore. + +Bring blue sea-hollies thorny, keen, +Long lavender in flower; +Gray wormwood like a hoary queen, +Stanch mullein like a tower. + +O sea-wall, mounded long and low, +Let iron bounds be thine; +Nor let the salt wave overflow +That breast I held divine. + +Nor float its sea-weed to her hair, +Nor dim her eyes with sands; +No fluted cockle burrow where +Sleep folds her patient hands. + +Though thy crest feel the wild sea's breath, +Though tide-weight tear thy root, +Oh, guard the treasure-house, where death +Has bound my Darling mute. + +Though cold her pale lips to reward +With love's own mysteries, +Ah, rob no daisy from her swand, +Rough gale of eastern seas! + +Ah, render sere no silken bent +That by her head-stone waves; +Let noon and golden summer blent +Pervade these ocean graves. + +And, ah, dear heart, in thy still nest, +Resign this earth of woes, +Forget the ardors of the west, +Neglect the morning glows. + +Sleep and forget all things but one, +Heard in each wave of sea, - +How lonely all the years will run +Until I rest by thee. + +John Byrne Leicester Warren [1835-1895] + + +THE MINSTREL'S SONG +From "Aella" + +Oh sing unto my roundelay; +Oh drop the briny tear with me; +Dance no more at holiday; +Like a running river be! +My love is dead, +Gone to his death-bed, +All under the willow tree! + +Black his hair as the winter night, +White his throat as the summer snow, +Red his cheek as the morning light, +Cold he lies in the grave below. + +Sweet his tongue as the throstle's note; +Quick in dance as thought can be; +Deft his tabor, cudgel stout, +Oh, he lies by the willow tree. + +Hark! the raven flaps his wing +In the briery dell below; +Hark! the death-owl loud doth sing, +To the night-mares as they go. + +See! the white moon shines on high; +Whiter is my true love's shroud; +Whiter than the morning sky, +Whiter than the evening cloud. + +Here, upon my true love's grave, +Shall the barren, flowers be laid; +Not one holy saint to save +All the coldness of a maid. + +With my hands I'll twist the briers +Round his holy corpse to gre; +Elfin fairy, light your fires, +Here my body still shall be. + +Come, with acorn-cup and thorn, +Drain my heartes blood away; +Life and all its good I scorn, +Dance by night, or feast by day. + +Water-witches, crowned with reeds, +Bear me to your deadly tide. +I die! I come! my true love waits! +Thus the damsel spake, and died. + +Thomas Chatterton [1752-1770] + + +HIGHLAND MARY + +Ye banks and braes and streams around +The castle o' Montgomery, +Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, +Your waters never drumlie! +There simmer first unfauld her robes, +And there the langest tarry; +For there I took the last fareweel +O' my sweet Highland Mary. + +How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk, +How rich the hawthorn's blossom, +As underneath their fragrant shade +I clasped her to my bosom! +The golden hours on angel's wings +Flew o'er me and my dearie; +For dear to me as light and life +Was my sweet Highland Mary. + +Wi' mony a vow and locked embrace +Our parting was fu' tender; +And, pledging aft to meet again, +We tore oursels asunder; +But, O! fell Death's untimely frost, +That nipped my flower sae early! +Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay, +That wraps my Highland Mary! + +O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, +I aft hae kissed sae fondly! +And closed for aye the sparkling glance +That dwelt on me sae kindly; +And moldering now in silent dust +That heart that lo'ed me dearly! +But still within my bosom's core +Shall live my Highland Mary. + +Robert Burns [1759-1796] + + +TO MARY IN HEAVEN + +Thou lingering star, with lessening ray, +That lov'st to greet the early morn, +Again thou usher'st in the day +My Mary from my soul was torn. +O Mary! dear departed shade! +Where is thy place of blissful rest? +See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? +Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? + +That sacred hour can I forget, +Can I forget the hallowed grove, +Where by the winding Ayr we met, +To live one day of parting love! +Eternity will not efface +Those records dear of transports past; +Thy image at our last embrace, - +Ah! little thought we 'twas our last! + +Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore, +O'erhung with wild woods, thickening green; +The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, +Twined amorous round the raptured scene; +The flowers sprang wanton to be pressed, +The birds sang love on every spray, - +Till soon, too soon, the glowing west +Proclaimed the speed of winged day. + +Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes, +And fondly broods with miser care! +Time but the impression stronger makes, +As streams their channels deeper wear. +My Mary! dear departed shade! +Where is thy place of blissful rest? +See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? +Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? + +Robert Burns [1759-1796] + + +LUCY + +I +Strange fits of passion have I known: +And I will dare to tell, +But in the lover's ear alone, +What once to me befell. + +When she I loved looked every day +Fresh as a rose in June, +I to her cottage bent my way, +Beneath an evening moon. + +Upon the moon I fixed my eye, +All over the wide lea; +With quickening pace my horse drew nigh +Those paths so dear to me. + +And now we reached the orchard-plot; +And, as we climbed the hill, +The sinking moon to Lucy's cot +Came near, and nearer still. + +In one of those sweet dreams I slept, +Kind Nature's gentlest boon! +And all the while my eyes I kept +On the descending moon. + +My horse moved on; hoof after hoof +He raised, and never stopped: +When down behind the cottage roof, +At once, the bright moon dropped. + +What fond and wayward thoughts will slide +Into a lover's head! +"O mercy!" to myself I cried, +"If Lucy should be dead!" + +II +She dwelt among the untrodden ways +Beside the springs of Dove, +A Maid whom there were none to praise +And very few to love: + +A violet by a mossy stone +Half hidden from the eye! +Fair as a star, when only one +Is shining in the sky. + +She lived unknown, and few could know +When Lucy ceased to be; +But she is in her grave, and oh, +The difference to me! + +III +I traveled among unknown men, +In lands beyond the sea; +Nor, England! did I know till then +What love I bore to thee. + +'Tis past, that melancholy dream! +Nor will I quit thy shore +A second time; for still I seem +To love thee more and more. + +Among thy mountains did I feel +The joy of my desire; +And she I cherished turned her wheel +Beside an English fire. + +Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed, +The bowers where Lucy played; +And thine too is the last green field +That Lucy's eyes surveyed. + +IV +Three years she grew in sun and shower; +Then Nature said, "A lovelier flower +On earth was never sown; +This child I to myself will take; +She shall be mine, and I will make +A lady of my own. + +"Myself will to my darling be +Both law and impulse: and with me +The girl, in rock and plain, +In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, +Shall feel an overseeing power +To kindle or restrain. + +"She shall be sportive as the fawn +That wild with glee across the lawn +Or up the mountain springs; +And hers shall be the breathing balm, +And hers the silence and the calm +Of mute insensate things. + +"The floating clouds their state shall lend +To her; for her the willow bend; +Nor shall she fail to see +Even in the motions of the storm +Grace that shall mold the maiden's form +By silent sympathy. + +"The stars of midnight shall be dear +To her; and she shall lean her ear +In many a secret place +Where rivulets dance their wayward round +And beauty born of murmuring sound +Shall pass into her face. + +"And vital feelings of delight +Shall rear her form to stately height, +Her virgin bosom swell; +Such thoughts to Lucy I will give +While she and I together live +Here in this happy dell." + +Thus Nature spake - The work was done - +How soon my Lucy's race was run! +She died, and left to me +This heath, this calm and quiet scene; +The memory of what has been, +And never more will be. + +V +A slumber did my spirit seal; +I had no human fears: +She seemed a thing that could not feel +The touch of earthly years. + +No motion has she now, or force; +She neither hears nor sees; +Rolled round in earth's diurnal course, +With rocks, and stones, and trees. + +William Wordsworth [1770-1850] + + +PROUD MAISIE +From "The Heart of Midlothian" + +Proud Maisie is in the wood, +Walking so early; +Sweet Robin sits on the bush, +Singing so rarely. + +"Tell me, thou bonny bird, +When shall I marry me?" +- "When six braw gentlemen +Kirkward shall carry ye." + +Who makes the bridal bed, +Birdie, say truly?" +- "The gray-headed sexton +That delves the grave duly. + +"The glow-worm o'er grave and stone +Shall light thee steady; +The owl from the steeple sing +Welcome, proud lady!" + +Walter Scott [1771-1832] + + +SONG + +Earl March looked on his dying child, +And, smit with grief to view her - +The youth, he cried, whom I exiled +Shall be restored to woo her. + +She's at the window many an hour +His coming to discover; +And he looked up to Ellen's bower +And she looked on her lover - + +But ah! so pale, he knew her not, +Though her smile on him was dwelling! +And I am then forgot - forgot? +It broke the heart of Ellen. + +In vain he weeps, in vain he sighs, +Her cheek is cold as ashes; +Nor love's own kiss shall wake those eyes +To lift their silken lashes. + +Thomas Campbell [1777-1844] + + +THE MAID'S LAMENT +From "The Examination of Shakespeare" + +I loved him not; and yet now he is gone +I feel I am alone. +I checked him while he spoke; yet could he speak, +Alas! I would not check. +For reasons not to love him once I sought, +And wearied all my thought +To vex myself and him: I now would give +My love, could he but live +Who lately lived for me, and when he found +'Twas vain, in holy ground +He hid his face amid the shades of death. +I waste for him my breath +Who wasted his for me; but mine returns, +And this lorn bosom burns +With stifling heat, heaving it up in sleep, +And waking me to weep +Tears that had melted his soft heart: for years +Wept he as bitter tears. +Merciful God! Such was his latest prayer, +These may she never share! +Quieter is his breath, his breast more cold, +Than daisies in the mold, +Where children spell, athwart the churchyard gate, +His name and life's brief date. +Pray for him, gentle souls, whoe'er you be, +And, oh! pray too for me! + +Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864] + + +"SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND" + +She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, +And lovers are round her, sighing: +But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, +For her heart in his grave is lying. + +She sings the wild songs of her dear native plains, +Every note which he loved awaking; - +Ah! little they think, who delight in her strains, +How the heart of the minstrel is breaking. + +He had lived for his love, for his country he died, +They were all that to life had entwined him; +Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, +Nor long will his love stay behind him. + +Oh! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest, +When they promise a glorious morrow; +They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the West, +From her own loved island of sorrow. + +Thomas Moore [1779-1852] + + +"AT THE MID HOUR OF NIGHT" + +At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly +To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in thine eye; +And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air +To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me there, +And tell me our love is remembered even in the sky. + +Then I sing the wild song 'twas once such rapture to hear, +When our voices commingling breathed like one on the ear; +And, as Echo far off through the vale my sad orison rolls, +I think, O my love! 'tis thy voice from the Kingdom of Souls +Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear. + +Thomas Moore [1779-1852] + + +ON A PICTURE BY POUSSIN REPRESENTING +SHEPHERDS IN ARCADIA + +Ah, happy youths, ah, happy maid, +Snatch present pleasure while ye may; +Laugh, dance, and sing in sunny glade, +Your limbs are light, your hearts are gay; +Ye little think there comes a day +('Twill come to you, it came to me) +When love and life shall pass away: +I, too, once dwelt in Arcady. + +Or listless lie by yonder stream, +And muse and watch the ripples play, +Or note their noiseless flow, and deem +That life thus gently glides away - +That love is but a sunny ray +To make our years go smiling by. +I knew that stream, I too could dream, +I, too, once dwelt in Arcady. + +Sing, shepherds, sing; sweet lady, listen; +Sing to the music of the rill, +With happy tears her bright eyes glisten, +For, as each pause the echoes fill, +They waft her name from hill to hill - +So listened my lost love to me, +The voice she loved has long been still; +I, too, once dwelt in Arcady. + +John Addington Symonds [1840-1893] + + +THRENODY + +There's a grass-grown road from the valley - +A winding road and steep - +That leads to the quiet hill-top, +Where lies your love asleep. . . . +While mine is lying, God knows where, +A hundred fathoms deep. + +I saw you kneel at a grave-side - +How still a grave can be, +Wrapped in the tender starlight, +Far from the moaning sea! +But through all dreams and starlight, +The breakers call to me. + +Oh, steep is your way to Silence - +But steeper the ways I roam, +For never a road can take me +Beyond the wind and foam, +And never a road can reach him +Who lies so far from home. + +Ruth Guthrie Harding [1882- + + +STRONG AS DEATH + +O death, when thou shalt come to me +From out thy dark, where she is now, +Come not with graveyard smell on thee, +Or withered roses on thy brow. + +Come not, O Death, with hollow tone, +And soundless step, and clammy hand - +Lo, I am now no less alone +Than in thy desolate, doubtful land; + +But with that sweet arid subtle scent +That ever clung about her (such +As with all things she brushed was blent); +And with her quick and tender touch. + +With the dim gold that lit her hair, +Crown thyself, Death; let fall thy tread +So light that I may dream her there, +And turn upon my dying bed. + +And through my chilling veins shall flame +My love, as though beneath her breath; +And in her voice but call my name, +And I will follow thee, O Death. + +Henry Cuyler Bunner [1855-1896] + + +"I SHALL NOT CRY RETURN" + +I shall not cry Return! Return! +Nor weep my years away; +But just as long as sunsets burn, +And dawns make no delay, +I shall be lonesome - I shall miss +Your hand, your voice, your smile, your kiss. + +Not often shall I speak your name, +For what would strangers care +That once a sudden tempest came +And swept my gardens bare, +And then you passed, and in your place +Stood Silence with her lifted face. + +Not always shall this parting be, +For though I travel slow, +I, too, may claim eternity +And find the way you go; +And so I do my task and wait +The opening of the outer gate. + +Ellen M. H. Gates [1835-1920] + + +"OH! SNATCHED AWAY IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM" + +Oh! snatched away in beauty's bloom, +On thee shall press no ponderous tomb; +But on thy turf shall roses rear +Their leaves, the earliest of the year; +And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom: + +And oft by yon blue gushing stream +Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head, +And feed deep thought with many a dream, +And lingering pause and lightly tread; +Fond wretch! as if her step disturbed the dead! + +Away! we know that tears are vain, +That Death nor heeds nor hears distress: +Will this unteach us to complain? +Or make one mourner weep the less? +And thou, - who tell'st me to forget, +Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet. + +George Gordon Byron [1788-1824] + + +TO MARY + +If I had thought thou couldst have died, +I might not weep for thee; +But I forgot, when by thy side, +That thou couldst mortal be: +It never through my mind had passed +The time would e'er be o'er, +And I on thee should look my last, +And thou shouldst smile no more! + +And still upon that face I look, +And think 'twill smile again; +And still the thought I will not brook, +That I must look in vain. +But when I speak - thou dost not say +What thou ne'er left'st unsaid; +And now I feel, as well I may, +Sweet Mary, thou art dead! + +If thou wouldst stay, e'en as thou art, +All cold and all serene, +I still might press thy silent heart, +And where thy smiles have been. +While e'en thy chill, bleak corse I have, +Thou seemest still mine own; +But there I lay thee in thy grave, - +And I am now alone! + +I do not think, where'er thou art, +Thou hast forgotten me; +And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart +In thinking, too, of thee; +Yet there was round thee such a dawn +Of light ne'er seen before, +As fancy never could have drawn, +And never can restore! + +Charles Wolfe [1791-1823] + + +MY HEART AND I + +Enough! we're tired, my heart and I. +We sit beside the headstone thus, +And wish that name were carved for us. +The moss reprints more tenderly +The hard types of the mason's knife, +As Heaven's sweet life renews earth's life +With which we're tired, my heart and I. + +You see we're tired, my heart and I. +We dealt with books, we trusted men, +And in our own blood drenched the pen, +As if such colors could not fly. +We walked too straight for fortune's end, +We loved too true to keep a friend; +At last we're tired, my heart and I. + +How tired we feel, my heart and I +We seem of no use in the world; +Our fancies hang gray and uncurled +About men's eyes indifferently; +Our voice which thrilled you so, will let +You sleep; our tears are only wet: +What do we here, my heart and I? + +So tired, so tired, my heart and I! +It was not thus in that old time +When Ralph sat with me 'neath the lime +To watch the sunset from the sky. +"Dear love, you're looking tired," he said: +I, smiling at him, shook my head. +'Tis now we're tired, my heart and I. + +So tired, so tired, my heart and I! +Though now none takes me on his arm +To fold me close and kiss me warm +Till each quick breath end in a sigh +Of happy languor. Now, alone, +We lean upon this graveyard stone, +Uncheered, unkissed, my heart and I. + +Tired out we are, my heart and I. +Suppose the world brought diadems +To tempt us, crusted with loose gems +Of powers and pleasures? Let it try. +We scarcely care to look at even +A pretty child, or God's blue heaven, +We feel so tired, my heart and I. + +Yet who complains? My heart and I? +In this abundant earth no doubt +Is little room for things worn out: +Disdain them, break them, throw them by! +And if before the days grew rough +We once were loved, used, - well enough, +I think, we've fared, my heart and I. + +Elizabeth Barrett Browning [1806-1861] + + +ROSALIND'S SCROLL +From "The Poet's Vow" + +I left thee last, a child at heart, +A woman scarce in years: +I come to thee, a solemn corpse +Which neither feels nor fears. +I have no breath to use in sighs; +They laid the dead-weights on mine eyes +To seal them safe from tears. + +Look on me with thine own calm look: +I meet it calm as thou. +No look of thine can change this smile, +Or break thy sinful vow: +I tell thee that my poor scorned heart +Is of thine earth - thine earth, a part: +It cannot vex thee now. + +But out, alas! these words are writ +By a living, loving one, +Adown whose cheeks the proofs of life, +The warm quick tears do run: +Ah, let the unloving corpse control +Thy scorn back from the loving soul +Whose place of rest is won. + +I have prayed for thee with bursting sob +When passion's course was free; +I have prayed for thee with silent lips +In the anguish none could see; +They whispered oft, "She sleepeth soft" - +But I only prayed for thee. + +Go to! I pray for thee no more: +The corpse's tongue is still; +Its folded fingers point to heaven, +But point there stiff and chill: +No farther wrong, no farther woe +Hath license from the sin below +Its tranquil heart to thrill. + +I charge thee, by the living's prayer, +And the dead's silentness, +To wring from out thy soul a cry +Which God shall hear and bless! +Lest Heaven's own palm droop in my hand, +And pale among the saints I stand, +A saint companionless. + +Elizabeth Barrett Browning [1806-1861] + + +LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT + +I'm sittin' on the stile, Mary, +Where we sat side by side +On a bright May mornin' long ago, +When first you were my bride. +The corn was springin' fresh and green, +And the lark sang loud and high, +And the red was on your lip, Mary, +And the love-light in your eye. + +The place is little changed, Mary, +The day is bright as then, +The lark's loud song is in my ear, +And the corn is green again; +But I miss the soft clasp of your hand, +And your breath, warm on my cheek: +And I still keep list'nin' for the words +You never more will speak. + +'Tis but a step down yonder lane, +And the little church stands near - +The church where we were wed, Mary; +I see the spire from here. +But the graveyard lies between, Mary, +And my step might break your rest - +For I've laid you, darling, down to sleep, +With your baby on your breast. + +I'm very lonely now, Mary, +For the poor make no new friends; +But, oh! they love the better still +The few our Father sends. +And you were all I had, Mary, +My blessin' and my pride: +There's nothin' left to care for now, +Since my poor Mary died. + +Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary, +That still kept hoping on, +When the trust in God had left my soul, +And my arm's young strength was gone; +There was comfort ever on your lip, +And the kind look on your brow - +I bless you, Mary, for that same, +Though you cannot hear me now. + +I thank you for the patient smile +When your heart was fit to break, +When the hunger pain was gnawin' there, +And you hid it for my sake; +I bless you for the pleasant word, +When your heart was sad and sore - +Oh! I'm thankful you are gone, Mary, +Where grief can't reach you more! + +I'm biddin' you a long farewell, +My Mary - kind and true! +But I'll not forget you, darling, +In the land I'm goin' to: +They say there's bread and work for all, +And the sun shines always there, +But I'll not forget old Ireland, +Were it fifty times as fair! + +And often in those grand old woods +I'll sit, and shut my eyes, +And my heart will travel back again +To the place where Mary lies; +And I'll think I see the little stile +Where we sat side by side, +And the springin' corn, and the bright May morn, +When first you were my bride. + +Helen Selina Sheridan [1807-1867] + + +THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE + +Word was brought to the Danish king +(Hurry!) +That the love of his heart lay suffering, +And pined for the comfort his voice would bring; +(O, ride as though you were flying!) +Better he loves each golden curl +On the brow of that Scandinavian girl +Than his rich crown jewels of ruby and pearl: +And his rose of the isles is dying! + +Thirty nobles saddled with speed; +(Hurry!) +Each one mounting a gallant steed +Which he kept for battle and days of need; +(O, ride as though you were flying!) +Spurs were struck in the foaming flank; +Worn-out chargers staggered and sank; +Bridles were slackened, and girths were burst; +But ride as they would, the king rode first, +For his rose of the isles lay dying! + +His nobles are beaten, one by one; +(Hurry!) +They have fainted, and faltered, and homeward gone; +His little fair page now follows alone, +For strength and for courage trying! +The king looked back at that faithful child; +Wan was the face that answering smiled; +They passed the drawbridge with clattering din, +Then he dropped; and only the king rode in +Where his rose of the isles lay dying! + +The king blew a blast on his bugle horn; +(Silence!) +No answer came; but faint and forlorn +An echo returned on the cold gray morn, +Like the breath of a spirit sighing. +The castle portal stood grimly wide; +None welcomed the king from that weary ride; +For dead, in the light of the dawning day, +The pale sweet form of the welcomer lay, +Who had yearned for his voice while dying! + +The panting steed, with a drooping crest, +Stood weary. +The king returned from her chamber of rest, +The thick sobs choking in his breast; +And, that dumb companion eyeing, +The tears gushed forth which he strove to check; +He bowed his head on his charger's neck: +"O steed, that every nerve didst strain, +Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain +To the halls where my love lay dying!" + +Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton [1808-1870] + + +THE WATCHER + +A rose for a young head, +A ring for a bride, +Joy for the homestead +Clean and wide - +Who's that waiting +In the rain outside? + +A heart for an old friend, +A hand for the new: +Love can to earth lend +Heaven's hue - +Who's that standing +In the silver dew? + +A smile for the parting, +A tear as they go, +God's sweethearting +Ends just so - +Who's that watching +Where the black winds blow? + +He who is waiting +In the rain outside, +He who is standing +Where the dew drops wide, +He who is watching +In the wind must ride +(Though the pale hands cling) +With the rose +And the ring +And the bride, +Must ride +With the red of the rose, +And the gold of the ring, +And the lips and the hair of the bride. + +James Stephens [1882- + + +THE THREE SISTERS + +Gone are those three, those sisters rare +With wonder-lips and eyes ashine. +One was wise and one was fair, +And one was mine. + +Ye mourners, weave for the sleeping hair +Of only two your ivy vine. +For one was wise and one was fair, +But one was mine. + +Arthur Davison Ficke [1883- + + +BALLAD + +He said: "The shadows darken down, +The night is near at hand. +Now who's the friend will follow me +Into the sunless land? + +"For I have vassals leal and true, +And I have comrades kind, +And wheresoe'er my soul shall speed, +They will not stay behind." + +He sought the brother young and blithe +Who bore his spear and shield: +"In the long chase you've followed me, +And in the battle-field. + +"Few vows you make; but true's your heart, +And you with me will win." +He said: "God speed you, brother mine, +But I am next of kin." + +He sought the friar, the gray old priest +Who loved his father's board. +The friar he turned him to the east +And reverently adored. + +He said: "A godless name you bear, +A godless life you've led, +And whoso wins along with you, +His spirit shall have dread. + +"Oh, hasten, get your guilty soul +From every burden shriven; +Yet you are bound for flame and dole, +But I am bound for heaven." + +He sought the lady bright and proud, +Who sate at his right hand: +"Make haste, O Love, to follow me +Into the sunless land." + +She said: "And pass you in your prime? +Heaven give me days of cheer! +And keep me from the sunless clime +Many and many a year." + +All heavily the sun sank down +Among black clouds of fate. +There came a woman fair and wan +Unto the castle gate. + +Through gazing vassals, idle serfs, +So silently she sped! +The winding staircase echoed not +Unto her light, light tread. + +His lady eyed her scornfully. +She stood at his right hand; +She said: "And I will follow you +Into the sunless land. + +"There is no expiation, none. +A bitter load I bore: +Now I shall love you nevermore, +Never and nevermore. + +"There is no touch or tone of yours +Can make the old love wake." +She said: "But I will follow you, +Even for the old love's sake." + +Oh, he has kissed her on the brow, +He took her by the hand: +Into the sunless land they went, +Into the starless land. + +May Kendall [1861- + + +"O THAT 'TWERE POSSIBLE" +From "Maud" + +O that 'twere possible +After long grief and pain +To find the arms of my true love +Round me once again! + +When I was wont to meet her +In the silent moody places +Of the land that gave me birth, +We stood tranced in long embraces +Mixed with kisses sweeter, sweeter +Than anything on earth. + +A shadow flits before me, +Not thou, but like to thee. +Ah, Christ, that it were possible +For one short hour to see +The souls we loved, that they might tell us +What and where they be! + +Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] + + +"HOME THEY BROUGHT HER WARRIOR DEAD" +From "The Princess" + +Home they brought her warrior dead; +She nor swooned, nor uttered cry. +All her maidens, watching, said, +"She must weep or she will die." + +Then they praised him, soft and low, +Called him worthy to be loved, +Truest friend and noblest foe; +Yet she neither spoke nor moved. + +Stole a maiden from her place, +Lightly to the warrior stepped, +Took the face-cloth from the face; +Yet she neither moved nor wept. + +Rose a nurse of ninety years, +Set his child upon her knee, - +Like summer tempest came her tears, +"Sweet my child, I live for thee." + +Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] + + +EVELYN HOPE + +Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead! +Sit and watch by her side an hour. +That is her book-shelf, this her bed; +She plucked that piece of geranium-flower, +Beginning to die too, in the glass. +Little has yet been changed, I think: +The shutters are shut, no light may pass +Save two long rays through the hinge's chink. + +Sixteen years old when she died! +Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name; +It was not her time to love; beside, +Her life had many a hope and aim, +Duties enough and little cares, +And now was quiet, now astir, +Till God's hand beckoned unawares, - +And the sweet white brow is all of her. + +Is it too late, then, Evelyn Hope? +What, your soul was pure and true, +The good stars met in your horoscope, +Made you of spirit, fire, and dew - +And, just because I was thrice as old, +And our paths in the world diverged so wide, +Each was naught to each, must I be told? +We were fellow mortals, naught beside? + +No, indeed! for God above +Is great to grant, as mighty to make, +And creates the love to reward the love: +I claim you still, for my own love's sake! +Delayed, it may be, for more lives yet, +Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few: +Much is to learn, much to forget +Ere the time be come for taking you. + +But the time will come, - at last it will, +When, Evelyn Hope, what meant (I shall say) +In the lower earth, in the years long still, +That body and soul so pure and gay? +Why your hair was amber, I shall divine, +And your mouth of your own geranium's red, - +And what you would do with me, in fine, +In the new life come in the old one's stead. + +I have lived (I shall say) so much since then, +Given up myself so many times, +Gained me the gains of various men, +Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes; +Yet one thing, one, in my soul's full scope, +Either I missed or itself missed me: +And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope! +What is the issue? let us see! + +I loved you, Evelyn, all the while! +My heart seemed full as it could hold; +There was place and to spare for the frank young smile, +And the red young mouth, and the hair's young gold. +So, hush, - I will give you this leaf to keep: +See, I shut it inside the sweet, cold hand! +There, that is our secret: go to sleep! +You will wake, and remember, and understand. + +Robert Browning [1812-1889] + + +REMEMBRANCE + +Cold in the earth - and the deep snow piled above thee, +Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave! +Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee, +Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave? + +Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover +Over the mountains, on that northern shore, +Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover +Thy noble heart for ever, ever more? + +Cold in the earth - and fifteen wild Decembers, +From those brown hills, have melted into spring: +Faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers +After such years of change and suffering! + +Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee, +While the world's tide is bearing me along; +Other desires and other hopes beset me, +Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong! + +No later light has lightened up my heaven, +No second morn has ever shone for me; +All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given, +All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee. + +But, when the days of golden dreams had perished, +And even Despair was powerless to destroy; +Then did I learn how existence could be cherished, +Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy. + +Then did I check the tears of useless passion - +Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine; +Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten +Down to that tomb already more than mine. + +And, even yet, I dare not let it languish, +Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain; +Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish, +How could I seek the empty world again? + +Emily Bronte [1818-1848] + + +SONG + +The linnet in the rocky dells, +The moor-lark in the air, +The bee among the heather bells +That hide my lady fair: + +The wild deer browse above her breast; +The wild birds raise their brood; +And they, her smiles of love caressed, +Have left her solitude. + +I ween that, when the grave's dark wall +Did first her form retain, +They thought their hearts could ne'er recall +The light of joy again. + +They thought the tide of grief would flow +Unchecked through future years; +But where is all their anguish now, +And where are all their tears? + +Well, let them fight for honor's breath, +Or pleasure's shade pursue: +The dweller in the land of death +Is changed and careless too. + +And, if their eyes should watch and weep +Till sorrow's source were dry, +She would not, in her tranquil sleep, +Return a single sigh. + +Blow, west-wind, by the lonely mound, +And murmur, summer streams! +There is no need of other sound +To soothe my lady's dreams. + +Emily Bronte [1818-1848] + + +SONG OF THE OLD LOVE +From "Supper at the Mill" + +When sparrows build, and the leaves break forth, +My old sorrow wakes and cries, +For I know there is dawn in the far, far north, +And a scarlet sun doth rise; +Like a scarlet fleece the snow-field spreads, +And the icy founts run free, +And the bergs begin to bow their heads, +And plunge, and sail in the sea. + +O my lost love, and my own, own love, +And my love that loved me so! +Is there never a chink in the world above +Where they listen for words from below? +Nay, I spoke once, and I grieved thee sore, +I remember all that I said, +And now thou wilt hear me no more - no more +Till the sea gives up her dead. + +Thou didst set thy foot on the ship, and sail +To the ice-fields and the snow; +Thou wert sad, for thy love did naught avail, +And the end I could not know; +How could I tell I should love thee to-day, +Whom that day I held not dear? +How could I know I should love thee away +When I did not love thee anear? + +We shall walk no more through the sodden plain +With the faded bents o'erspread, +We shall stand no more by the seething main +While the dark wrack drives o'erhead; +We shall part no more in the wind and the rain, +Where thy last farewell was said; +But perhaps I shall meet thee and know thee again +When the sea gives up her dead. + +Jean Ingelow [1820-1897] + + +REQUIESCAT + +Strew on her roses, roses, +And never a spray of yew! +In quiet she reposes: +Ah! would that I did too. + +Her mirth the world required: +She bathed it in smiles of glee. +But her heart was tired, tired, +And now they let her be. + +Her life was turning, turning, +In mazes of heat and sound. +But for peace her soul was yearning, +And now peace laps her round. + +Her cabined, ample Spirit, +It fluttered and failed for breath. +To-night it doth inherit +The vasty hall of Death. + +Matthew Arnold [1822-1888] + + +TOO LATE +"DOWGLAS, DOWGLAS, TENDIR AND TREU" + +Could ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas, +In the old likeness that I knew, +I would be so faithful, so loving, Douglas, +Douglas, Douglas, tender and true. + +Never a scornful word should grieve ye, +I'd smile on ye sweet as the angels do: +Sweet as your smile on me shone ever, +Douglas, Douglas, tender and true. + +Oh, to call back the days that are not! +My eyes were blinded, your words were few: +Do you know the truth now, up in heaven, +Douglas, Douglas, tender and true? + +I never was worthy of you, Douglas; +Not half worthy the like of you: +Now all men beside seem to me like shadows - +I love you, Douglas, tender and true. + +Stretch out your hand to me, Douglas, Douglas, +Drop forgiveness from heaven like dew; +As I lay my heart on your dead heart, Douglas, +Douglas, Douglas, tender and true! + +Dinah Maria Mulock Craik [1826-1887] + + +FOUR YEARS + +At the Midsummer, when the hay was down, +Said I mournful - Though my life be in its prime, +Bare lie my meadows all shorn before their time, +O'er my sere woodlands the leaves are turning brown; +It is the hot Midsummer, when the hay is down. + +At the Midsummer, when the hay was down, +Stood she by the brooklet, young and very fair, +With the first white bindweed twisted in her hair - +Hair that drooped like birch-boughs, all in her simple gown - +That eve in high Midsummer, when the hay was down. + +At the Midsummer, when the hay was down, +Crept she a willing bride close into my breast; +Low-piled the thunder-clouds had sunk into the west, +Red-eyed the sun out-glared like knight from leaguered town; +It was the high Midsummer, and the sun was down. + +It is Midsummer - all the hay is down, +Close to her forehead press I dying eyes, +Praying God shield her till we meet in Paradise, +Bless her in love's name who was my joy and crown, +And I go at Midsummer, when the hay is down. + +Dinah Maria Mulock Craik [1826-1887] + + +BARBARA + +On the Sabbath-day, +Through the churchyard old and gray, +Over the crisp and yellow leaves, I held my rustling way; +And amid the words of mercy, falling on my soul like balms; +'Mid the gorgeous storms of music - in the mellow organ calms, +'Mid the upward streaming prayers, and the rich and solemn psalms, +I stood careless, Barbara. + +My heart was otherwhere +While the organ shook the air, +And the priest, with outspread hands, blessed the people with a prayer; +But, when rising to go homeward, with a mild and saint-like shine +Gleamed a face of airy beauty with its heavenly eyes on mine - +Gleamed and vanished in a moment - O that face was surely thine +Out of heaven, Barbara! + +O pallid, pallid face! +O earnest eyes of grace! +When last I saw thee, dearest, it was in another place. +You came running forth to meet me with my love-gift on your wrist: +The flutter of a long white dress, then all was lost in mist - +A purple stain of agony was on the mouth I kissed, +That wild morning, Barbara! + +I searched in my despair, +Sunny noon and midnight air; +I could not drive away the thought that you were lingering there. +O many and many a winter night I sat when you were gone, +My worn face buried in my hands, beside the fire alone. +Within the dripping churchyard, the rain plashing on your stone, +You were sleeping, Barbara. + +'Mong angels, do you think +Of the precious golden link +I clasped around your happy arm while sitting by yon brink? +Or when that night of gliding dance, of laughter and guitars, +Was emptied of its music, and we watched, through lattice-bars, +The silent midnight heaven creeping o'er us with its stars, +Till the day broke, Barbara? + +In the years I've changed; +Wild and far my heart has ranged, +And many sins and errors now have been on me avenged; +But to you I have been faithful, whatsoever good I lacked: +I loved you, and above my life still hangs that love intact - +Your love the trembling rainbow, I the reckless cataract. +Still I love you, Barbara! + +Yet, love, I am unblest; +With many doubts oppressed, +I wander like a desert wind, without a place of rest. +Could I but win you for an hour from off that starry shore, +The hunger of my soul were stilled, for Death hath told you more +Than the melancholy world doth know; things deeper than all lore +Will you teach me, Barbara? + +In vain, in vain, in vain! +You will never come again. +There droops upon the dreary hills a mournful fringe of rain; +The gloaming closes slowly round, loud winds are in the tree, +Round selfish shores for ever moans the hurt and wounded sea, +There is no rest upon the earth, peace is with Death and thee, +Barbara! + +Alexander Smith [1830-1867] + + +SONG + +When I am dead, my dearest. +Sing no sad songs for me; +Plant thou no roses at my head, +Nor shady cypress-tree: +Be the green grass above me +With showers and dewdrops wet; +And if thou wilt, remember, +And if thou wilt, forget. + +I shall not see the shadows, +I shall not feel the rain; +I shall not hear the nightingale +Sing on, as if in pain: +And dreaming through the twilight +That doth not rise nor set, +Haply I may remember +And haply may forget. + +Christina Georgina Rossetti [1830-1894] + + +SARRAZINE'S SONG TO HER DEAD LOVER +From "Chaitivel" + +Hath any loved you well, down there, +Summer or winter through? +Down there, have you found any fair +Laid in the grave with you? +Is death's long kiss a richer kiss +Than mine was wont to be - +Or have you gone to some far bliss +And quite forgotten me? + +What soft enamoring of sleep +Hath you in some soft way? +What charmed death holdeth you with deep +Strange lure by night and day? +- A little space below the grass, +Out of the sun and shade; +But worlds away from me, alas, +Down there where you are laid? + +My bright hair's waved and wasted gold, +What is it now to thee - +Whether the rose-red life I hold +Or white death holdeth me? +Down there you love the grave's own green, +And evermore you rave +Of some sweet seraph you have seen +Or dreamt of in the grave. + +There you shall lie as you have lain, +Though in the world above, +Another life you live again, +Loving again your love: +Is it not sweet beneath the palm? +Is not the warm day rife +With some long mystic golden calm +Better than love and life? + +The broad quaint odorous leaves like hands +Weaving the fair day through, +Weave sleep no burnished bird withstands, +While death weaves sleep for you; +And many a strange rich breathing sound +Ravishes morn and noon: +And in that place you must have found +Death a delicious swoon. + +Hold me no longer for a word +I used to say or sing: +Ah, long ago you must have heard +So many a sweeter thing: +For rich earth must have reached your heart +And turned the faith to flowers; +And warm wind stolen, part by part, +Your soul through faithless hours. + +And many a soft seed must have won +Soil of some yielding thought, +To bring a bloom up to the sun +That else had ne'er been brought; +And, doubtless, many a passionate hue +Hath made that place more fair, +Making some passionate part of you +Faithless to me down there. + +Arthur O'Shaughnessy [1844-1884] + + +LOVE AND DEATH + +In the wild autumn weather, when the rain was on the sea, +And the boughs sobbed together, Death came and spake to me: +"Those red drops of thy heart I have come to take from thee; +As the storm sheds the rose, so thy love shall broken be," +Said Death to me. + +Then I stood straight and fearless while the rain was in the wave, +And I spake low and tearless: "When thou hast made my grave, +Those red drops from my heart then thou shalt surely have; +But the rose keeps its bloom, as I my love will save +All for my grave." + +In the wild autumn weather a dread sword slipped from its sheath; +While the boughs sobbed together, I fought a fight with Death, +And I vanquished him with prayer, and I vanquished him by faith: +Now the summer air is sweet with the rose's fragrant breath +That conquered Death. + +Rosa Mulholland [18 -1921] + + +TO ONE IN PARADISE + +Thou wast all that to me, love, +For which my soul did pine: +A green isle in the sea, love, +A fountain and a shrine +All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers, +And all the flowers were mine. + +Ah, dream too bright to last! +Ah, starry Hope, that didst arise +But to be overcast! +A voice from out of the Future cries, +"On! on!" - but o'er the Past +(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies +Mute, motionless, aghast. + +For, alas! alas! with me +The light of Life is o'er! +No more - no more - no more - +(Such language holds the solemn sea +To the sands upon the shore) +Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree, +Or the stricken eagle soar. + +And all my days are trances, +And all my nightly dreams +Are where thy dark eye glances, +And where thy footstep gleams - +In what ethereal dances, +By what eternal streams. + +Edgar Allan Poe [1809-1849] + + +ANNABEL LEE + +It was many and many a year ago, +In a kingdom by the sea, +That a maiden there lived whom you may know +By the name of Annabel Lee; +And this maiden she lived with no other thought +Than to love and be loved by me. + +I was a child and she was a child, +In this kingdom by the sea, +But we loved with a love that was more than love, +I and my Annabel Lee; +With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven +Coveted her and me. + +And this was the reason that, long ago, +In this kingdom by the sea, +A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling +My beautiful Annabel Lee; +So that her highborn kinsmen came +And bore her away from me, +To shut her up in a sepulcher +In this kingdom by the sea. + +The angels, not half so happy in heaven, +Went envying her and me; +Yes! that was the reason (as all men know, +In this kingdom by the sea) +That the wind came out of the cloud by night, +Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. + +But our love it was stronger by far than the love +Of those who were older than we, +Of many far wiser than we; +And neither the angels in heaven above, +Nor the demons down under the sea, +Can ever dissever my soul from the soul +Of the beautiful Annabel Lee: + +For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams +Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; +And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes +Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; +And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side +Of my darling - my darling - my life and my bride, +In the sepulcher there by the sea, +In her tomb by the sounding sea. + +Edgar Allan Poe [1809-1849] + + +FOR ANNIE + +Thank Heaven! the crisis - +The danger is past, +And the lingering illness +Is over at last - +And the fever called "Living" +Is conquered at last. + +Sadly, I know +I am shorn of my strength, +And no muscle I move +As I lie at full length: +But no matter - I feel +I am better at length. + +And I rest so composedly +Now, in my bed, +That any beholder +Might fancy me dead - +Might start at beholding me, +Thinking me dead. + +The moaning and groaning, +The sighing and sobbing, +Are quieted now, +With that horrible throbbing +At heart - ah, that horrible, +Horrible throbbing! + +The sickness - the nausea - +The pitiless pain - +Have ceased, with the fever +That maddened my brain - +With the fever called "Living" +That burned in my brain. + +And O! of all tortures +That torture the worst +Has abated - the terrible +Torture of thirst +For the naphthaline river +Of Passion accurst - +I have drunk of a water +That quenches all thirst, + +- Of a water that flows, +With a lullaby sound, +From a spring but a very few +Feet under ground - +From a cavern not very far +Down under ground. + +And ah! let it never +Be foolishly said +That my room it is gloomy, +And narrow my bed; +For man never slept +In a different bed - +And, to sleep, you must slumber +In just such a bed. + +My tantalized spirit +Here blandly reposes, +Forgetting, or never +Regretting, its roses - +Its old agitations +Of myrtles and roses: + +For now, while so quietly +Lying, it fancies +A holier odor +About it, of pansies - +A rosemary odor, +Commingled with pansies - +With rue and the beautiful +Puritan pansies. + +And so it lies happily, +Bathing in many +A dream of the truth +And the beauty of Annie - +Drowned in a bath +Of the tresses of Annie. + +She tenderly kissed me, +She fondly caressed, +And then I fell gently +To sleep on her breast - +Deeply to sleep +From the heaven of her breast. + +When the light was extinguished, +She covered me warm, +And she prayed to the angels +To keep me from harm - +To the queen of the angels +To shield me from harm. + +And I lie so composedly, +Now, in my bed +(Knowing her love), +That you fancy me dead - +And I rest so contentedly, +Now, in my bed +(With her love at my breast), +That you fancy me dead - +That you shudder to look at me, +Thinking me dead. + +But my heart it is brighter +Than all of the many +Stars in the sky, +For it sparkles with Annie - +It glows with the light +Of the love of my Annie - +With the thought, of the light +Of the eyes of my Annie. + +Edgar Allan Poe [1809-1849] + + +TELLING THE BEES + +Here is the place; right over the hill +Runs the path I took; +You can see the gap in the old wall still, +And the stepping-stones in the shallow brook. + +There is the house, with the gate red-barred, +And the poplars tall; +And the barn's brown length, and the cattle-yard, +And the white horns tossing above the wall. + +There are the beehives ranged in the sun; +And down by the brink +Of the brook are her poor flowers, weed-o'errun, +Pansy and daffodil, rose and pink. + +A year has gone, as the tortoise goes, +Heavy and slow; +And the same rose blows, and the same sun glows, +And the same brook sings of a year ago. + +There's the same sweet clover-smell in the breeze; +And the June sun warm +Tangles his wings of fire in the trees, +Setting, as then, over Fernside farm. + +I mind me how with a lover's care +From my Sunday coat +I brushed off the burrs, and smoothed my hair, +And cooled at the brookside my brow and throat. + +Since we parted, a month had passed, - +To love, a year; +Down through the beeches I looked at last +On the little red gate and the well-sweep near. + +I can see it all now, - the slantwise rain +Of light through the leaves, +The sundown's blaze on her window-pane, +The bloom of her roses under the eaves. + +Just the same as a month before, - +The house and the trees, +The barn's brown gable, the vine by the door, - +Nothing changed but the hives of bees. + +Before them, under the garden wall, +Forward and back, +Went drearily singing the chore-girl small, +Draping each hive with a shred of black. + +Trembling, I listened: the summer sun +Had the chill of snow; +For I knew she was telling the bees of one +Gone on the journey we all must go! + +Then I said to myself, "My Mary weeps +For the dead to-day: +Haply her blind old grandsire sleeps +The fret and the pain of his age away." + +But her dog whined low; on the doorway sill +With his cane to his chin, +The old man sat; and the chore-girl still +Sung to the bees stealing out and in. + +And the song she was singing ever since +In my ears sounds on: - +"Stay at home, pretty bees, fly not hence! +Mistress Mary is dead and gone!" + +John Greenleaf Whittier [1807-1892] + + +A TRYST + +I will not break the tryst, my dear, +That we have kept so long, +Though winter and its snows are here, +And I've no heart for song. + +You went into the voiceless night; +Your path led far away. +Did you forget me, Heart's Delight, +As night forgets the day? + +Sometimes I think that you would speak +If still you held me dear; +But space is vast, and I am weak - +Perchance I do not hear. + +Surely, howe'er remote the star +Your wandering feet may tread, +When I shall pass the sundering bar +Our souls must still be wed. + +Louise Chandler Moulton [1835-1908] + + +LOVE'S RESURRECTION DAY + +Round among the quiet graves, +When the sun was low, +Love went grieving, - Love who saves: +Did the sleepers know? + +At his touch the flowers awoke, +At his tender call +Birds into sweet singing broke, +And it did befall + +From the blooming, bursting sod +All Love's dead arose, +And went flying up to God +By a way Love knows. + +Louise Chandler Moulton [1835-1908] + + +HEAVEN + +Only to find Forever, blest +By thine encircling arm; +Only to lie beyond unrest +In passion's dreamy calm! + +Only to meet and never part, +To sleep and never wake, - +Heart unto heart and soul to soul, +Dead for each other's sake. + +Martha Gilbert Dickinson [18 - + + +JANETTE'S HAIR + +Oh, loosen the snood that you wear, Janette, +Let me tangle a hand in your hair - my pet; +For the world to me had no daintier sight +Than your brown hair veiling your shoulders white; +Your beautiful dark brown hair - my pet. + +It was brown with a golden gloss, Janette, +It was finer than silk of the floss - my pet; +'Twas a beautiful mist falling down to your wrist, +'Twas a thing to be braided, and jewelled, and kissed - +'Twas the loveliest hair in the world - my pet. + +My arm was the arm of a clown, Janette, +It was sinewy, bristled, and brown - my pet; +But warmly and softly it loved to caress +Your round white neck and your wealth of tress, +Your beautiful plenty of hair - my pet. + +Your eyes had a swimming glory, Janette. +Revealing the old, dear story - my pet; +They were gray with that chastened tinge of the sky +When the trout leaps quickest to snap the fly, +And they matched with your golden hair - my pet. + +Your lips - but I have no words, Janette - +They were fresh as the twitter of birds - my pet, +When the spring is young, and the roses are wet, +With the dewdrops in each red bosom set, +And they suited your gold brown hair - my pet. + +Oh, you tangled my life in your hair, Janette, +'Twas a silken and golden snare - my pet; +But, so gentle the bondage, my soul did implore +The right to continue your slave evermore, +With my fingers enmeshed in your hair - my pet. + +Thus ever I dream what you were, Janette, +With your lips, and your eyes, and your hair - my pet, +In the darkness of desolate years I moan, +And my tears fall bitterly over the stone +That covers your golden hair - my pet. + +Charles Graham Halpine [1829-1868] + + +THE DYING LOVER + +The grass that is under me now +Will soon be over me, Sweet; +When you walk this way again +I shall not hear your feet. + +You may walk this way again, +And shed your tears like dew; +They will be no more to me then +Than mine are now to you! + +Richard Henry Stoddard [1825-1903] + + +"WHEN THE GRASS SHALL COVER ME" + +When the grass shall cover me, +Head to foot where I am lying; +When not any wind that blows, +Summer blooms nor winter snows, +Shall awake me to your sighing: +Close above me as you pass, +You will say, "How kind she was," +You will say, "How true she was," +When the grass grows over me. + +When the grass shall cover me, +Holden close to earth's warm bosom, - +While I laugh, or weep, or sing, +Nevermore, for anything, +You will find in blade and blossom, +Sweet small voices, odorous, +Tender pleaders in my cause, +That shall speak me as I was - +When the grass grows over me. + +When the grass shall cover me! +Ah, beloved, in my sorrow +Very patient, I can wait, +Knowing that, or soon or late, +There will dawn a clearer morrow: +When your heart will moan "Alas! +Now I know how true she was; +Now I know how dear she was" - +When the grass grows over me! + +Ina Donna Coolbrith [1842-1928] + + +GIVE LOVE TO-DAY + +When the lean, gray grasses +Cover me, bury me deep, +No sea wind that passes +Shall break my sleep. + +When you come, my lover, +Sorrowful-eyed to me, +Earth mine eyes will cover; +I shall not see. + +Though with sad words splendid, +Praising, you call me dear, +It will be all ended; +I shall not hear. + +You may live love's riot +Laughingly over my head, +But I shall lie quiet +With the gray dead. + +Love, you will not wake me +With all your singing carouse. +Nor your dancing shake me +In my dark house. + +Though you should go weeping, +Sorrowful for my sake, +Fain to break my sleeping, +I could not wake. + +Now, ere time destroy us - +Shadows beneath and above; +Death has no song joyous, +Nor dead men love - + +Now, while deep-eyed, golden, +Love on the mountain sings, +Let him be close holden; +Fetter his wings. + +Love, nor joy nor sorrow +Troubles the end of day. +Leave the Fates to-morrow; +Give Love to-day. + +Ethel Talbot [18 - + + +UNTIL DEATH + +Make me no vows of constancy, dear friend, +To love me, though I die, thy whole life long, +And love no other till thy days shall end - +Nay, it were rash and wrong. + +If thou canst love another, be it so; +I would not reach out of my quiet grave +To bind thy heart, if it should choose to go - +Love should not be a slave. + +My placid ghost, I trust, will walk serene +In clearer light than gilds those earthly morns, +Above the jealousies and envies keen, +Which sow this life with thorns. + +Thou wouldst not feel my shadowy caress; +If, after death, my soul should linger here; +Men's hearts crave tangible, close tenderness, +Love's presence, warm and near. + +It would not make me sleep more peacefully +That thou wert wasting all thy life in woe +For my poor sake; what love thou hast for me, +Bestow it ere I go. + +Carve not upon a stone when I am dead +The praises which remorseful mourners give +To women's graves - a tardy recompense - +But speak them while I live. + +Heap not the heavy marble o'er my head +To shut away the sunshine and the dew; +Let small blooms grow there, and let grasses wave, +And raindrops filter through. + +Thou wilt meet many fairer and more gay +Than I; but, trust me, thou canst never find +One who will love and serve thee night and day +With a more single mind. + +Forget me when I die! The violets +Above my breast will blossom just as blue, +Nor miss thy tears; e'en nature's self forgets; +But while I live, be true. + +Elizabeth Akers [1832-1911] + + +FLORENCE VANE + +I loved thee long and dearly, +Florence Vane; +My life's bright dream and early +Hath come again; +I renew in my fond vision, +My heart's dear pain - +My hopes, and thy derision, +Florence Vane. + +The ruin, lone and hoary, +The ruin old, +Where thou didst hark my story, +At even told - +That spot - the hues Elysian +Of sky and plain - +I treasure in my vision, +Florence Vane. + +Thou wast lovelier than the roses +In their prime; +Thy voice excelled the closes +Of sweetest rhyme; +Thy heart was as a river +Without a main. +Would I had loved thee never, +Florence Vane! + +But, fairest, coldest wonder! +Thy glorious clay +Lieth the green sod under - +Alas, the day! +And it boots not to remember +Thy disdain, +To quicken love's pale ember, +Florence Vane. + +The lilies of the valley +By young graves weep; +The daisies love to dally +Where maidens sleep. +May their bloom, in beauty vying, +Never wane +Where thine earthly part is lying, +Florence Vane! + +Philip Pendleton Cooke [1816-1850] + + +"IF SPIRITS WALK" + +If spirits walk, love, when the night climbs slow +The slant footpath where we were wont to go, +Be sure that I shall take the selfsame way +To the hill-crest, and shoreward, down the gray, +Sheer, graveled slope, where vetches straggling grow. +Look for me not when gusts of winter blow, +When at thy pane beat hands of sleet and snow; +I would not come thy dear eyes to affray, +If spirits walk. + +But when, in June, the pines are whispering low, +And when their breath plays with thy bright hair so +As some one's fingers once were used to play - +That hour when birds leave song, and children pray, +Keep the old tryst, sweetheart, and thou shalt know +If spirits walk. + +Sophie Jewett [1861-1909] + + +REQUIESCAT + +Tread lightly, she is near, +Under the snow; +Speak gently, she can hear +The daisies grow. + +All her bright golden hair +Tarnished with rust, +She that was young and fair +Fallen to dust. + +Lily-like, white as snow, +She hardly knew +She was a woman, so +Sweetly she grew. + +Coffin-board, heavy stone, +Lie on her breast; +I vex my heart alone, +She is at rest. + +Peace, peace; she cannot hear +Lyre or sonnet; +All my life's buried here - +Heap earth upon it. + +Oscar Wilde [1856-1900] + + +LYRIC +Ah, dans ces mornes sejours +Les jamais sont les toujours. - Paul Verlaine + +You would have understood me, had you waited; +I could have loved you, dear! as well as he; +Had we not been impatient, dear! and fated +Always to disagree. + +What is the use of speech? Silence were fitter: +Lest we should still be wishing things unsaid. +Though all the words we ever spake were bitter, +Shall I reproach you dead? + +Nay, let this earth, your portion, likewise cover +All the old anger, setting us apart: +Always, in all, in truth was I your lover; +Always, I held your heart. + +I have met other women who were tender, +As you were cold, dear! with a grace as rare. +Think you I turned to them, or made surrender, +I who had found you fair? + +Had we been patient, dear! ah, had you waited, +I had fought death for you, better than he: +But from the very first, dear! we, were fated +Always to disagree. + +Late, late, I come to you, now death discloses +Love that in life was not to be our part: +On your low-lying mound between the roses, +Sadly I cast my heart. + +I would not waken you: nay! this is fitter; +Death and the darkness give you unto me; +Here we who loved so, were so cold and bitter, +Hardly can disagree. + +Ernest Dowson [1867-1900] + + +ROMANCE + +My Love dwelt in a Northern land. +A gray tower in a forest green +Was hers, and far on either hand +The long wash of the waves was seen, +And leagues and leagues of yellow sand, +The woven forest boughs between! + +And through the silver Northern night +The sunset slowly died away, +And herds of strange deer, lily-white, +Stole forth among the branches gray; +About the coming of the light, +They fled like ghosts before the day! + +I know not if the forest green +Still girdles round that castle gray; +I know not if the boughs between +The white deer vanish ere the day; +Above my Love the grass is green, +My heart is colder than the clay! + +Andrew Lang [1844-1912] + + +GOOD-NIGHT + +Good-night, dear friend! I say good-night to thee +Across the moonbeams, tremulous and white, +Bridging all space between us, it may be. +Lean low, sweet friend; it is the last good-night. + +For, lying low upon my couch, and still, +The fever flush evanished from my face, +I heard them whisper softly, "'Tis His will; +Angels will give her happier resting-place!" + +And so from sight of tears that fell like rain, +And sounds of sobbing smothered close and low, +I turned my white face to the window-pane, +To say good-night to thee before I go. + +Good-night! good-night! I do not fear the end, +The conflict with the billows dark and high; +And yet, if I could touch thy hand, my friend, +I think it would be easier to die; + +If I could feel through all the quiet waves +Of my deep hair thy tender breath a-thrill, +I could go downward to the place of graves +With eyes a-shine and pale lips smiling still; + +Or it may be that, if through all the strife +And pain of parting I should hear thy call, +I would come singing back to sweet, sweet life, +And know no mystery of death at all. + +It may not be. Good-night, dear friend, good-night! +And when you see the violets again, +And hear, through boughs with swollen buds a-white, +The gentle falling of the April rain, + +Remember her whose young life held thy name +With all things holy, in its outward flight, +And turn sometimes from busy haunts of men +To hear again her low good-night! good-night! + +Hester A. Benedict [18 - + + +REQUIESCAT + +Bury me deep when I am dead, +Far from the woods where sweet birds sing; +Lap me in sullen stone and lead, +Lest my poor dust should feel the Spring. + +Never a flower be near me set, +Nor starry cup nor slender stem, +Anemone nor violet, +Lest my poor dust remember them. + +And you - wherever you may fare - +Dearer than birds, or flowers, or dew - +Never, ah me, pass never there, +Lest my poor dust should dream of you. + +Rosamund Marriott Watson [1863-1911] + + +THE FOUR WINDS + +Wind of the North, +Wind of the Norland snows, +Wind of the winnowed skies and sharp, clear stars - +Blow cold and keen across the naked hills, +And crisp the lowland pools with crystal films, +And blur the casement-squares with glittering ice, +But go not near my love. + +Wind of the West, +Wind of the few, far clouds, +Wind of the gold and crimson sunset lands - +Blow fresh and pure across the peaks and plains, +And broaden the blue spaces of the heavens, +And sway the grasses and the mountain pines, +But let my dear one rest. + +Wind of the East, +Wind of the sunrise seas, +Wind of the clinging mists and gray, harsh rains - +Blow moist and chill across the wastes of brine, +And shut the sun out, and the moon and stars, +And lash the boughs against the dripping eaves, +Yet keep thou from my love. + +But thou, sweet wind! +Wind of the fragrant South, +Wind from the bowers of jasmine and of rose! - +Over magnolia glooms and lilied lakes +And flowering forests come with dewy wings, +And stir the petals at her feet, and kiss +The low mound where she lies. + +Charles Henry Luders [1858-1891] + + +THE KING'S BALLAD + +Good my King, in your garden close, +(Hark to the thrush's trilling) +Why so sad when the maiden rose +Love at your feet is spilling? +Golden the air and honey-sweet, +Sapphire the sky, it is not meet +Sorrowful faces should flowers greet, +(Hark to the thrush's trilling). + +All alone walks the King to-day. +(Hark to the thrush's trilling) +Far from his throne he steals away +Loneness and quiet willing. +Roses and tulips and lilies fair +Smile for his pleasure everywhere, +Yet of their joyance he takes no share, +(Hark to the thrush's trilling). + +Ladies wait in the palace, Sire, +(Hark to the thrush's trilling) +Red and white for the king's desire, +Love-warm and sweet and thrilling; +Breasts of moonshine and hair of night, +Glances amorous, soft and bright, +Nothing is lacking for your delight, +(Hark to the thrush's trilling). + +Kneels the King in a grassy place, +(Hark to the thrush's trilling) +Little flowers under his face +With his warm tears are filling. +Says the King, "Here my heart lies dead +Where my fair love is buried, +Would I were lying here instead!" +(Hark to the thrush's trilling). + +Joyce Kilmer [1886-1918] + + +HELIOTROPE + +Amid the chapel's chequered gloom +She laughed with Dora and with Flora, +And chattered in the lecture-room, - +That saucy little sophomora! +Yet while, as in her other schools, +She was a privileged transgressor, +She never broke the simple rules +Of one particular professor. + +But when he spoke of varied lore, +Paroxytones and modes potential, +She listened with a face that wore +A look half fond, half reverential. +To her, that earnest voice was sweet, +And, though her love had no confessor, +Her girlish heart lay at the feet +Of that particular professor. + +And he had learned, among his books +That held the lore of ages olden, +To watch those ever-changing looks, +The wistful eyes, the tresses golden, +That stirred his pulse with passion's pain +And thrilled his soul with soft desire, +And bade fond youth return again, +Crowned with its coronet of fire. + +Her sunny smile, her winsome ways, +Were more to him than all his knowledge, +And she preferred his words of praise +To all the honors of the college. +Yet "What am foolish I to him?" +She whispered to her heart's confessor. +"She thinks me old and gray and grim," +In silence pondered the professor. + +Yet once when Christmas bells were rung +Above ten thousand solemn churches, +And swelling anthems grandly sung +Pealed through the dim cathedral arches, - +Ere home returning, filled with hope, +Softly she stole by gate and gable, +And a sweet spray of heliotrope +Left on his littered study-table. + +Nor came she more from day to day +Like sunshine through the shadows rifting: +Above her grave, far, far away, +The ever-silent snows were drifting; +And those who mourned her winsome face +Found in its stead a swift successor +And loved another in her place - +All, save the silent old professor. + +But, in the tender twilight gray, +Shut from the sight of carping critic, +His lonely thoughts would often stray +From Vedic verse and tongues Semitic, +Bidding the ghost of vanished hope +Mock with its past the sad possessor +Of the dead spray of heliotrope +That once she gave the old professor. + +Harry Thurston Peck [1856-1914] + + +"LYDIA IS GONE THIS MANY A YEAR" + +Lydia is gone this many a year, +Yet when the lilacs stir, +In the old gardens far or near, +This house is full of her. + +They climb the twisted chamber stair; +Her picture haunts the room; +On the carved shelf beneath it there, +They heap the purple bloom. + +A ghost so long has Lydia been, +Her cloak upon the wall, +Broidered, and gilt, and faded green, +Seems not her cloak at all. + +The book, the box on mantle laid, +The shells in a pale row, +Are those of some dim little maid, +A thousand years ago. + +And yet the house is full of her; +She goes and comes again; +And longings thrill, and memories stir, +Like lilacs in the rain. + +Out in their yards the neighbors walk, +Among the blossoms tall; +Of Anne, of Phyllis do they talk, +Of Lydia not at all. + +Lizette Woodworth Reese [1856-1935] + + +AFTER + +Oh, the littles that remain! +Scent of mint out in the lane; +Flare of window, sound of bees; - +These, but these. + +Three times sitting down to bread; +One time climbing up to bed; +Table-setting o'er and o'er; +Drying herbs for winter's store; +This thing; that thing; - nothing more. + +But just now out in the lane, +Oh, the scent of mint was plain! + +Lizette Woodworth Reese [1856-1935] + + +MEMORIES + +Of my ould loves, of their ould ways, +I sit an' think, these bitther days. + +(I've kissed - 'gainst rason an' 'gainst rhyme - +More mouths than one in my mad time!) + +Of their soft ways an' words I dream, +But far off now, in faith, they seem. + +Wid betther lives, wid betther men, +They've all long taken up again! + +For me an' mine they're past an' done - +Aye, all but one - yes, all but one! + +Since I kissed her 'neath Tullagh Hill +That one gerrl stays close wid me still. + +Och! up to mine her face still lifts, +An' round us still the white May drifts; + +An' her soft arm, in some ould way, +Is here beside me, night an' day; + +But, faith, 'twas her they buried deep, +Wid all that love she couldn't keep, + +Aye, deep an' cold, in Killinkere, +This many a year - this many a year! + +Arthur Stringer [1874- + + +TO DIANE + +The ruddy poppies bend and bow, +Diane! do you remember? +The sun you knew shines proudly now, +The lake still lists the breezes vow, +Your towers are fairer for their stains, +Each stone you smiled upon remains. +Sing low - where is Diane? +Diane! do you remember? + +I come to find you through the years, +Diane! do you remember? +For none may rule my love's soft fears. +The ladies now are not your peers, +I seek you through your tarnished halls, +Pale sorrow on my spirit falls, +High, low - where is Diane? +Diane! do you remember? + +I crush the poppies where I tread, +Diane! do you remember? +Your flower of life, so bright, so red - +She does not hear - Diane is dead. +I pace the sunny bowers alone +Where naught of her remains but stone. +Sing low - where is Diane? +Diane does not remember. + +Helen Hay Whitney [18 - + + +"MUSIC I HEARD" + +Music I heard with you was more than music, +And bread I broke with you was more than bread. +Now that I am without you, all is desolate, +All that was once so beautiful is dead. + +Your hands once touched this table and this silver, +And I have seen your fingers hold this glass. +These things do not remember you, beloved: +And yet your touch upon them will not pass. + +For it was in my heart you moved among them, +And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes. +And in my heart they will remember always: +They knew you once, O beautiful and wise! + +Conrad Aiken [1889- + + +HER DWELLING-PLACE + +Amid the fairest things that grow +My lady hath her dwelling-place; +Where runnels flow, and frail buds blow +As shy and pallid as her face. + +The wild, bright creatures of the wood +About her fearless flit and spring; +To light her dusky solitude +Comes April's earliest offering. + +The calm Night from her urn of rest +Pours downward an unbroken stream; +All day upon her mother's breast +My lady lieth in a dream. + +Love could not chill her low, soft bed +With any sad memorial stone; +He put a red rose at her head - +A flame as fragrant as his own. + +Ada Foster Murray [1857-1936] + + +THE WIFE FROM FAIRYLAND + +Her talk was all of woodland things, +Of little lives that pass +Away in one green afternoon, +Deep in the haunted grass; + +For she had come from fairyland, +The morning of a day +When the world that still was April +Was turning into May. + +Green leaves and silence and two eyes - +'Twas so she seemed to me, +A silver shadow of the woods, +Whisper and mystery. + +I looked into her woodland eyes, +And all my heart was hers, +And then I led her by the hand +Home up my marble stairs; + +And all my granite and my gold +Was hers for her green eyes, +And all my sinful heart was hers +From sunset to sunrise; + +I gave her all delight and ease +That God had given to me, +I listened to fulfil her dreams, +Rapt with expectancy. + +But all I gave, and all I did, +Brought but a weary smile +Of gratitude upon her face; +As though a little while, + +She loitered in magnificence +Of marble and of gold, +And waited to be home again +When the dull tale was told. + +Sometimes, in the chill galleries, +Unseen, she deemed, unheard, +I found her dancing like a leaf +And singing like a bird. + +So lone a thing I never saw +In lonely earth or sky, +So merry and so sad a thing, +One sad, one laughing, eye. + +There came a day when on her heart +A wildwood blossom lay, +And the world that still was April +Was turning into May. + +In the green eyes I saw a smile +That turned my heart to stone: +My wife that came from fairyland +No longer was alone. + +For there had come a little hand +To show the green way home, +Home through the leaves, home through the dew, +Home through the greenwood - home. + +Richard Le Gallienne [1866- + + +IN THE FALL O' YEAR + +I went back an old-time lane +In the fall o' year, +There was wind and bitter rain +And the leaves were sere. + +Once the birds were lilting high +In a far-off May - +I remember, you and I +Were as glad as they. + +But the branches now are bare +And the lad you knew, +Long ago was buried there - +Long ago, with you! + +Thomas S. Jones, Jr. [1882-1932] + + +THE INVISIBLE BRIDE + +The low-voiced girls that go +In gardens of the Lord, +Like flowers of the field they grow +In sisterly accord. + +Their whispering feet are white +Along the leafy ways; +They go in whirls of light +Too beautiful for praise. + +And in their band forsooth +Is one to set me free - +The one that touched my youth - +The one God gave to me. + +She kindles the desire +Whereby the gods survive - +The white ideal fire +That keeps my soul alive. + +Now at the wondrous hour, +She leaves her star supreme, +And comes in the night's still power, +To touch me with a dream. + +Sibyl of mystery +On roads beyond our ken, +Softly she comes to me, +And goes to God again. + +Edwin Markham [1852- + + +RAIN ON A GRAVE + +Clouds spout upon her +Their waters amain +In ruthless disdain, - +Her who but lately +Had shivered with pain +As at touch of dishonor +If there had lit on her +So coldly, so straightly +Such arrows of rain. + +She who to shelter +Her delicate head +Would quicken and quicken +Each tentative tread +If drops chanced to pelt her +That summertime spills +In dust-paven rills +When thunder-clouds thicken +And birds close their bills. + +Would that I lay there +And she were housed here! +Or better, together +Were folded away there +Exposed to one weather +We both, - who would stray there +When sunny the day there, +Or evening was clear +At the prime of the year. + +Soon will be growing +Green blades from her mound, +And daisies be showing +Like stars on the ground, +Till she form part of them - +Ay - the sweet heart of them, +Loved beyond measure +With a child's pleasure +All her life's round. + +Thomas Hardy [1840-1928] + + +PATTERNS + +I walk down the garden paths, +And all the daffodils +Are blowing, and the bright blue squills. +I walk down the patterned garden-paths +In my stiff, brocaded gown. +With my powdered hair and jewelled fan, +I too am a rare +Pattern. As I wander down +The garden paths. + +My dress is richly figured, +And the train +Makes a pink and silver stain +On the gravel, and the thrift +Of the borders. +Just a plate of current fashion, +Tripping by in high-heeled, ribboned shoes. +Not a softness anywhere about me, +Only whale-bone and brocade. +And I sink on a seat in the shade +Of a lime-tree. For my passion +Wars against the stiff brocade. +The daffodils and squills +Flutter in the breeze +As they please. +And I weep; +For the lime-tree is in blossom +And one small flower has dropped upon my bosom. + +And the plashing of waterdrops +In the marble fountain +Comes down the garden-paths. +The dripping never stops. +Underneath my stiffened gown +Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin, +A basin in the midst of hedges grown +So thick, she cannot see her lover hiding. +But she guesses he is near, +And the sliding of the water +Seems the stroking of a dear +Hand upon her. +What is Summer in a fine brocaded gown! +I should like to see it lying in a heap upon the ground. +All the pink and silver crumpled upon the ground. + +I would be the pink and silver as I ran along the paths, +And he would stumble after, +Bewildered by my laughter. +I should see the sun flashing from his sword-hilt and the buckles on his shoes. +I would choose +To lead him in a maze along the patterned paths, +A bright and laughing maze for my heavy-booted lover, +Till he caught me in the shade, +And the buttons of his waistcoat bruised my body as he clasped me, +Aching, melting, unafraid. +With the shadows of the leaves and the sundrops, +And the plopping of the waterdrops, +All about us in the open afternoon - +I am very like to swoon +With the weight of this brocade, +For the sun sifts through the shade. + +Underneath the fallen blossom +In my bosom, +Is a letter I have hid. +It was brought to me this morning by a rider from the Duke. +"Madam, we regret to inform you that Lord Hartwell +Died in action Thursday se'nnight." +As I read it in the white, morning sunlight, +The letters squirmed like snakes. +"Any answer, Madam?" said my footman. +"No," I told him. +"See that the messenger takes some refreshment. +No, no answer." +And I walked into the garden, +Up and down the patterned paths, +In my stiff, correct brocade. +The blue and yellow flowers stood up proudly in the sun, +Each one. +I stood upright too, +Held rigid to the pattern +By the stiffness of my gown. +Up and down I walked, +Up and down. + +In a month he would have been my husband. +In a month, here, underneath this lime, +We would have broke the pattern; +He for me, and I for him, +He as Colonel, I as Lady, +On this shady seat. +He had a whim +That sunlight carried blessing. +And I answered, "It shall be as you have said." +Now he is dead. + +In Summer and in Winter I shall walk +Up and down +The patterned garden-paths +In my stiff, brocaded gown. +The squills and daffodils +Will give place to pillared roses, and to asters, and to snow. +I shall go +Up and down, +In my gown. +Gorgeously arrayed, +Boned and stayed. +And the softness of my body will be guarded from embrace +By each button, hook, and lace. +For the man who should loose me is dead, +Fighting with the Duke in Flanders, +In a pattern called a war. +Christ! What are patterns for? + +Amy Lowell [1874-1925] + + +DUST + +When the white flame in us is gone, +And we that lost the world's delight +Stiffen in darkness, left alone +To crumble in our separate night; + +When your swift hair is quiet in death, +And through the lips corruption thrust +Has stilled the labor of my breath - +When we are dust, when we are dust! - + +Not dead, not undesirous yet, +Still sentient, still unsatisfied, +We'll ride the air, and shine, and flit, +Around the places where we died, + +And dance as dust before the sun, +And light of foot, and unconfined, +Hurry from road to road, and run +About the errands of the wind. + +And every mote, on earth or air, +Will speed and gleam, down later days, +And like a secret pilgrim fare +By eager and invisible ways, + +Nor ever rest, nor ever lie, +Till, beyond thinking, out of view, +One mote of all the dust that's I +Shall meet one atom that was you. + +Then in some garden hushed from wind, +Warm in a sunset's afterglow, +The lovers in the flowers will find +A sweet and strange unquiet grow + +Upon the peace; and, past desiring, +So high a beauty in the air, +And such a light, and such a quiring, +And such a radiant ecstasy there, + +They'll know not if it's fire, or dew, +Or out of earth, or in the height, +Singing, or flame, or scent, or hue, +Or two that pass, in light, to light, + +Out of the garden, higher, higher. . . . +But in that instant they shall learn +The shattering ecstasy of our fire, +And the weak passionless hearts will burn + +And faint in that amazing glow, +Until the darkness close above; +And they will know - poor fools, they'll know! - +One moment, what it is to love. + +Rupert Brooke [1887-1915] + + +BALLAD + +The roses in my garden +Were white in the noonday sun, +But they were dyed with crimson +Before the day was done. + +All clad in golden armor, +To fight the Saladin, +He left me in my garden, +To weep, to sing, and spin. + +When fell the dewy twilight +I heard the wicket grate, +There came a ghost who shivered +Beside my garden gate. + +All clad in golden armor, +But dabbled with red dew; +He did not lift his vizor, +And yet his face I knew. + +And when he left my garden +The roses all were red +And dyed in a fresh crimson; +Only my heart was dead. + +The roses in my garden +Were white in the noonday sun; +But they were dyed with crimson +Before the day was done. + +Maurice Baring [1874- + + +"THE LITTLE ROSE IS DUST, MY DEAR" + +The little rose is dust, my dear; +The elfin wind is gone +That sang a song of silver words +And cooled our hearts with dawn. + +And what is left to hope, my dear, +Or what is left to say? +The rose, the little wind and you +Have gone so far away. + +Grace Hazard Conkling [18 + + +DIRGE + +Never the nightingale, +Oh, my dear, +Never again the lark +Thou wilt hear; +Though dusk and the morning still +Tap at thy window-sill, +Though ever love call and call +Thou wilt not hear at all, +My dear, my dear. + +Adelaide Crapsey [1878-1914] + + +THE LITTLE RED RIBBON + +The little red ribbon, the ring and the rose! +The summertime comes, and the summertime goes - +And never a blossom in all of the land +As white as the gleam of her beckoning hand! + +The long winter months, and the glare of the snows; +The little red ribbon, the ring and the rose! +And never a glimmer of sun in the skies +As bright as the light of her glorious eyes! + +Dreams only are true: but they fade and are gone - +For her face is not here when I waken at dawn; +The little red ribbon, the ring and the rose +Mine only; hers only the dream and repose. + +I am weary of waiting, and weary of tears, +And my heart wearies, too, all these desolate years, +Moaning over the one only song that it knows, - +The little red ribbon, the ring and the rose! + +James Whitcomb Riley [1849-1916] + + +THE ROSARY + +The hours I spent with thee, dear heart, +Are as a string of pearls to me; +I count them over, every one apart, +My rosary. + +Each hour a pearl, each pearl a prayer, +To still a heart in absence wrung; +I tell each bead unto the end and there +A cross is hung. + +Oh memories that bless - and burn! +Oh barren gain - and bitter loss! +I kiss each bead, and strive at last to learn +To kiss the cross, +Sweetheart, +To kiss the cross. + +Robert Cameron Rogers [1862-1912] + + + + + + + +LOVE'S FULFILMENT + + + + + + +"MY TRUE-LOVE HATH MY HEART" +From the "Arcadia" + +My true-love hath my heart, and I have his, +By just exchange one for the other given: +I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss; +There never was a better bargain driven; +His heart in me keeps him and me in one, +My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides: +He loves my heart, for once it was his own, +I cherish his, because in me it bides. + +His heart his wound received from my sight; +My heart was wounded from his wounded heart; +For as from me, on him his hurt did light, +So still me thought in me his heart did smart: +Both equal hurt, in this change sought our bliss, +My true love hath my heart, and I have his. + +Philip Sidney [1554-1586] + + +SONG + +O sweet delight, O more than human bliss, +With her to live that ever loving is! +To hear her speak whose words are so well placed +That she by them, as they in her are graced: +Those looks to view that feast the viewer's eye, +How blest is he that may so live and die! + +Such love as this the Golden Times did know, +When all did reap, yet none took care to sow; +Such love as this an endless summer makes, +And all distaste from frail affection takes. +So loved, so blest, in my beloved am I: +Which till their eyes ache, let iron men envy! + +Thomas Campion [ ? -1619] + + +THE GOOD-MORROW + +I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I +Did, till we loved? were we not weaned till then? +But sucked on country pleasures, childishly? +Or snored we in the Seven Sleepers' den? +'Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be; +If ever any beauty I did see, +Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee. + +And now good-morrow to our waking souls, +Which watch not one another out of fear; +For love all love of other sights controls, +And makes one little room an everywhere. +Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone; +Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown, +Let us possess one world; each hath one, and is one. + +My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears, +And true plain hearts do in the faces rest; +Where can we find two fitter hemispheres +Without sharp north, without declining west? +Whatever dies, was not mixed equally; +If our two loves be one, or thou and I +Love just alike in all, none of these loves can die. + +John Donne [1573-1631] + + +"THERE'S GOWD IN THE BREAST" + +There's gowd in the breast of the primrose pale, +An' siller in every blossom; +There's riches galore in the breeze of the vale, +And health in the wild wood's bosom. +Then come, my love, at the hour of joy, +When warbling birds sing o'er us; +Sweet nature for us has no alloy, +And the world is all before us. + +The courtier joys in hustle and power, +The soldier in war-steeds bounding, +The miser in hoards of treasured ore, +The proud in their pomp surrounding: +But we hae yon heaven sae bonnie and blue, +And laverocks skimming o'er us; +The breezes of health, and the valleys of dew - +Oh, the world is all before us! + +James Hogg [1770-1835] + + +THE BEGGAR MAID + +Her arms across her breast she laid; +She was more fair than words can say: +Bare footed came the beggar maid +Before the king Cophetua. +In robe and crown the king stepped down, +To meet and greet her on her way; +"It is no wonder," said the lords, +"She is more beautiful than day." + +As shines the moon in clouded skies, +She in her poor attire was seen: +One praised her ankles, one her eyes, +One her dark hair and lovesome mien. +So sweet a face, such angel grace, +In all that land had never been: +Cophetua sware a royal oath: +"This beggar maid shall be my queen!" + +Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] + + +REFUGE + +Twilight, a timid fawn, went glimmering by, +And Night, the dark-blue hunter, followed fast, +Ceaseless pursuit and flight were in the sky, +But the long chase had ceased for us at last. + +We watched together while the driven fawn +Hid in the golden thicket of the day. +We, from whose hearts pursuit and flight were gone, +Knew on the hunter's breast her refuge lay. + +A. E. (George William Russell) [1867-1935] + + +AT SUNSET + +Clasp her and hold her and love her, +Here in the arching green +Of boughs that bend above her +With belts of blue between. + +Clasp her and hold her and love her, +Swift! Ere the splendor dies; +The blue grows black above her, +The earth in shadow lies. + +Flowers of dream enfold her. +Soft! Let me bend above, +Clasp her and love her and hold her, +Clasp her and hold and love. + +Louis V. Ledoux [1880- + + +"ONE MORNING, OH! SO EARLY" + +One morning, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved, +All the birds were singing blithely, as if never they would cease; +'Twas a thrush sang in my garden, "Hear the story, hear the story!" +And the lark sang, "Give us glory!" +And the dove said, "Give us peace!" + +Then I hearkened, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved, +To that murmur from the woodland of the dove, my dear, the dove; +When the nightingale came after, "Give us fame to sweeten duty!" +When the wren sang, "Give us beauty!" +She made answer, "Give us love!" + +Sweet is spring, and sweet the morning, my beloved, my beloved; +Now for us doth spring, doth morning, wait upon the year's increase, +And my prayer goes up, "Oh, give us, crowned in youth with marriage glory, +Give for all our life's dear story, +Give us love, and give us peace!" + +Jean Ingelow [1820-1897] + + +ACROSS THE DOOR + +The fiddles were playing and playing, +The couples were out on the floor; +From converse and dancing he drew me, +And across the door. + +Ah! strange were the dim, wide meadows, +And strange was the cloud-strewn sky, +And strange in the meadows the corncrakes, +And they making cry! + +The hawthorn bloom was by us, +Around us the breath of the south. +White hawthorn, strange in the night-time - +His kiss on my mouth! + +Padraic Colum [1881- + + +MAY MARGARET + +If you be that May Margaret +That lived on Kendal Green, +Then where's that sunny hair of yours +That crowned you like a queen? +That sunny hair is dim, lad, +They said was like a crown - +The red gold turned to gray, lad, +The night a ship went down. + +If you be yet May Margaret, +May Margaret now as then, +Then where's that bonny smile of yours +That broke the hearts of men? +The bonny smile is wan, lad, +That once was glad as day - +And oh! 'tis weary smiling +To keep the tears away. + +If you be that May Margaret, +As yet you swear to me, +Then where's that proud, cold heart of yours +That sent your love to sea? +Ah, me! that heart is broken, +The proud, cold heart has bled +For one light word outspoken, +For all the love unsaid. + +Then Margaret, my Margaret, +If all you say be true, +Your hair is yet the sunniest gold, +Your eyes the sweetest blue. +And dearer yet and fairer yet +For all the coming years - +The fairer for the waiting, +The dearer for the tears! + +Theophile Marzials [1850- + + +RONDEL + +Kissing her hair, I sat against her feet, +Wove and unwove it, wound and found it sweet; +Made fast therewith her hands, drew down her eyes, +Deep as deep flowers and dreamy like dim skies; +With her own tresses bound and found her fair, +Kissing her hair. + +Sleep were no sweeter than her face to me, +Sleep of cold sea-bloom under the cold sea; +What pain could get between my face and hers? +What new sweet thing would love not relish worse? +Unless, perhaps, white death had kissed me there, +Kissing her hair. + +Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909] + + +A SPRING JOURNEY + +We journeyed through broad woodland ways, +My Love and I. +The maples set the shining fields ablaze. +The blue May sky +Brought to us its great Spring surprise; +While we saw all things through each other's eyes. + +And sometimes from a steep hillside +Shone fair and bright +The shadhush, like a young June bride, +Fresh clothed in white. +Sometimes came glimpses glad of the blue sea; +But I smiled only on my Love; he smiled on me. + +The violets made a field one mass of blue - +Even bluer than the sky; +The little brook took on that color too, +And sang more merrily. +"Your dress is blue," he laughing said. "Your eyes," +My heart sang, "sweeter than the bending skies." + +We spoke of poets dead so long ago, +And their wise words; +We glanced at apple-trees, like drifted snow; +We watched the nesting birds, - +Only a moment! Ah, how short the day! +Yet all the winters cannot blow its sweetness quite away. + +Alice Freeman Palmer [1855-1902] + + +THE BROOKSIDE + +I wandered by the brookside, +I wandered by the mill; +I could not hear the brook flow, - +The noisy wheel was still; +There was no burr of grasshopper, +No chirp of any bird, +But the beating of my own heart +Was all the sound I heard. + +I sat beneath the elm-tree; +I watched the long, long shade, +And, as it grew still longer, +I did not feel afraid; +For I listened, for a footfall, +I listened for a word, - +But the beating of my own heart +Was all the sound I heard. + +He came not, - no, he came not, - +The night came on alone, - +The little stars sat, one by one, +Each on his golden throne; +The evening wind passed by my cheek, +The leaves above were stirred, - +But the beating of my own heart +Was all the sound I heard. + +Fast silent tears were flowing, +When something stood behind; +A hand was on my shoulder, - +I knew its touch was kind: +It drew me nearer, - nearer, - +We did not speak one word, +For the beating of our own hearts +Was all the sound we heard. + +Richard Monckton Milnes [1809-1885] + + +SONG + +For me the jasmine buds unfold +And silver daisies star the lea, +The crocus hoards the sunset gold, +And the wild rose breathes for me. +I feel the sap through the bough returning, +I share the skylark's transport fine, +I know the fountain's wayward yearning; +I love, and the world is mine! + +I love, and thoughts that sometime grieved, +Still well remembered, grieve not me; +From all that darkened and deceived +Upsoars my spirit free. +For soft the hours repeat one story, +Sings the sea one strain divine, +My clouds arise all flushed with glory; +I love, and the world is mine! + +Florence Earle Coates [1850-1927] + + +WHAT MY LOVER SAID + +By the merest chance, in the twilight gloom, +In the orchard path he met me; +In the tall, wet grass, with its faint perfume, +And I tried to pass, but he made no room, +Oh, I tried, but he would not let me. +So I stood and blushed till the grass grew red, +With my face bent down above it, +While he took my hand as he whispering said - +(How the clover lifted each pink, sweet head, +To listen to all that my lover said; +Oh, the clover in bloom, I love it!) + +In the high, wet grass went the path to hide, +And the low, wet leaves hung over; +But I could not pass upon either side, +For I found myself, when I vainly tried, +In the arms of my steadfast lover. +And he held me there and he raised my head, +While he closed the path before me, +And he looked down into my eyes and said - +(How the leaves bent down from the boughs o'erhead +To listen to all that my lover said, +Oh, the leaves hanging lowly o'er me!) + +Had he moved aside but a little way, +I could surely then have passed him; +And he knew I never could wish to stay, +And would not have heard what he had to say, +Could I only aside have cast him. +It was almost dark, and the moments sped, +And the searching night wind found us, +But he drew me nearer and softly said - +(How the pure, sweet wind grew still, instead, +To listen to all that my lover said; +Oh, the whispering wind around us!) + +I am sure he knew when he held me fast, +That I must be all unwilling; +For I tried to go, and I would have passed, +As the night was come with its dew, at last, +And the sky with its stars was filling. +But he clasped me close when I would have fled, +And he made me hear his story, +And his soul came out from his lips and said - +(How the stars crept out where the white moon led, +To listen to all that my lover said; +Oh, the moon and the stars in glory!) + +I know that the grass and the leaves will not tell, +And I'm sure that the wind, precious rover, +Will carry my secret so safely and well +That no being shall ever discover +One word of the many that rapidly fell +From the soul-speaking lips of my lover; +And the moon and the stars that looked over +Shall never reveal what a fairy-like spell +They wove round about us that night in the dell, +In the path through the dew-laden clover, +Nor echo the whispers that made my heart swell +As they fell from the lips of my lover. + +Homer Greene [1853- + + +MAY-MUSIC + +Oh! lose the winter from thine heart, the darkness from thine eyes, +And from the low hearth-chair of dreams, my Love-o'-May, arise; +And let the maidens robe thee like a white white-lilac tree, +Oh! hear the call of Spring, fair Soul, - and wilt thou come with me? + +Even so, and even so! +Whither thou goest, I will go. +I will follow thee. + +Then wilt thou see the orange trees star-flowering over Spain, +Or arched and mounded Kaiser-towns that molder mid Almain, +Or through the cypress-gardens go of magic Italy? +Oh East or West or South or North, say, wilt thou come with me? + +Even so, or even so! +Whither thou goest, I will go. +I will follow thee. + +But wilt thou farther come with me through hawthorn red and white +Until we find the wall that hides the Land of Heart's Delight? +The gates all carved with olden things are strange and dread to see: +But I will lift thee through, fair Soul. Arise and come with me! + +Even so, Love, even so! +Whither thou goest, I will go! +Lo, I follow thee. + +Rachel Annand Taylor [18 - + + +SONG + +Flame at the core of the world, +And flame in the red rose-tree; +The one is the fire of the ancient spheres, +The other is Junes to be; +And, oh, there's a flame that is both their flames +Here at the heart of me! + +As strong as the fires of stars, +As the prophet rose-tree true, +The fire of my life is tender and wild, +Its beauty is old and new; +For out of the infinite past it came +With the love in the eyes of you! + +Arthur Upson [1877-1908] + + +A MEMORY + +The night walked down the sky +With the moon in her hand; +By the light of that yellow lantern +I saw you stand. + +The hair that swept your shoulders +Was yellow, too, +Your feet as they touched the grasses +Shamed the dew. + +The Night wore all her jewels, +And you wore none, +But your gown had the odor of lilies +Drenched with sun. + +And never was Eve of the Garden +Or Mary the Maid +More pure than you as you stood there +Bold, yet afraid. + +And the sleeping birds woke, trembling, +And the folded flowers were aware, +And my senses were faint with the fragrant +Gold of your hair. + +And our lips found ways of speaking +What words cannot say, +Till a hundred nests gave music, +And the East was gray. + +Frederic Lawrence Knowles [1869-1905] + + +LOVE TRIUMPHANT + +Helen's lips are drifting dust; +Ilion is consumed with rust; +All the galleons of Greece +Drink the ocean's dreamless peace; +Lost was Solomon's purple show +Restless centuries ago; +Stately empires wax and wane - +Babylon, Barbary, and Spain; - +Only one thing, undefaced, +Lasts, though all the worlds lie waste +And the heavens are overturned. +- Dear, how long ago we learned! + +There's a sight that blinds the sun, +Sound that lives when sounds are done, +Music that rebukes the birds, +Language lovelier than words, +Hue and scent that shame the rose, +Wine no earthly vineyard knows, +Silence stiller than the shore +Swept by Charon's stealthy oar, +Ocean more divinely free +Than Pacific's boundless sea, - +Ye who love have learned it true. +- Dear, how long ago we knew! + +Frederic Lawrence Knowles [1869-1905] + + +LINES + +Love within the lover's breast +Burns like Hesper in the West, +O'er the ashes of the sun, +Till the day and night are done; +Then, when dawn drives up his car - +Lo! it is the morning star. + +Love! thy love pours down on mine, +As the sunlight on the vine, +As the snow rill on the vale, +As the salt breeze on the sail; +As the song unto the bird +On my lips thy name is heard. + +As a dewdrop on the rose +In thy heart my passion glows; +As a skylark to the sky, +Up into thy breast I fly; +As a sea-shell of the sea +Ever shall I sing of thee. + +George Meredith [1828-1909] + + +LOVE AMONG THE RUINS + +Where the quiet-colored end of evening smiles +Miles and miles +On the solitary pastures where our sheep +Half-asleep +Tinkle homeward through the twilight, stray or stop +As they crop - +Was the site once of a city great and gay, +(So they say) +Of our country's very capital, its prince +Ages since +Held his court in, gathered councils, wielding far +Peace or war. + +Now, - the country does not even boast a tree, +As you see, +To distinguish slopes of verdure, certain rills +From the hills +Intersect and give a name to (else they run Into one), +Where the domed and daring palace shot its spires +Up like fires +O'er the hundred-gated circuit of a wall +Bounding all, +Made of marble, men might march on nor be pressed, +Twelve abreast. + +And such plenty and perfection, see, of grass +Never was! +Such a carpet as, this summer-time, o'erspreads +And embeds +Every vestige of the city, guessed alone, +Stock or stone - +Where a multitude of men breathed joy and woe +Long ago; +Lust of glory pricked their hearts up, dread of shame +Struck them tame; +And that glory and that shame alike, the gold +Bought and sold. + +Now, - the single little turret that remains +On the plains, +By the caper overrooted, by the gourd +Overscored, +While the patching houseleek's head of blossom winks +Through the chinks - +Marks the basement whence a tower in ancient time +Sprang sublime, +And a burning ring, all round, the chariots traced +As they raced, +And the monarch and his minions and his dames +Viewed the games. + +And I know, while thus the quiet-colored eve +Smiles to leave +To their folding, all our many-tinkling fleece +In such peace, +And the slopes and rills in undistinguished gray +Melt away - +That a girl with eager eyes and yellow hair +Waits me there +In the turret whence the charioteers caught soul +For the goal, +When the king looked, where she looks now, breathless, dumb, +Till I come. + +But he looked upon the city, every side, +Far and wide, +All the mountains topped with temples, all the glades' +Colonnades, +All the causeys, bridges, aqueducts, - and then, +All the men! +When I do come, she will speak not, she will stand, +Either hand +On my shoulder, give her eyes the first embrace +Of my face, +Ere we rush, ere we extinguish sight and speech +Each on each. + +In one year they sent a million fighters forth +South and North, +And they built their gods a brazen pillar high +As the sky, +Yet reserved a thousand chariots in full force - +Gold, of course. +Oh heart! oh blood that freezes, blood that burns! +Earth's returns +For whole centuries of folly, noise and sin! +Shut them in, +With their triumphs and their glories and the rest! +Love is best! + +Robert Browning [1812-1889] + + +EARL MERTOUN'S SONG +From "The Blot in the 'Scutcheon" + +There's a woman like a dewdrop, she's so purer than the purest; +And her noble heart's the noblest, yes, and her sure faith's the surest: +And her eyes are dark and humid, like the depth on depth of luster +Hid i' the harebell, while her tresses, sunnier than the wild-grape cluster, +Gush in golden-tinted plenty down her neck's rose-misted marble: +Then her voice's music . . . call it the well's bubbling, the bird's warble! +And this woman says, "My days were sunless and my nights were moonless, +Parched the pleasant April herbage, and the lark's heart's outbreak tuneless, +If you loved me not!" And I who (ah, for words of flame!) adore her, +Who am mad to lay my spirit prostrate palpably before her - +I may enter at her portal soon, as now her lattice takes me, +And by noontide as by midnight make her mine, as hers she makes me! + +Robert Browning [1812-1889] + + +MEETING AT NIGHT + +The gray sea and the long black land; +And the yellow half-moon large and low; +And the startled little waves that leap +In fiery ringlets from their sleep, +As I gain the cove with pushing prow, +And quench its speed in the slushy sand. + +Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach; +Three fields to cross till a farm appears; +A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch +And blue spirt of a lighted match, +And a voice less loud, through its joys and fears, +Than the two hearts beating each to each! + +Robert Browning [1812-1889] + + +PARTING AT MORNING + +Round the cape of a sudden came the sea, +And the sun looked over the mountain's rim: +And straight was a path of gold for him, +And the need of a world of men for me. + +Robert Browning [1812-1889] + + +THE TURN OF THE ROAD + +Soft, gray buds on the willow, +Warm, moist winds from the bay, +Sea-gulls out on the sandy beach, +And a road my eager feet would reach, +That leads to the Far-away. + +Dust on the wayside flower, +The meadow-lark's luring tone +Is silent now, from the grasses tipped +With dew at the dawn, the pearls have slipped - +Far have I fared alone. + +And then, by the alder thicket +The turn of the road - and you! +Though the earth lie white in the noonday heat, +Or the swift storm follow our hurrying feet +What do we care - we two! + +Alice Rollit Coe [18 - + + +"MY DELIGHT AND THY DELIGHT" + +My delight and thy delight +Walking, like two angels white, +In the gardens of the night: + +My desire and thy desire +Twining to a tongue of fire, +Leaping live, and laughing higher; + +Through the everlasting strife +In the mystery of life. + +Love, from whom the world begun, +Hath the secret of the sun. + +Love can tell, and love alone, +Whence the million stars were strown, +Why each atom knows its own, +How, in spite of woe and death, +Gay is life, and sweet is breath: + +This he taught us, this we knew, +Happy in his science true, +Hand in hand as we stood +'Neath the shadows of the wood, +Heart to heart as we lay +In the dawning of the day. + +Robert Bridges [1844-1930] + + +"O, SAW YE THE LASS" + +O, saw ye the lass wi' the bonny blue een? +Her smile is the sweetest that ever was seen: +Her cheek like the rose is, but fresher, I ween; +She's the loveliest lassie that trips on the green. +The home of my love is below in the valley, +Where wild-flowers welcome the wandering bee; +But the sweetest of flowers in that spot that is seen +Is the maid that I love wi' the bonny blue een. + +When night overshadows her cot in the glen, +She'll steal out to meet her loved Donald again; +And when the moon shines on the valley so green, +I'll welcome the lass wi' the bonny blue een. +As the dove that has wandered away from his nest +Returns to the mate his fond heart loves the best, +I'll fly from the world's false and vanishing scene, +To my dear one, the lass wi' the bonny blue een. + +Richard Ryan [1796-1849] + + +LOVE AT SEA +Imitated From Theophile Gautier + +We are in love's land to-day; +Where shall we go? +Love, shall we start or stay, +Or sail or row? +There's many a wind and way, +And never a May but May; +We are in love's hand to-day; +Where shall we go? + +Our land-wind is the breath +Of sorrows kissed to death +And joys that were; +Our ballast is a rose; +Our way lies where God knows +And love knows where. +We are in love's hand to-day - + +Our seamen are fledged Loves, +Our masts are bills of doves, +Our decks fine gold; +Our ropes are dead maids' hair, +Our stores are love-shafts fair +And manifold. +We are in love's land to-day - + +Where shall we land you, sweet? +On fields of strange men's feet, +Or fields near home? +Or where the fire-flowers blow, +Or where the flowers of snow +Or flowers of foam? +We are in love's hand to-day - + +Land me, she says, where love +Shows but one shaft, one dove, +One heart, one hand, - +A shore like that, my dear, +Lies where no man will steer, +No maiden land. + +Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909] + + +MARY BEATON'S SONG +From "Chastelard" + +Between the sunset and the sea +My love laid hands and lips on me; +Of sweet came sour, of day came night, +Of long desire came brief delight: +Ah love, and what thing came of thee +Between the sea-downs and the sea? + +Between the sea-mark and the sea +Joy grew to grief, grief grew to me; +Love turned to tears, and tears to fire, +And dead delight to new desire; +Love's talk, love's touch there seemed to be +Between the sea-sand and the sea. + +Between the sundown and the sea +Love watched one hour of love with me; +Then down the all-golden water-ways +His feet flew after yesterday's; +I saw them come and saw them flee +Between the sea-foam and the sea. + +Between the sea-strand and the sea +Love fell on sleep, sleep fell on me; +The first star saw twain turn to one +Between the moonrise and the sun; +The next, that saw not love, saw me +Between the sea-banks and the sea. + +Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909] + + +PLIGHTED + +Mine to the core of the heart, my beauty! +Mine, all mine, and for love, not duty: +Love given willingly, full and free, +Love for love's sake, - as mine to thee. +Duty's a slave that keeps the keys, +But Love, the master, goes in and out +Of his goodly chambers with song and shout, +Just as he please, - just as he please. + +Mine, from the dear head's crown, brown-golden, +To the silken foot that's scarce beholden; +Give to a few friends hand or smile, +Like a generous lady, now and awhile, +But the sanctuary heart, that none dare win, +Keep holiest of holiest evermore; +The crowd in the aisles may watch the door, +The high-priest only enters in. + +Mine, my own, without doubts or terrors, +With all thy goodnesses, all thy errors, +Unto me and to me alone revealed, +"A spring shut up, a fountain sealed." +Many may praise thee, - praise mine as thine, +Many may love thee, - I'll love them too; +But thy heart of hearts, pure, faithful, and true, +Must be mine, mine wholly, and only mine. + +Mine! - God, I thank Thee that Thou hast given +Something all mine on this side heaven: +Something as much myself to be +As this my soul which I lift to Thee: +Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone, +Life of my life, whom Thou dost make +Two to the world for the world's work's sake, - +But each unto each, as in Thy sight, one. + +Dinah Maria Mulock Craik [1826-1887] + + +A WOMAN'S QUESTION + +Before I trust my fate to thee, +Or place my hand in thine, +Before I let thy future give +Color and form to mine, +Before I peril all for thee, question thy soul to-night for me. + +I break all slighter bonds, nor feel +A shadow of regret: +Is there one link within the past +That holds thy spirit yet? +Or is thy faith as clear and free as that which I can pledge to thee? + +Does there within thy dimmest dreams +A possible future shine, +Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe, +Untouched, unshared by mine? +If so, at any pain or cost, O, tell me before all is lost. + +Look deeper still. If thou canst feel, +Within thy inmost soul, +That thou hast kept a portion back, +While I have staked the whole, +Let no false pity spare the blow, but in true mercy tell me so. + +Is there within thy heart a need +That mine cannot fulfil? +One chord that any other hand +Could better wake or still? +Speak now - lest at some future day my whole life wither and decay. + +Lives there within thy nature hid +The demon-spirit change, +Shedding a passing glory still +On all things new and strange? +It may not be thy fault alone, - but shield my heart against thy own. + +Couldst thou withdraw thy hand one day +And answer to my claim, +That Fate, and that to-day's mistake - +Not thou - had been to blame? +Some soothe their conscience thus; but thou wilt surely warn and save me now. + +Nay, answer not, - I dare not hear, +The words would come too late; +Yet I would spare thee all remorse, +So, comfort thee, my Fate, - +Whatever on my heart may fall - remember, I would risk it all! + +Adelaide Anne Procter [1825-1864] + + +"DINNA ASK ME" + +O, dinna ask me gin I lo'e ye: +Troth, I daurna tell! +Dinna ask me gin I lo'e ye,- +Ask it o' yoursel'. + +O, dinna look sae sair at me, +For weel ye ken me true; +O, gin ye look sae sair at me, +I daurna look at you. + +When ye gang to yon braw, braw town, +And bonnier lassies see, +O, dinna, Jamie, look at them, +Lest ye should mind na me. + +For I could never bide the lass +That ye'd lo'e mair than me; +And O, I'm sure my heart wad brak, +Gin ye'd prove fause to me! + +John Dunlop [1755-1820] + + +A SONG + +Sing me a sweet, low song of night +Before the moon is risen, +A song that tells of the stars' delight +Escaped from day's bright prison, +A song that croons with the cricket's voice, +That sleeps with the shadowed trees, +A song that shall bid my heart rejoice +At its tender mysteries! + +And then when the song is ended, love, +Bend down your head unto me, +Whisper the word that was born above +Ere the moon had swayed the sea; +Ere the oldest star began to shine, +Or the farthest sun to burn, - +The oldest of words, O heart of mine, +Yet newest, and sweet to learn. + +Hildegarde Hawthorne [18 - + + +THE REASON + +Oh, hark the pulses of the night, +The crickets hidden in the field, +That beat out music of delight +Till summoned dawn stands half revealed! + +Oh, mark above the bearded corn +And the green wheat and bending rye, +Tuned to the earth, and calling morn, +The stars vibrating in the sky! + +And know, divided soul of me, +Here in the meadow, sweet in speech, +This perfect night could never be +Were we not mated each to each. + +James Oppenheim [1882-1932] + + +"MY OWN CAILIN DONN" + +The blush is on the flower, and the bloom is on the tree, +And the bonnie, bonnie sweet birds are caroling their glee; +And the dews upon the grass are made diamonds by the sun, +All to deck a path of glory for my own Cailin Donn! + +Oh fair she is! Oh rare she is! Oh dearer still to me, +More welcome than the green leaf to winter-stricken tree! +More welcome than the blossom to the weary, dusty bee, +Is the coming of my true love - my own Cailin Donn! + +O sycamore! O sycamore! wave, wave your banners green! +Let all your pennons flutter, O beech! before my queen! +Ye fleet and honeyed breezes, to kiss her hand ye run; +But my heart has passed before ye to my own Cailin Donn. + +Ring out, ring out, O linden, your merry leafy bells! +Unveil your brilliant torches, O chestnut! to the dells; +Strew, strew the glade with splendor, for morn it cometh on! +Oh, the morn of all delight to me - my own Cailin Donn! + +She is coming, where we parted, where she wanders every day; +There's a gay surprise before her who thinks me far away; +Oh, like hearing bugles triumph when the fight of freedom's won, +Is the joy around your footsteps, my own Cailin Donn! + +George Sigerson [1839-1925] + + +NOCTURNE + +All the earth a hush of white, +White with moonlight all the skies; +Wonder of a winter night - +And . . . your eyes. + +Hues no palette dares to claim +Where the spoils of sunken ships +Leap to light in singing flame - +And . . . your lips. + +Darkness as the shadows creep +Where the embers sigh to rest; +Silence of a world asleep - +And . . . your breast. + +Amelia Josephine Burr [1878- + + +SURRENDER + +As I look back upon your first embrace +I understand why from your sudden touch +Angered I sprang, and struck you in the face. +You asked at once too little and too much. +But now that of my spirit you require +Love's very soul that unto death endures, +Crown as you will the cup of your desire - +I am all yours. + +Amelia Josephine Burr [1878- + + +"BY YON BURN SIDE" + +We'll meet beside the dusky glen, on yon burn side, +Where the bushes form a cosie den, on yon burn side; +Though the broomy knowes be green, +And there we may be seen, +Yet we'll meet - we'll meet at e'en, down by yon burn side. + +I'll lead thee to the birken bower, on yon burn side, +Sae sweetly wove wi' woodbine flower, on yon burn side; +There the busy prying eye, +Ne'er disturbs the lover's joy, +While in ither's arms they lie, down by yon burn side. + +Awa', ye rude, unfeeling crew, frae yon burn side, +Those fairy scenes are no for you, by yon burn side; +There fancy smooths her theme, +By the sweetly murmuring stream, +And the rock-lodged echoes skim, down by yon burn side. + +Now the plantin' taps are tinged wi' goud, on yon burn side, +And gloamin' draws her foggy shroud o'er yon burn side; +Far frae the noisy scene, +I'll through the fields alane, +There we'll meet, my ain dear Jean, down by yon burn side. + +Robert Tannahill [1774-1810] + + +A PASTORAL + +Flower of the medlar, +Crimson of the quince, +I saw her at the blossom-time, +And loved her ever since! +She swept the draughty pleasance, +The blooms had left the trees, +The whilst the birds sang canticles, +In cherry symphonies. + +Whiteness of the white rose, +Redness of the red, +She went to cut the blush-rose buds +To tie at the altar-head; +And some she laid in her bosom, +And some around her brows, +And, as she passed, the lily-heads +All becked and made their bows. + +Scarlet of the poppy, +Yellow of the corn, +The men were at the garnering, +A-shouting in the morn; +I chased her to a pippin-tree, - +The waking birds all whist, - +And oh! it was the sweetest kiss +That I have ever kissed. + +Marjorie, mint, and violets +A-drying round us set, +'Twas all done in the faience-room +A-spicing marmalet; +On one tile was a satyr, +On one a nymph at bay, +Methinks the birds will scarce be home +To wake our wedding-day! + +Theophile Marzials [1850- + + +"WHEN DEATH TO EITHER SHALL COME" + +When Death to either shall come, - +I pray it be first to me, - +Be happy as ever at home, +If so, as I wish, it be. + +Possess thy heart, my own; +And sing to thy child on thy knee, +Or read to thyself alone +The songs that I made for thee. + +Robert Bridges [1844-1930] + + +THE RECONCILIATION +From "The Princess" + +As through the land at eve we went, +And plucked the ripened ears, +We fell out, my wife and I, +O, we fell out, I know not why, +And kissed again with tears. + +And blessings on the falling out +That all the more endears, +When we fall out with those we love +And kiss again with tears! + +For when we came where lies the child +We lost in other years, +There above the little grave, +O, there above the little grave, +We kissed again with tears. + +Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] + + +SONG + +Wait but a little while - +The bird will bring +A heart in tune for melodies +Unto the spring, +Till he who's in the cedar there +Is moved to trill a song so rare, +And pipe her fair. + +Wait but a little while - +The bud will break; +The inner rose will open and glow +For summer's sake: +Fond bees will lodge within her breast +Till she herself is plucked and pressed +Where I would rest. + +Wait but a little while - +The maid will grow +Gracious with lips and hands to thee, +With breast of snow. +To-day Love's mute, but time hath sown +A soul in her to match thine own, +Though yet ungrown. + +Norman Gale [1862- + + +CONTENT + +Though singing but the shy and sweet +Untrod by multitudes of feet, +Songs bounded by the brook and wheat, +I have not failed in this, +The only lure my woodland note, +To win all England's whitest throat! +O bards in gold and fire who wrote, +Be yours all other bliss! + +Norman Gale [1862- + + +CHE SARA SARA + +Preach wisdom unto him who understands! +When there's such lovely longing in thine eyes, +And such a pulse in thy small clinging hands, +What is the good of being great or wise? + +What is the good of beating up the dust +On the world's highway, vexed with droughty heat? +Oh, I grow fatalist - what must be must, +Seeing that thou, beloved, art so sweet! + +Victor Plarr [1863- + + +"BID ADIEU TO GIRLISH DAYS" + +Bid adieu, adieu, adieu, +Bid adieu to girlish days, +Happy Love is come to woo +Thee and woo thy girlish ways - +The zone that doth become thee fair, +The snood upon thy yellow hair. + +When thou hast heard his name upon +The bugles of the cherubim, +Begin thou softly to unzone +Thy girlish bosom unto him, +And softly to undo the snood +That is the sign of maidenhood. + +James Joyce [1882- + + +TO F. C. + +Fast falls the snow, O lady mine, +Sprinkling the lawn with crystals fine, +But by the gods we won't repine +While we're together, +We'll chat and rhyme, and kiss and dine, +Defying weather. + +So stir the fire and pour the wine, +And let those sea-green eyes divine +Pour their love-madness into mine: +I don't care whether +'Tis snow or sun or rain or shine +If we're together. + +Mortimer Collins [1827-1876] + + +SPRING PASSION + +Blue sky, green fields, and lazy yellow sun! +Why should I hunger for the burning South, +Where beauty needs no travail to be won, +Now I may kiss her pure impassioned mouth? + +Winds rippling with the rich delight of spring! +Why should I yearn for myriad-colored skies, +Lit by auroral suns, when I may sing +The flame and rapture of her starry eyes? + +Oh, song of birds, and flowers fair to see! +Why should I thirst for far-off Eden-isles, +When I may hear her discourse melody, +And bask, a dreamer, in her dreamy smiles? + +Joel Elias Spingarn [1875- + + +ADVICE TO A LOVER + +Oh, if you love her, +Show her the best of you; +So will you move her +To bear with the rest of you. +Coldness and jealousy +Cannot but seem to her +Signs that a tempest lurks +Where was sunbeam to her. +Patience, and tenderness +Still will awake in her +Hopes of new sunshine, +Though the storm break for her; +Love, she will know, for her, +Like the blue firmament, +Under the tempest lies +Gentle and permanent. +Nor will she ever +Gentleness find the less +When the storm overblown +Leaveth clear kindliness. +Deal with her tenderly, +Skylike above her, +Smile on her waywardness, +Oh, if you love her! + +S. Charles Jellicoe [18 - + + +"YES" + +They stood above the world, +In a world apart; +And she dropped her happy eyes, +And stilled the throbbing pulses +Of her happy heart. +And the moonlight fell above her, +Her secret to discover; +And the moonbeams kissed her hair, +As though no human lovers +Had laid his kisses there. + +"Look up, brown eyes," he said, +"And answer mine; +Lift up those silken fringes +That hide a happy light +Almost divine." +The jealous moonlight drifted +To the finger half-uplifted, +Where shone the opal ring - +Where the colors danced and shifted +On the pretty, changeful thing. + +Just the old, old story +Of light and shade, +Love like the opal tender, +Like it may be to vary - +May be to fade. +Just the old tender story, +Just a glimpse of morning glory +In an earthly Paradise, +With shadowy reflections +In a pair of sweet brown eyes. + +Brown eyes a man might well +Be proud to win! +Open to hold his image, +Shut under silken lashes, +Only to shut him in. +O glad eyes, look together, +For life's dark, stormy weather +Grows to a fairer thing +When young eyes look upon it +Through a slender wedding ring. + +Richard Doddridge Blackmore [1825-1900] + + +LOVE + +All thoughts, all passions, all delights, +Whatever stirs this mortal frame, +All are but ministers of Love, +And feed his sacred flame. + +Oft in my waking dreams do I +Live o'er again that happy hour, +When midway on the mount I lay, +Beside the ruined tower. + +The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, +Had blended with the lights of eve; +And she was there, my hope, my joy, +My own dear Genevieve! + +She leaned against the armed man, +The statue of the armed Knight; +She stood and listened to my lay, +Amid the lingering light. + +Few sorrows hath she of her own, +My hope! my joy! my Genevieve! +She loves me best whene'er I sing +The songs that make her grieve. + +I played a soft and doleful air; +I sang an old and moving story - +An old rude song, that suited well +That ruin wild and hoary. + +She listened with a flitting blush, +With downcast eyes, and modest grace; +For well she knew I could not choose +But gaze upon her face. + +I told her of the Knight that wore +Upon his shield a burning brand; +And that for ten long years he wooed +The Lady of the Land. + +I told her how he pined: and ah! +The deep, the low, the pleading tone +With which I sang another's love, +Interpreted my own. + +She listened with a flitting blush, +With downcast eyes, and modest grace; +And she forgave me, that I gazed +Too fondly on her face! + +But when I told the cruel scorn +That crazed that bold and lovely Knight, +And that he crossed the mountain-woods, +Nor rested day nor night; + +That sometimes from the savage den, +And sometimes from the darksome shade, +And sometimes starting up at once +In green and sunny glade - + +There came and looked him in the face +An angel beautiful and bright; +And that he knew it was a Fiend, +This miserable Knight! + +And that, unknowing what he did, +He leaped amid a murderous band, +And saved from outrage worse than death +The Lady of the Land; - + +And how she wept and clasped his knees; +And how she tended him in vain - +And ever strove to expiate +The scorn that crazed his brain; - + +And that she nursed him in a cave; +And how his madness went away, +When on the yellow forest-leaves +A dying man he lay; - + +His dying words - but when I reached +That tenderest strain of all the ditty, +My faltering voice and pausing harp +Disturbed her soul with pity! + +All impulses of soul and sense +Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve; +The music and the doleful tale, +The rich and balmy eve; + +And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, +An undistinguishable throng, +And gentle wishes long subdued, +Subdued and cherished long! + +She wept with pity and delight, +She blushed with love and virgin-shame; +And like the murmur of a dream, +I heard her breathe my name. + +Her bosom heaved - she stepped aside, +As conscious of my look she stepped - +Then suddenly, with timorous eye +She fled to me and wept. + +She half enclosed me with her arms, +She pressed me with a meek embrace; +And bending back her head, looked up, +And gazed upon my face. + +'Twas partly love, and partly fear, +And partly 'twas a bashful art, +That I might rather feel, than see, +The swelling of her heart. + +I calmed her fears, and she was calm, +And told her love with virgin pride; +And so I won my Genevieve, +My bright and beauteous Bride. + +Samuel Taylor Coleridge [1772-1834] + + +NESTED +On The Sussex Downs + +"Lured," little one? Nay, you've but heard +Love o'er your wild downs roaming; +Not lured, my bird, my light, swift bird, +But homing - homing. + +"Caught," does she feel? Nay, no net stirred +To catch the heart fore-fated; +Not caught, my bird, my bright, wild bird, +But mated - mated. + +And "caged," she fears? Nay, never that word +Of where your brown head rested; +Not caged, my bird, my shy, sweet bird, +But nested - nested! + +Habberton Lulham [18 - + + +THE LETTERS + +Still on the tower stood the vane, +A black yew gloomed the stagnant air; +I peered athwart the chancel pane, +And saw the altar cold and bare. +A clog of lead was round my feet, +A band of pain across my brow; +"Cold altar, heaven and earth shall meet +Before you hear my marriage vow." + +I turned and hummed a bitter song +That mocked the wholesome human heart, +And then we met in wrath and wrong, +We met, but only meant to part. +Full cold my greeting was and dry; +She faintly smiled, she hardly moved; +I saw, with half-unconscious eye, +She wore the colors I approved. + +She took the little ivory chest, +With half a sigh she turned the key, +Then raised her head with lips compressed, +And gave my letters back to me; +And gave the trinkets and the rings, +My gifts, when gifts of mine could please. +As looks a father on the things +Of his dead son, I looked on these. + +She told me all her friends had said; +I raged against the public liar. +She talked as if her love were dead; +But in my words were seeds of fire. +"No more of love, your sex is known; +I never will be twice deceived. +Henceforth I trust the man alone; +The woman cannot be believed. + +"Through slander, meanest spawn of hell, - +And woman's slander is the worst, - +And you, whom once I loved so well, +Through you my life will be accursed." +I spoke with heart and heat and force, +I shook her breast with vague alarms - +Like torrents from a mountain source +We rushed into each other's arms. + +We parted; sweetly gleamed the stars, +And sweet the vapor-braided blue; +Low breezes fanned the belfry bars, +As homeward by the church I drew. +The very graves appeared to smile, +So fresh they rose in shadowed swells; +"Dark porch," I said, "and silent aisle, +There comes a sound of marriage bells." + +Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] + + +PROTHALAMION + +Calm was the day, and through the trembling air +Sweet-breathing Zephyrus did softly play +A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay +Hot Titan's beams, which then did glister fair; +When I (whom sullen care, +Through discontent of my long fruitless stay +In Prince's Court, and expectation vain +Of idle hopes, which still do fly away, +Like empty shadows, did afflict my brain), +Walked forth to ease my pain +Along the shore of silver streaming Thames; +Whose rutty bank, the which his river hems, +Was painted all with variable flowers, +And all the meads adorned with dainty gems, +Fit to deck maidens' bowers, +And crown their paramours +Against the bridal day, which is not long: +Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song. + +There, in a meadow, by the river's side, +A flock of nymphs I chanced to espy, +All lovely daughters of the flood thereby, +With goodly greenish locks, all loose untied, +As each had been a bride: +And each one had a little wicker basket, +Made of fine twigs, entrailed curiously, +In which they gathered flowers to fill their flasket, +And, with fine fingers, cropped full feateously +The tender stalks on high. +Of every sort, which in that meadow grew, +They gathered some; the violet, pallid blue, +The little daisy, that at evening closes, +The virgin lily, and the primrose true, +With store of vermeil roses, +To deck their bridegroom's posies +Against the bridal day, which was not long: +Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song. + +With that I saw two swans of goodly hue +Come softly swimming down along the Lee; +Two fairer birds I yet did never see; +The snow, which doth the top of Pindus strew, +Did never whiter shew, +Nor Jove himself, when he a swan would be +For love of Leda, whiter did appear; +Yet Leda was, they say, as white as he, +Yet not so white as these, nor nothing near; +So purely white they were, +That even the gentle stream, the which them bare, +Seemed foul to them, and bade his billows spare +To wet their silken feathers, lest they might +Soil their fair plumes with water not so fair, +And mar their beauties bright, +That shone as heaven's light, +Against their bridal day, which was not long: +Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song. + +Eftsoons the nymphs, which now had flowers their fill, +Ran all in haste to see that silver brood, +As they came floating on the crystal flood; +Whom when they saw, they stood amazed still, +Their wondering eyes to fill; +Them seemed they never saw a sight so fair +Of fowls so lovely, that they sure did deem +Them heavenly born, or to be that same pair +Which through the sky draw Venus' silver team; +For sure they did not seem +To be begot of any earthly seed, +But rather angels, or of angels' breed; +Yet were they bred of summer's heat, they say, +In sweetest season, when each flower and weed +The earth did fresh array; +So fresh they seemed as day, +Even as their bridal day, which was not long: +Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song. + +Then forth they all out of their baskets drew +Great store of flowers, the honor of the field, +That to the sense did fragrant odors yield, +All which upon those goodly birds they threw +And all the waves did strew, +That like old Peneus' waters they did seem, +When down along by pleasant Tempe's shore, +Scattered with flowers, through Thessaly they stream, +That they appear, through lilies' plenteous store, +Like a bride's chamber floor: +Two of those nymphs, meanwhile, two garlands bound +Of freshest flowers which in that mead they found, +The which presenting all in trim array, +Their snowy foreheads therewithal they crowned, +Whilst one did sing this lay, +Prepared against that day, +Against their bridal day, which was not long: +Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song. + +"Ye gentle birds! the world's fair ornament, +And heaven's glory whom this happy hour +Doth lead unto your lover's blissful bower, +Joy may you have, and gentle hearts' content +Of your love's couplement; +And let fair Venus, that is queen of love, +With her heart-quelling son upon you smile, +Whose smile, they say, hath virtue to remove +All love's dislike, and friendship's faulty guile +For ever to assoil; +Let endless peace your steadfast hearts accord, +And blessed plenty wait upon your board; +And let your bed with pleasures chaste abound, +That fruitful issue may to you afford, +Which may your foes confound, +And make your joys redound +Upon your bridal day, which is not long": +Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song. + +So ended she: and all the rest around +To her redoubled that her undersong, +Which said their bridal day should not be long: +And gentle Echo from the neighbor-ground +Their accents did resound. +So forth those joyous birds did pass along, +Adown the Lee, that to them murmured low, +As he would speak, but that he lacked a tongue, +Yet did by signs his glad affection show, +Making his stream run slow. +And all the fowl which in his flood did dwell +'Gan flock about these twain, that did excel +The rest, so far as Cynthia doth shend +The lesser stars. So they, enranged well, +Did on those two attend, +And their best service lend +Against their wedding day, which was not long: +Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song. + +At length they all to merry London came, +To merry London, my most kindly nurse, +That to me gave this life's first native source; +Though from another place I take my name, +An house of ancient fame: +There when they came, whereas those bricky towers +The which on Thames' broad, aged back do ride, +Where now the studious lawyers have their bowers, +There whilom wont the Templar Knights to bide, +Till they decayed through pride: +Next whereunto there stands a stately place, +Where oft I gained gifts and goodly grace +Of that great lord, which therein wont to dwell, +Whose want too well now feels my friendless case; +But ah! here fits not well +Old woes, but joys, to tell +Against the bridal day, which is not long: +Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song. + +Yet therein now doth lodge a noble peer, +Great England's glory, and the world's wide wonder, +Whose dreadful name late through all Spain did thunder, +And Hercules' two pillars standing near +Did make to quake and fear: +Fair branch of honor, flower of chivalry! +That fillest England with thy triumph's fame, +Joy have thou of thy noble victory, +And endless happiness of thine own name, +That promiseth the same; +That through thy prowess, and victorious arms, +Thy country may be freed from foreign harms; +And great Elisa's glorious name may ring +Through all the world, filled with thy wide alarms, +Which some brave muse may sing +To ages following, +Upon the bridal day, which is not long: +Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song. + +From those high towers this noble lord issuing, +Like radiant Hesper, when his golden hair +In the ocean billows he hath bathed fair, +Descended to the river's open viewing, +With a great train ensuing. +Above the rest were goodly to be seen +Two gentle knights of lovely face and feature +Beseeming well the bower of any queen, +With gifts of wit and ornaments of nature, +Fit for so goodly stature, +That like the twins of Jove they seemed in sight, +Which deck the baldrick of the heavens bright; +They two, forth pacing to the river's side, +Received those two fair brides, their love's delight; +Which, at the appointed tide, +Each one did make his bride +Against their bridal day, which is not long: +Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song. + +Edmund Spenser [1552?-1599] + + +EPITHALAMION + +Ye learned sisters, which have oftentimes +Been to me aiding, others to adorn, +Whom ye thought worthy of your graceful rhymes, +That even the greatest did not greatly scorn +To hear their names sung in your simple lays, +But joyed in their praise; +And when ye list your own mishaps to mourn, +Which death, or love, or fortune's wreck did raise, +Your string could soon to sadder tenor turn, +And teach the woods and waters to lament +Your doleful dreariment: +Now lay those sorrowful complaints aside; +And, having all your heads with garlands crowned, +Help me mine own love's praises to resound; +Nor let the same of any be envide: +So Orpheus did for his own bride! +So I unto myself alone will sing; +The woods shall to me answer, and my echo ring. + +Early, before the world's light-giving lamp +His golden beam upon the hills doth spread, +Having dispersed the night's uncheerful damp, +Do ye awake; and, with fresh lusty-hed, +Go to the bower of my beloved love, +My truest turtle dove; +Bid her awake; for Hymen is awake, +And long since ready forth his mask to move, +With his bright Tead that flames with many a flake, +And many a bachelor to wait on him, +In their fresh garments trim. +Bid her awake therefore, and soon her dight, +For lo! the wished day is come at last, +That shall, for all the pains and sorrows past, +Pay to her usury of long delight: +And, whilst she doth her dight, +Do ye to her of joy and solace sing, +That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring. + +Bring with you all the Nymphs that you can hear, +Both of the rivers and the forests green, +And of the sea that neighbors to her near, +All with gay garlands goodly well beseen. +And let them also with them bring in hand +Another gay garland, +For my fair love, of lilies and of roses, +Bound truelove wise with a blue silk riband; +And let them make great store of bridal posies, +And let them eke bring store of other flowers, +To deck the bridal bowers. +And let the ground whereas her foot shall tread, +For fear the stones her tender foot should wrong, +Be strewed with fragrant flowers all along, +And diapered like the discolored mead; +Which done, do at her chamber door await, +For she will waken straight; +The whiles do ye this song unto her sing, +The woods shall to you answer, and your echo ring. + +Ye Nymphs of Mulla, which with careful heed +The silver scaly trouts do tend full well, +And greedy pikes which use therein to feed +(Those trouts and pikes all others do excel); +And ye likewise, which keep the rushy lake, +Where none do fishes take; +Bind up the locks the which hang scattered light, +And in his waters, which your mirror make, +Behold your faces as the crystal bright, +That when you come whereas my love doth lie, +No blemish she may spy. +And eke, ye lightfoot maids, which keep the deer, +That on the hoary mountain used to tower; +And the wild wolves, which seek them to devour, +With your steel darts do chase from coming near; +Be also present here, +To help to deck her, and to help to sing, +That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring. + +Wake, now, my love, awake! for it is time; +The rosy mom long since left Tithon's bed, +All ready to her silver coach to climb; +And Phoebus 'gins to show his glorious head. +Hark, how the cheerful birds do chant their lays +And carol of love's praise. +The merry lark her matins sings aloft; +The thrush replies; the mavis descant plays; +The ouzel shrills; the ruddock warbles soft; +So goodly all agree, with sweet consent, +To this day's merriment. +Ah! my dear love, why do ye sleep thus long, +When meeter were that ye should now awake, +To await the coming of your joyous mate, +And hearken to the birds' love-learned song, +The dewy leaves among! +For they of joy and pleasance to you sing, +That all the woods them answer, and their echo ring. + +My love is now awake out of her dreams, +And her fair eyes, like stars that dimmed were +With darksome cloud, now show their goodly beams +More bright than Hesperus his head doth rear. +Come now, ye damsels, daughters of delight, +Help quickly her to dight: +But first come, ye fair hours, which were begot +In Jove's sweet paradise of Day and Night; +Which do the seasons of the year allot, +And all that ever in this world is fair, +Do make and still repair: +And ye three handmaids of the Cyprian queen, +The which do still adorn her beauty's pride, +Help to adorn my beautifulest bride; +And as ye her array, still throw between +Some graces to be seen, +And, as ye use to Venus, to her sing, +The whiles the woods shall answer, and your echo ring. + +Now is my love all ready forth to come: +Let all the virgins therefore well await: +And ye fresh boys, that tend upon her groom, +Prepare yourselves; for he is coming straight; +Set all your things in seemly good array, +Fit for so joyful day: +The joyfulest day that ever sun did see. +Fair Sun! show forth thy favorable ray, +And let thy life-full heat not fervent be, +For fear of burning her sunshiny face, +Her beauty to disgrace. +O fairest Phoebus! father of the Muse! +If ever I did honor thee aright, +Or sing the thing that might thy mind delight, +Do not thy servant's simple boon refuse; +But let this day, let this one day, be mine; +Let all the rest be thine. +Then I thy sovereign praises loud will sing, +That all the woods shall answer, and their echo ring. + +Hark! how the Minstrels 'gin to shrill aloud +Their merry music that resounds from far, +The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling croud, +That well agree withouten breach or jar. +But, most of all, the Damsels do delight +When they their timbrels smite, +And thereunto do dance and carol sweet, +That all the senses they do ravish quite; +The whiles the boys run up and down the street, +Crying aloud with strong confused noise, +As if it were one voice, +Hymen, io Hymen, Hymen, they do shout; +That even to the heavens their shouting shrill +Doth reach, and all the firmament doth fill; +To which the people standing all about, +As in approvance, do thereto applaud, +And loud advance her laud; +And evermore they Hymen, Hymen sing, +That all the woods them answer, and their echo ring. + +Lo! where she comes along with portly pace, +Like Phoebe, from her chamber of the East, +Arising forth to run her mighty race, +Clad all in white, that seems a virgin best. +So well it her beseems, that ye would ween +Some angel she had been. +Her long loose yellow locks like golden wire, +Sprinkled with pearl, and pearling flowers atween, +Do like a golden mantle her attire; +And, being crowned with a garland green, +Seem like some maiden queen. +Her modest eyes, abashed to behold +So many gazers as on her do stare, +Upon the lowly ground affixed are; +Nor dare lift up her countenance too bold, +But blush to hear her praises sung so loud, +So far from being proud. +Nathless do ye still loud her praises sing, +That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring. + +Tell me, ye merchants' daughters, did ye see +So fair a creature in your town before; +So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she, +Adorned with beauty's grace and virtue's store? +Her goodly eyes like sapphires shining bright, +Her forehead ivory white, +Her cheeks like apples which the sun hath ruddied, +Her lips like cherries charming men to bite, +Her breast like to a bowl of cream uncrudded, +Her paps like lilies budded, +Her snowy neck like to a marble tower; +And all her body like a palace fair, +Ascending up, with many a stately stair, +To honor's seat and chastity's sweet bower. +Why stand ye still, ye virgins, in amaze, +Upon her so to gaze, +Whiles ye forget your former lay to sing, +To which the woods did answer, and your echo ring? + +But if ye saw that which no eyes can see, +The inward beauty of her lively spright, +Garnished with heavenly gifts of high degree, +Much more then would ye wonder at that sight, +And stand astonished like to those which read +Medusa's mazeful head. +There dwells sweet love, and constant chastity, +Unspotted faith, and comely womanhood, +Regard of honor, and mild modesty; +There virtue reigns as queen in royal throne, +And giveth laws alone, +The which the base affections do obey, +And yield their services unto her will; +Nor thought of thing uncomely ever may +Thereto approach to tempt her mind to ill. +Had ye once seen these her celestial treasures, +And unrevealed pleasures, +Then would ye wonder, and her praises sing, +That all the woods should answer, and your echo ring. + +Open the temple gates unto my love, +Open them wide that she may enter in, +And all the posts adorn as doth behove, +And all the pillars deck with garlands trim, +For to receive this Saint with honor due, +That cometh in to you. +With trembling steps, and humble reverence, +She cometh in, before the Almighty's view; +Of her ye virgins learn obedience, +When so ye come into those holy places, +To humble your proud faces: +Bring her up to the high altar, that she may +The sacred ceremonies there partake, +The which do endless matrimony make; +And let the roaring organs loudly play +The praises of the Lord in lively notes; +The whiles, with hollow throats, +The Choristers the joyous Anthems sing, +That all the woods may answer, and their echo ring. + +Behold, whiles she before the altar stands, +Hearing the holy priest that to her speaks, +And blesseth her with his two happy hands, +How the red roses flush up in her cheeks, +And the pure snow, with goodly vermill stain +Like crimson dyed in grain: +That even the Angels, which continually +About the sacred altar do remain, +Forget their service and about her fly, +Oft peeping in her face, that seems more fair, +The more they on it stare. +But her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground, +Are governed with goodly modesty, +That suffers not one look to glance awry, +Which may let in a little thought unsound. +Why blush ye, love, to give to me your hand, +The pledge of all our band? +Sing, ye sweet Angels, Alleluja sing, +That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring. + +Now all is done: bring home the bride again; +Bring home the triumph of our victory: +Bring home with you the glory of her gain; +With joyance bring her and with jollity. +Never had man more joyful day than this, +Whom heaven would heap with bliss. +Make feast therefore now all this live-long day; +This day for ever to me holy is. +Pour out the wine without restraint or stay, +Pour not by cups, but by the belly full, +Pour out to all that will, +And sprinkle all the posts and walls with wine, +That they may sweat, and drunken be withal. +Crown ye God Bacchus with a coronal, +And Hymen also crown with wreaths of vine; +And let the Graces dance unto the rest, +For they can do it best: +The whiles the maidens do their carol sing, +To which the woods shall answer, and their echo ring. + +Ring ye the bells, ye young men of the town, +And leave your wonted labors for this day: +This day is holy; do ye write it down, +That ye for ever it remember may. +This day the sun is in his chiefest height, +With Barnaby the bright, +From whence declining daily by degrees, +He somewhat loseth of his heat and light, +When once the Crab behind his back he sees. +But for this time it ill ordained was, +To choose the longest day in all the year, +And shortest night, when longest fitter were: +Yet never day so long, but late would pass. +Ring ye the bells, to make it wear away, +And bonfires make all day; +And dance about them, and about them sing, +That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring. + +Ah! when will this long weary day have end, +And lend me leave to come unto my love? +How slowly do the hours their numbers spend? +How slowly does sad Time his feathers move? +Haste thee, O fairest Planet, to thy home, +Within the Western foam: +Thy tired steeds long since have need of rest. +Long though it be, at last I see it gloom, +And the bright evening-star with golden crest +Appear out of the East. +Fair child of beauty! glorious lamp of love! +That all the host of heaven in ranks dost lead, +And guidest lovers through the night's sad dread, +How cheerfully thou lookest from above, +And seems to laugh atween thy twinkling light, +As joying in the sight +Of these glad many, which for joy do sing, +That all the woods them answer, and their echo ring! + +Now, cease, ye damsels, your delights fore-past; +Enough is it that all the day was yours: +Now day is done, and night is nighing fast, +Now bring the bride into the bridal bowers. +The night is come, now soon her disarray, +And in her bed her lay; +Lay her in lilies and in violets, +And silken curtains over her display, +And odored sheets, and Arras coverlets. +Behold how goodly my fair love does lie, +In proud humility! +Like unto Maia, when as Jove her took +In Tempe, lying on the flowery grass, +'Twixt sleep and wake, after she weary was, +With bathing in the Acidalian brook. +Now it is night, ye damsels may be gone, +And leave my love alone, +And leave likewise your former lay to sing: +The woods no more shall answer, nor your echo ring. + +Now welcome, night! thou night so long expected, +That long day's labor dost at last defray, +And all my cares, which cruel Love collected, +Hast summed in one, and cancelled for aye: +Spread thy broad wing over my love and me, +That no man may us see; +And in thy sable mantle us enwrap, +From fear of peril and foul horror free. +Let no false treason seek us to entrap, +Nor any dread disquiet once annoy +The safety of our joy; +But let the night be calm, and quietsome, +Without tempestuous storms or sad affray: +Like as when Jove with fair Alcmena lay, +When he begot the great Tirynthian groom: +Or like as when he with thyself did lie +And begot Majesty. +And let the maids and young men cease to sing; +Nor let the woods them answer, nor their echo ring. + +Let no lamenting cries, nor doleful tears, +Be heard all night within, nor yet without: +Nor let false whispers, breeding hidden fears, +Break gentle sleep with misconceived doubt. +Let no deluding dreams, nor dreadful sights, +Make sudden sad affrights; +Nor let house-fires, nor lightning's helpless harms, +Nor let the Puck, nor other evil sprites, +Nor let mischievous witches with their charms, +Nor let hobgoblins, names whose sense we see not, +Fray us with things that be not: +Let not the screech-owl nor the stork be heard, +Nor the night raven, that still deadly yells; +Nor damned ghosts, called up with mighty spells, +Nor grizzly vultures, make us once afraid: +Nor let the unpleasant choir of frogs still croaking +Make us to wish their choking. +Let none of these their dreary accents sing; +Nor let the woods them answer, nor their echo ring. + +But let still Silence true night-watches keep, +That sacred Peace may in assurance reign, +And timely Sleep, when it is time to sleep, +May pour his limbs forth on your pleasant plain; +The whiles an hundred little winged loves, +Like divers-feathered doves, +Shall fly and flutter round about your bed, +And in the secret dark, that none reproves, +Their pretty stealths shall work, and snares shall spread +To filch away sweet snatches of delight, +Concealed through covert night. +Ye sons of Venus, play your sports at will! +For greedy pleasure, careless of your toys, +Thinks more upon her paradise of joys, +Then what ye do, albeit good or ill. +All night therefore attend your merry play, +For it will soon be day: +Now none doth hinder you, that say or sing; +Nor will the woods now answer, nor your echo ring. + +Who is the same, which at my window peeps? +Or whose is that fair face that shines so bright? +Is it not Cynthia, she that never sleeps, +But walks about high heaven all the night? +O! fairest goddess, do thou not envy +My love with me to spy: +For thou likewise didst love, though now unthought, +And for a fleece of wool, which privily +The Latmian shepherd once unto thee brought, +His pleasures with thee wrought. +Therefore to us be favorable now; +And since of women's labors thou hast charge, +And generation goodly dost enlarge, +Incline thy will to effect our wishful vow, +And the chaste womb inform with timely seed, +That may our comfort breed: +Till which we cease our hopeful hap to sing; +Nor let the woods us answer, nor our echo ring. + +And thou, great Juno! which with awful might +The laws of wedlock still dost patronize, +And the religion of the faith first plight +With sacred rites hast taught to solemnize; +And eke for comfort often called art +Of women in their smart; +Eternally bind thou this lovely band, +And all thy blessings unto us impart. +And thou, glad Genius! in whose gentle hand +The bridal bower and genial bed remain, +Without blemish or stain; +And the sweet pleasures of their love's delight +With secret aid dost succor and supply, +Till they bring forth the fruitful progeny; +Send us the timely fruit of this same night. +And thou, fair Hebe! and thou, Hymen free! +Grant that it may so be. +Till which we cease your further praise to sing; +Nor any woods shall answer, nor your echo ring. + +And ye high heavens, the temple of the gods, +In which a thousand torches flaming bright +Do burn, that to us wretched earthly clods +In dreadful darkness lend desired light; +And all ye powers which in the same remain, +More than we men can feign, +Pour out your blessing on us plenteously, +And happy influence upon us rain, +That-we may raise a large posterity, +Which from the earth, which they may long possess +With lasting happiness, +Up to your haughty palaces may mount; +And, for the guerdon of their glorious merit, +May heavenly tabernacles there inherit, +Of blessed Saints for to increase the count. +So let us rest, sweet love, in hope of this, +And cease till then our timely joys to sing: +The woods no more us answer, nor our echo ring! + +Song! made in lieu of many ornaments, +With which my love should duly have been decked, +Which cutting off through hasty accidents, +Ye would not stay your due time to expect, +But promised both to recompense; +Be unto her a goodly ornament, +And for short time an endless monument. + +Edmund Spenser [1552?-1599] + + +THE KISS + +Before you kissed me only winds of heaven +Had kissed me, and the tenderness of rain - +Now you have come, how can I care for kisses +Like theirs again? + +I sought the sea, she sent her winds to meet me, +They surged about me singing of the south - +I turned my head away to keep still holy +Your kiss upon my mouth. + +And swift sweet rains of shining April weather +Found not my lips where living kisses are; +I bowed my head lest they put out my glory +As rain puts out a star. + +I am my love's and he is mine forever, +Sealed with a seal and safe forevermore - +Think you that I could let a beggar enter +Where a king stood before? + +Sara Teasdale [1884-1933] + + +MARRIAGE + +Going my way of old +Contented more or less +I dreamt not life could hold +Such happiness. + +I dreamt not that love's way +Could keep the golden height +Day after happy day, +Night after night. + +Wilfrid Wilson Gibson [1878- + + +THE NEWLY-WEDDED + +Now the rite is duly done, +Now the word is spoken, +And the spell has made us one +Which may ne'er be broken; +Rest we, dearest, in our home, +Roam we o'er the heather: +We shall rest, and we shall roam, +Shall we not? together. + +From this hour the summer rose +Sweeter breathes to charm us; +From this hour the winter snows +Lighter fall to harm us: +Fair or foul - on land or sea - +Come the wind or weather, +Best and worst, whate'er they be, +We shall share together. + +Death, who friend from friend can part, +Brother rend from brother, +Shall but link us, heart and heart, +Closer to each other: +We will call his anger play, +Deem his dart a feather, +When we meet him on our way +Hand in hand together. + +Winthrop Mackworth Praed [1802-1839] + + +"I SAW TWO CLOUDS AT MORNING" + +I saw two clouds at morning, +Tinged by the rising sun, +And in the dawn they floated on, +And mingled into one; +I thought that morning cloud was blest, +It moved so sweetly to the west. + +I saw two summer currents +Flow smoothly to their meeting, +And join their course, with silent force, +In peace each other greeting; +Calm was their course through banks of green, +While dimpling eddies played between. + +Such be your gentle motion, +Till life's last pulse shall beat; +Like summer's beam, and summer's stream, +Float on, in joy, to meet +A calmer sea, where storms shall cease, +A purer sky, where all is peace. + +John Gardiner Calkins Brainard [1796-1828] + + +HOLY MATRIMONY + +The voice that breathed o'er Eden, +That earliest wedding-day, +The primal marriage blessing, +It hath not passed away. + +Still in the pure espousal +Of Christian man and maid, +The holy Three are with us, +The threefold grace is said. + +For dower of blessed children, +For love and faith's sweet sake, +For high mysterious union, +Which naught on earth may break. + +Be present, awful Father, +To give away this bride, +As Eve thou gav'st to Adam +Out of his own pierced side: + +Be present, Son of Mary, +To join their loving hands, +As thou didst bind two natures +In thine eternal bands: + +Be present, Holiest Spirit, +To bless them as they kneel, +As thou for Christ, the Bridegroom, +The heavenly Spouse dost seal. + +Oh, spread thy pure wing o'er them, +Let no ill power find place, +When onward to thine altar +The hallowed path they trace, + +To cast their crowns before thee +In perfect sacrifice, +Till to the home of gladness +With Christ's own Bride they rise. Amen. + +John Keble [1792-1866] + + +THE BRIDE + +Beat on the Tom-toms, and scatter the flowers, +Jasmine, hibiscus, vermilion and white, +This is the day, and the Hour of Hours, +Bring forth the Bride for her Lover's delight. +Maidens no more as a maiden shall claim her, +Near, in his Mystery, draweth Desire. +Who, if she waver a moment, shall blame her? +She is a flower, and love is a fire. + +Give her the anklets, the ring, and the necklace, +Darken her eyelids with delicate art, +Heighten the beauty, so youthful and fleckless, +By the Gods favored, oh, Bridegroom, thou art! +Twine in thy fingers her fingers so slender, +Circle together the Mystical Fire, +Bridegroom, - a whisper, - be gentle and tender, +Choti Tinchaurya knows not desire. + +Bring forth the silks and the veil that shall cover +Beauty, till yesterday careless and wild; +Red are her lips for the kiss of a lover, +Ripe are her breasts for the lips of a child. +Center and Shrine of Mysterious Power, +Chalice of Pleasure and Rose of Delight, +Shyly aware of the swift-coming hour, +Waiting the shade and the silence of night. + +Still must the Bridegroom his longing dissemble, +Longing to loosen the silk-woven cord, +Ah, how his fingers will flutter and tremble, +Fingers well skilled with the bridle and sword. +Thine is his valor, oh Bride, and his beauty, +Thine to possess and re-issue again, +Such is thy tender and passionate duty, +Licit thy pleasure and honored thy pain. + +Choti Tinchaurya, lovely and tender, +Still all unbroken to sorrow and strife, +Come to the Bridegroom who, silk-clad and slender, +Brings thee the Honor and Burden of Life. +Bidding farewell to thy light-hearted playtime, +Worship thy Lover with fear and delight; +Art thou not ever, though slave of his daytime, +Choti Tinchaurya, queen of his night? + +Laurence Hope [1865-1904] + + +A MARRIAGE CHARM + +I set a charm upon your hurrying breath, +I set a charm upon your wandering feet, +You shall not leave me - not for life, nor death, +Not even though you cease to love me, Sweet. + +A woman's love nine Angels cannot bind, +Nor any rune that wind or water knows, +My heart were all as well set on the wind, +Or bound, to live or die, upon a rose. + +I set a charm upon you, foot and hand, +That you and Knowledge, love, may never meet, +That you may never chance to understand +How strong you are, how weak your lover, Sweet. + +I set my charm upon your kindly arm, +I set it as a seal upon your breast; +That you may never hear another's charm, +Nor guess another's gift outruns my best. + +I bid your wandering footsteps me to follow, +Your thoughts to travel after in my track, +I am the sky that waits you, dear gray swallow, +No wind of mine shall ever blow you back. + +I am your dream, Sweet; so no more of dreaming, +Your lips to mine must end this chanted charm, +Your heart to mine, 'neath nut-brown tresses streaming, +I set my love a seal upon your arm. + +Nora Hopper [1871-1906] + + +"LIKE A LAVEROCK IN THE LIFT" + +It's we two, it's we two, it's we two for aye, +All the world, and we two, and Heaven be our stay! +Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny bride! +All the world was Adam once, with Eve by his side. + +What's the world, my lass, my love! - what can it do? +I am thine, and thou art mine; life is sweet and new. +If the world have missed the mark, let it stand by; +For we two have gotten leave, and once more we'll try. + +Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny bride! +It's we two, it's we two, happy side by side. +Take a kiss from me, thy man; now the song begins: +"All is made afresh for us, and the brave heart wins." + +When the darker days come, and no sun will shine, +Thou shalt dry my tears, lass, and I'll dry thine. +It's we two, it's we two, while the world's away, +Sitting by the golden sheaves on our wedding-day. + +Jean Ingelow [1820-1897] + + +MY OWEN + +Proud of you, fond of you, clinging so near to you, +Light is my heart now I know I am dear to you! +Glad is my voice now, so free it may sing for you +All the wild love that is burning within for you! +Tell me once more, tell it over and over, +The tale of that eve which first saw you my lover. +Now I need never blush +At my heart's hottest gush - +The wife of my Owen her heart may discover! + +Proud of you, fond of you, having all right in you, +Quitting all else through my love and delight in you! +Glad is my heart since 'tis beating so nigh to you! +Light is my step for it always may fly to you! +Clasped in your arms where no sorrow can reach to me, +Reading your eyes till new love they shall teach to me. +Though wild and weak till now, +By that blest marriage vow, +More than the wisest know your heart shall preach to me. + +Ellen Mary Patrick Downing [1828-1869] + + +DORIS: A PASTORAL + +I sat with Doris, the shepherd maiden; +Her crook was laden with wreathed flowers. +I sat and wooed her through sunlight wheeling, +And shadows stealing for hours and hours. + +And she, my Doris, whose lap incloses +Wild summer roses of faint perfume, +The while I sued her, kept hushed and harkened +Till shades had darkened from gloss to gloom. + +She touched my shoulder with fearful finger; +She said, "We linger, we must not stay; +My flock's in danger, my sheep will wander; +Behold them yonder, how far they stray!" + +I answered bolder, "Nay, let me hear you, +And still be near you, and still adore! +No wolf nor stranger will touch one yearling - +Ah! stay my darling a moment more!" + +She whispered, sighing, "There will be sorrow +Beyond to-morrow, if I lose to-day; +My fold unguarded, my flock unfolded - +I shall be scolded and sent away!" + +Said I, denying, "If they do miss you, +They ought to kiss you when you get home; +And well rewarded by friend and neighbor +Should be the labor from which you come." + +"They might remember," she answered meekly. +"That lambs are weakly and sheep are wild; +But if they love me it's none so fervent - +I am a servant and not a child." + +Then each hot ember glowed quick within me, +And love did win me to swift reply: +"Ah! do but prove me, and none shall bind you, +Nor fray nor find you until I die!" + +She blushed and started, and stood awaiting, +As if debating in dreams divine; +But I did brave them - I told her plainly, +She doubted vainly, she must be mine. + +So we, twin-hearted, from all the valley +Did rouse and rally her nibbling ewes; +And homeward drove them, we two together, +Through blooming heather and gleaming dews. + +That simple duty such grace did lend her, +My Doris tender, my Doris true, +That I her warder did always bless her, +And often press her to take her due. + +And now in beauty she fills my dwelling +With love excelling, and undefiled; +And love doth guard her, both fast and fervent, +No more a servant, nor yet a child. + +Arthur Joseph Munby [1828-1910] + + +"HE'D NOTHING BUT HIS VIOLIN" + +He'd nothing but his violin, +I'd nothing but my song, +But we were wed when skies were blue +And summer days were long; +And when we rested by the hedge, +The robins came and told +How they had dared to woo and win, +When early Spring was cold. + +We sometimes supped on dew-berries, +Or slept among the hay, +But oft the farmers' wives at eve +Came out to hear us play; +The rare old songs, the dear old tunes, - +We could not starve for long +While my man had his violin, +And I my sweet love-song. + +The world has aye gone well with us +Old man since we were one, - +Our homeless wandering down the lanes +It long ago was done. +But those who wait for gold or gear, +For houses or for kine, +Till youth's sweet spring grows brown and sere, +And love and beauty tine, +Will never know the joy of hearts +That met without a fear, +When you had but your violin +And I a song, my dear. + +Mary Kyle Dallas [1830-1897] + + +LOVE'S CALENDAR + +That gusty spring, each afternoon +By the ivied cot I passed, +And noted at that lattice soon +Her fair face downward cast; +Still in the same place seated there, +So diligent, so very fair. + +Oft-times I said I knew her not, +Yet that way round would go, +Until, when evenings lengthened out, +And bloomed the may-hedge row, +I met her by the wayside well, +Whose waters, maybe, broke the spell. + +For, leaning on her pail, she prayed, +I'd lift it to her head. +So did I; but I'm much afraid +Some wasteful drops were shed, +And that we blushed, as face to face +Needs must we stand the shortest space. + +Then when the sunset mellowed through +The ears of rustling grain, +When lattices wide open flew, +When ash-leaves fell like rain, +As well as I she knew the hour +At morn or eve I neared her bower. + +And now that snow o'erlays the thatch, +Each starlit eve within +The door she waits, I raise the latch, +And kiss her lifted chin; +Nor do I think we've blushed again, +For Love hath made but one of twain. + +William Bell Scott [1811-1890] + + +HOME + +Two birds within one nest; +Two hearts within one breast; +Two spirits in one fair, +Firm league of love and prayer, +Together bound for aye, together blest. + +An ear that waits to catch +A hand upon the latch; +A step that hastens its sweet rest to win; +A world of care without, +A world of strife shut out, +A world of love shut in. + +Dora Greenwell [1821-1882] + + +TWO LOVERS + +Two lovers by a moss-grown spring: +They leaned soft cheeks together there, +Mingled the dark and sunny hair, +And heard the wooing thrashes sing. +O budding time! +O love's blest prime! + +Two wedded from the portal stept: +The bells made happy carolings, +The air was soft as fanning wings, +White petals on the pathway slept. +O pure-eyed bride! +O tender pride! + +Two faces o'er a cradle bent: +Two hands above the head were locked: +These pressed each other while they rocked, +Those watched a life that love had sent. +O solemn hour! +O hidden power! + +Two parents by the evening fire: +The red light fell about their knees +On heads that rose by slow degrees +Like buds upon the lily spire. +O patient life! +O tender strife! + +The two still sat together there, +The red light shone about their knees; +But all the heads by slow degrees +Had gone and left that lonely pair. +O voyage fast! +O vanished past! + +The red light shone upon the floor +And made the space between them wide; +They drew their chairs up side by side, +Their pale cheeks joined, and said, "Once more!" +O memories! +O past that is! + +George Eliot [1819-1880] + + +THE LAND OF HEART'S DESIRE + +"Somewhere," he mused, "its dear enchantments wait, +That land, so heavenly sweet; +Yet all the paths we follow, soon or late, +End in the desert's heat. + +"And still it lures us to the eager quest, +And calls us day by day" - +"But I," she said, her babe upon her breast +"But I have found the way." + +"Some time," he sighed, "when youth and joy are spent, +Our feet the gates may win" - +"But I," she smiled, with eyes of deep content, +"But I have entered in." + +Emily Huntington Miller [1833-1913] + + +MY AIN WIFE + +I wadna gi'e my ain wife +For ony wife I see; +I wadna gi'e my ain wife +For ony wife I see; +A bonnier yet I've never seen, +A better canna be - +I wadna gi'e my ain wife +For ony wife I see! + +O couthie is my ingle-cheek, +An' cheerie is my Jean; +I never see her angry look, +Nor hear her word on ane. +She's gude wi' a' the neebors roun' +An' aye gude wi' me - +I wadna gi'e my ain wife +For ony wife I see. + +An' O her looks sae kindlie, +They melt my heart outright, +When o'er the baby at her breast +She hangs wi' fond delight; +She looks intill its bonnie face, +An' syne looks to me - +I wadna gi'e my ain wife +For ony wife I see. + +Alexander Laing [1787-1857] + + +THE IRISH WIFE + +I would not give my Irish wife +For all the dames of the Saxon land; +I would not give my Irish wife +For the Queen of France's hand; +For she to me is dearer +Than castles strong, or lands, or life. +An outlaw - so I'm near her +To love till death my Irish wife. + +O what would be this home of mine, +A ruined, hermit-haunted place, +But for the light that nightly shines +Upon its walls from Kathleen's face! +What comfort in a mine of gold, +What pleasure in a royal life, +If the heart within lay dead and cold, +If I could not wed my Irish wife? + +I knew the law forbade the banns; +I knew my king abhorred her race; +Who never bent before their clans +Must bow before their ladies' grace. +Take all my forfeited domain, +I cannot wage with kinsmen strife: +Take knightly gear and noble name, +And I will keep my Irish wife. + +My Irish wife has clear blue eyes, +My heaven by day, my stars by night; +And twin-like truth and fondness lies +Within her swelling bosom white. +My Irish wife has golden hair, +Apollo's harp had once such strings, +Apollo's self might pause to hear +Her bird-like carol when she sings. + +I would not give my Irish wife +For all the dames of the Saxon land; +I would not give my Irish wife +For the Queen of France's hand; +For she to me is dearer +Than castles strong, or lands, or life: +In death I would be near her, +And rise beside my Irish wife. + +Thomas D'Arcy McGee [1825-1868] + + +MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING + +See is a winsome wee thing, +She is a handsome wee thing, +She is a bonnie wee thing, +This sweet wee wife o' mine. + +I never saw a fairer, +I never lo'ed a dearer, +And niest my heart I'll wear her, +For fear my jewel tine. + +She is a winsome wee thing, +She is a handsome wee thing, +She is a bonnie wee thing, +This sweet wee wife o' mine. + +The warld's wrack we share o't, +The warsle and the care o't: +Wi' her I'll blithely bear it, +And think my lot divine. + +Robert Burns [1759-1796] + + +LETTICE + +I said to Lettice, our sister Lettice, +While drooped and glistened her eyelash brown, +"Your man's a poor man, a cold and dour man, +There's many a better about our town." +She smiled securely - "He loves me purely: +A true heart's safe, both in smile or frown; +And nothing harms me while his love warms me, +Whether the world go up or down." + +"He comes of strangers, and they are rangers, +And ill to trust, girl, when out of sight: +Fremd folk may blame ye, and e'en defame ye, +A gown oft handled looks seldom white." +She raised serenely her eyelids queenly, - +"My innocence is my whitest gown; +No harsh tongue grieves me while he believes me, +Whether the world go up or down." + +"Your man's a frail man, was ne'er a hale man, +And sickness knocketh at every door, +And death comes making bold hearts cower, breaking -" +Our Lettice trembled; - but once, no more. +"If death should enter, smite to the center +Our poor home palace, all crumbling down, +He cannot fright us, nor disunite us, +Life bears Love's cross, death brings Love's crown." + +Dinah Maria Mulock Craik [1826-1887] + + +"IF THOU WERT BY MY SIDE, MY LOVE" + +If thou wert by my side, my love, +How fast would evening fail +In green Bengala's palmy grove, +Listening the nightingale! + +If thou, my love, wert by my side, +My babies at my knee, +How gayly would our pinnace glide +O'er Gunga's mimic sea! + +I miss thee at the dawning gray, +When, on our deck reclined, +In careless ease my limbs I lay +And woo the cooler wind. + +I miss thee when by Gunga's stream +My twilight steps I guide, +But most beneath the lamp's pale beam +I miss thee from my side. + +I spread my books, my pencil try, +The lingering noon to cheer, +But miss thy kind, approving eye, +Thy meek, attentive ear. + +But when at morn and eve the star +Beholds me on my knee, +I feel, though thou art distant far, +Thy prayers ascend for me. + +Then on! then on! where duty leads, +My course be onward still, +O'er broad Hindostan's sultry meads, +O'er bleak Almorah's hill. + +That course nor Delhi's kingly gates, +Nor mild Malwah detain; +For sweet the bliss us both awaits +By yonder western main. + +Thy towers, Bombay, gleam bright, they say, +Across the dark blue sea; +But ne'er were hearts so light and gay +As then shall meet in thee! + +Reginald Heber [1783-1826] + + +THE SHEPHERD'S WIFE'S SONG +From "The Mourning Garment" + +Ah, what is love? It is a pretty thing, +As sweet unto a shepherd as a king, +And sweeter, too: +For kings have cares that wait upon a crown, +And cares can make the sweetest love to frown: +Ah then, ah then, +If country loves such sweet desires do gain, +What lady would not love a shepherd swain? + +His flocks are folded; he comes home at night +As merry as a king in his delight, +And merrier, too: +For kings bethink them what the state require, +Where shepherds, careless, carol by the fire: + +He kisseth first, then sits as blithe to eat +His cream and curds, as doth a king his meat, +And blither, too: +For kings have often fears when they do sup, +Where shepherds dread no poison in their cup: + +To bed he goes, as wanton then, I ween, +As is a king in dalliance with a queen; +More wanton, too: +For kings have many griefs, affects to move, +Where shepherds have no greater grief than love: + +Upon his couch of straw he sleeps as sound +As doth the king upon his bed of down; +More sounder, too: +For cares cause kings full oft their sleep to spill, +Where weary shepherds lie and snort their fill: + +Thus, with his wife, he spends the year as blithe +As doth the king at every tide or sithe, +And blither, too: +For kings have wars and broils to take in hand, +Where shepherds laugh and love upon the land: +Ah then, ah then, +Since country loves such sweet desires do gain, +What lady would not love a shepherd swain? + +Robert Greene [1560?-1592] + + +"TRUTH DOTH TRUTH DESERVE" +From the "Arcadia" + +Who doth desire that chaste his wife should be, +First be he true, for truth doth truth deserve: +Then such be he as she his worth may see, +And one man still credit with her preserve. +Not toying kind, nor causelessly unkind; +Not stirring thoughts, nor yet denying right; +Not spying faults, nor in plain errors blind; +Never hard hand, nor ever reins too light. +As far from want, as far from vain expense +(The one doth force, the latter doth entice); +Allow good company, but keep from thence +All filthy mouths that glory in their vice. +This done, thou hast no more, but leave the rest +To virtue, fortune, time, and woman's breast. + +Philip Sidney [1554-1586] + + +THE MARRIED LOVER +From "The Angel in the House" + +Why, having won her, do I woo? +Because her spirit's vestal grace +Provokes me always to pursue, +But, spirit-like, eludes embrace; +Because her womanhood is such +That, as on court-days subjects kiss +The Queen's hand, yet so near a touch +Affirms no mean familiarness; +Nay, rather marks more fair the height +Which can with safety so neglect +To dread, as lower ladies might, +That grace could meet with disrespect; +Thus she with happy favor feeds +Allegiance from a love so high +That thence no false conceit proceeds +Of difference bridged, or state put by; +Because, although in act and word +As lowly as a wife can be, +Her manners, when they call me lord, +Remind me 'tis by courtesy; +Not with her least consent of will, +Which would my proud affection hurt, +But by the noble style that still +Imputes an unattained desert; +Because her gay and lofty brows, +When all is won which hope can ask, +Reflect a light of hopeless snows +That bright in virgin ether bask; +Because, though free of the outer court +I am, this Temple keeps its shrine +Sacred to heaven; because, in short, +She's not and never can be mine. + +Coventry Patmore [1823-1896] + + +MY LOVE + +Not as all other women are +Is she that to my soul is dear; +Her glorious fancies come from far, +Beneath the silver evening-star, +And yet her heart is ever near. + +Great feelings hath she of her own, +Which lesser souls may never know; +God giveth them to her alone, +And sweet they are as any tone +Wherewith the wind may choose to blow. + +Yet in herself she dwelleth not, +Although no home were half so fair; +No simplest duty is forgot, +Life hath no dim and lowly spot +That doth not in her sunshine share. + +She doeth little kindnesses, +Which most leave undone, or despise: +For naught that sets one heart at ease, +And giveth happiness or peace, +Is low-esteemed in her eyes. + +She hath no scorn of common things, +And, though she seem of other birth, +Round us her heart intwines and clings, +And patiently she folds her wings +To tread the humble paths of earth. + +Blessing she is: God made her so, +And deeds of week-day holiness +Fall from her noiseless as the snow, +Nor hath she ever chanced to know +That aught were easier than to bless. + +She is most fair, and thereunto +Her life doth rightly harmonize; +Feeling or thought that was not true +Ne'er made less beautiful the blue +Unclouded heaven of her eyes. + +She is a woman: one in whom +The spring-time of her childish years +Hath never lost its fresh perfume, +Though knowing well that life hath room +For many blights and many tears. + +I love her with a love as still +As a broad river's peaceful might, +Which, by high tower and lowly mill, +Seems following its own wayward will, +And yet doth ever flow aright. + +And, on its full, deep breast serene, +Like quiet isles my duties lie; +It flows around them and between, +And makes them fresh and fair and green, +Sweet homes wherein to live and die. + +James Russell Lowell [1819-1891] + + +MARGARET TO DOLCINO + +Ask if I love thee? Oh, smiles cannot tell +Plainer what tears are now showing too well. +Had I not loved thee, my sky had been clear: +Had I not loved thee, I had not been here, +Weeping by thee. + +Ask if I love thee? How else could I borrow +Pride from man's slander, and strength from my sorrow? +Laugh when they sneer at the fanatic's bride, +Knowing no bliss, save to toil and abide +Weeping by thee. + +Charles Kingsley [1819-1875] + + +DOLCINO TO MARGARET + +The world goes up and the world goes down, +And the sunshine follows the rain; +And yesterday's sneer, and yesterday's frown, +Can never come over again, +Sweet wife: +No, never come over again. + +For woman is warm, though man be cold, +And the night will hallow the day; +Till the heart which at even was weary and old +Can rise in the morning gay, +Sweet wife; +To its work in the morning gay. + +Charles Kingsley [1819-1875] + + +AT LAST + +When first the bride and bridegroom wed, +They love their single selves the best; +A sword is in the marriage bed, +Their separate slumbers are not rest. +They quarrel, and make up again, +They give and suffer worlds of pain. +Both right and wrong, +They struggle long, +Till some good day, when they are old, +Some dark day, when the bells are tolled, +Death having taken their best of life, +They lose themselves, and find each other; +They know that they are husband, wife, +For, weeping, they are Father, Mother! + +Richard Henry Stoddard [1825-1903] + + +THE WIFE TO HER HUSBAND + +Linger not long. Home is not home without thee: +Its dearest tokens do but make me mourn. +O, let its memory, like a chain about thee, +Gently compel and hasten thy return! + +Linger not long. Though crowds should woo thy staying, +Bethink thee, can the mirth of thy friends, though dear, +Compensate for the grief thy long delaying +Costs the fond heart that sighs to have thee here? + +Linger not long. How shall I watch thy coming, +As evening shadows stretch o'er moor and dell; +When the wild bee hath ceased her busy humming, +And silence hangs on all things like a spell! + +How shall I watch for thee, when fears grow stronger, +As night grows dark and darker on the hill! +How shall I weep, when I can watch no longer! +Ah! art thou absent, art thou absent still? + +Yet I shall grieve not, though the eye that seeth me +Gazeth through tears that make its splendor dull; +For oh! I sometimes fear when thou art with me, +My cup of happiness is all too full. + +Haste, haste thee home unto thy mountain dwelling, +Haste, as a bird unto its peaceful nest! +Haste, as a skiff, through tempests wide and swelling, +Flies to its haven of securest rest! + +Unknown + + +A WIFE'S SONG + +O well I love the Spring, +When the sweet, sweet hawthorn blows; +And well I love the Summer, +And the coming of the rose; +But dearer are the changing leaf, +And the year upon the wane, +For O, they bring the blessed time +That brings him home again. + +November may be dreary, +December's days may be +As full of gloom to others +As once they were to me; +But O, to hear the tempest +Beat loud against the pane! +For the roaring wind and the blessed time +That brings him home again. + +William Cox Bennett [1820-1895] + + +THE SAILOR'S WIFE + +And are ye sure the news is true? +And are ye sure he's weel? +Is this a time to talk o' wark? +Ye jauds, fling by your wheel! +Is this a time to spin a thread, +When Colin's at the door? +Rax down my cloak - I'll to the quay, +And see him come ashore. +For there's nae luck aboot the house, +There's nae luck ava', +There's little pleasure in the house, +When our gudeman's awa'. + +And gi'e to me my bigonet, +My bishop's satin gown; +For I maun tell the baillie's wife +That Colin's in the town. +My Turkey slippers maun gae on, +My stockins pearly blue; +It's a' to pleasure our gudeman, +For he's baith leal and true. + +Rise, lass, and mak' a clean fireside, +Put on the muckle pot; +Gi'e little Kate her button gown, +And Jock his Sunday coat. +And mak' their shoon as black as slaes, +Their hose as white as snaw; +It's a' to please my own gudeman, +He likes to see them braw. + +There's twa hens upon the bauk, +Hae fed this month and mair; +Mak' haste and thraw their necks about +That Colin weel may fare! +And spread the table neat and clean, +Gar ilka thing look braw; +For wha can tell how Colin fared, +When he was far awa'? + +Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech, +His breath like caller air; +His very foot has music in't +As he comes up the stair. +And will I see his face again, +And will I hear him speak? +I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, +In troth I'm like to greet! + +If Colin's weel, and weel content, +I ha'e nae mair to crave; +And gin I live to keep him sae, +I'm blest abune the lave. +And will I see his face again, +And will I hear him speak? +I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, +In troth I'm like to greet! +For there's nae luck aboot the house, +There's nae luck ava'; +There's little pleasure in the house +When our gudeman's awa'. + +William Julius Mickle [1735-1788] +(or Jean Adam (?) [1710-1765]) + + +JERRY AN' ME + +No matter how the chances are, +Nor when the winds may blow, +My Jerry there has left the sea +With all its luck an' woe: +For who would try the sea at all, +Must try it luck or no. + +They told him - Lor', men take no care +How words they speak may fall - +They told him blunt, he was too old, +Too slow with oar an' trawl, +An' this is how he left the sea +An' luck an' woe an' all. + +Take any man on sea or land +Out of his beaten way, +If he is young 'twill do, but then, +If he is old an' gray, +A month will be a year to him. +Be all to him you may. + +He sits by me, but most he walks +The door-yard for a deck, +An' scans the boat a-goin' out +Till she becomes a speck, +Then turns away, his face as wet +As if she were a wreck. + +I cannot bring him back again, +The days when we were wed. +But he shall never know - my man - +The lack o' love or bread, +While I can cast a stitch or fill +A needleful o' thread. + +God pity me, I'd most forgot +How many yet there be, +Whose goodmen full as old as mine +Are somewhere on the sea, +Who hear the breakin' bar an' think +O' Jerry home an' - me. + +Hiram Rich [1832-1901] + + +"DON'T BE SORROWFUL, DARLING" + +O don't be sorrowful, darling! +And don't be sorrowful, pray; +Taking the year together, my dear, +There isn't more night than day. + +'Tis rainy weather, my darling; +Time's waves they heavily run; +But taking the year together, my dear, +There isn't more cloud than sun. + +We are old folks now, my darling, +Our heads are growing gray; +But taking the year all round, my dear, +You will always find the May. + +We have had our May, my darling, +And our roses long ago; +And the time of the year is coming, my dear, +For the silent night and the snow. + +But God is God, my darling, +Of the night as well as the day; +And we feel and know that we can go +Wherever He leads the way. + +A God of the night, my darling, +Of the night of death so grim; +The gate that leads out of life, good wife, +Is the gate that leads to Him. + +Rembrandt Peale [1778-1860] + + +WINIFREDA + +Away! let naught to love displeasing, +My Winifreda, move your care; +Let naught delay the heavenly blessing, +Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy fear. + +What though no grants of royal donors +With pompous titles grace our blood, +We'll shine in more substantial honors, +And, to be noble, we'll be good. + +Our name, while virtue thus we tender, +Will sweetly sound where'er 'tis spoke, +And all the great ones, they shall wonder +How they respect such little folk. + +What though, from fortune's lavish bounty, +No mighty treasures we possess; +We'll find, within our pittance, plenty, +And be content without excess. + +Still shall each kind returning season +Sufficient for our wishes give; +For we will live life of reason, +And that's the only life to live. + +Through youth and age, in love excelling, +We'll hand in hand together tread; +Sweet smiling peace shall crown our dwelling +And babes, sweet smiling babes, our bed. + +How should I love the pretty creatures, +While round my knees they fondly clung! +To see them look their mother's features, +To hear them lisp their mother's tongue! + +And when with envy time transported +Shall think to rob us of our joys, +You'll in your girls again be courted, +And I'll go wooing in my boys. + +Unknown + + +AN OLD MAN'S IDYL + +By the waters of Life we sat together, +Hand in hand, in the golden days +Of the beautiful early summer weather, +When skies were purple and breath was praise, +When the heart kept tune to the carol of birds, +And the birds kept tune to the songs which ran +Through shimmer of flowers on grassy swards, +And trees with voices aeolian. + +By the rivers of Life we walked together, +I and my darling, unafraid; +And lighter than any linnet's feather +The burdens of being on us weighed; +And Love's sweet miracles o'er us threw +Mantles of joy outlasting Time, +And up from the rosy morrows grew +A sound that seemed like a marriage chime. + +In the gardens of Life we strayed together, +And the luscious apples were ripe and red, +And the languid lilac, and honeyed heather +Swooned with the fragrance which they shed; +And under the trees the angels walked, +And up in the air a sense of wings +Awed us tenderly while we talked +Softly in sacred communings. + +In the meadows of Life we strayed together, +Watching the waving harvests grow, +And under the benison of the Father +Our hearts, like the lambs, skipped to and fro; +And the cowslip, hearing our low replies, +Broidered fairer the emerald banks, +And glad tears shone in the daisy's eyes, +And the timid violet glistened thanks. + +Who was with us, and what was round us, +Neither myself nor my darling guessed; +Only we knew that something crowned us +Out from the heavens with crowns of rest; +Only we knew that something bright +Lingered lovingly where we stood, +Clothed with the incandescent light +Of something higher than humanhood. + +Oh, the riches Love doth inherit! +Oh, the alchemy which doth change +Dross of body and dregs of spirit +Into sanctities rare and strange! +My flesh is feeble, and dry, and old, +My darling's beautiful hair is gray; +But our elixir and precious gold +Laugh at the footsteps of decay. + +Harms of the world have come unto us, +Cups of sorrow we yet shall drain; +But we have a secret which doth show us +Wonderful rainbows in the rain. +And we hear the tread of the years move by, +And the sun is setting behind the hills; +But my darling does not fear to die, +And I am happy in what God wills. + +So we sit by our household fires together, +Dreaming the dreams of long ago; +Then it was balmy, sunny weather, +And now the valleys are laid in snow; +Icicles hang from the slippery eaves, +The wind blows cold, - 'tis growing late; +Well, well! we have garnered all our sheaves, +I and my darling, and we wait. + +Richard Realf [1834-1878] + + +THE POET'S SONG TO HIS WIFE + +How many summers, love, +Have I been thine? +How many days, thou dove, +Hast thou been mine? +Time, like the winged wind +When it bends the flowers, +Hath left no mark behind, +To count the hours. + +Some weight of thought, though loth, +On thee he leaves; +Some lines of care round both +Perhaps he weaves; +Some fears, - a soft regret +For joys scarce known; +Sweet looks we half forget; - +All else is flown! + +Ah! - With what thankless heart +I mourn and sing! +Look, where our children start, +Like sudden Spring! +With tongues all sweet and low, +Like a pleasant rhyme, +They tell how much I owe +To thee and Time! + +Bryan Waller Procter [1787-1874] + + +JOHN ANDERSON + +John Anderson my jo, John, +When we were first acquent +Your locks were like the raven, +Your bonnie brow was brent; +But now your brow is bald, John, +Your locks are like the snow; +But blessings on your frosty pow, +John Anderson my jo. + +John Anderson my jo, John, +We clamb the hill thegither, +And mony a canty day, John, +We've had wi' ane anither: +Now we maun totter down, John, +But hand in hand we'll go, +And sleep thegither at the foot, +John Anderson my jo. + +Robert Burns [1759-1796] + + +TO MARY + +"Thee, Mary, with this ring I wed, +So, fourteen years ago, I said - +Behold another ring! - "For what? +To wed thee o'er again - why not?" + +With that first ring I married Youth, +Grace, Beauty, Innocence, and Truth; +Taste long admired, sense long revered, +And all my Molly then appeared. +If she, by merit since disclosed, +Prove twice the woman I supposed, +I plead that double merit now, +To justify a double vow. + +Here then, to-day, (with faith as sure, +With ardor as intense and pure, +As when, amidst the rites divine, +I took thy troth, and plighted mine), +To thee, sweet girl, my second ring +A token, and a pledge, I bring; +With this I wed, till death us part, +Thy riper virtues to my heart; +Those virtues, which, before untried, +The wife has added to the bride; +Those virtues, whose progessive claim, +Endearing wedlock's very name, +My soul enjoys, my song approves, +For Conscience' sake, as well as Love's. + +For why? - They show me every hour, +Honor's high thought, Affection's power, +Discretion's deed, sound Judgment's sentence, +And teach me all things - but Repentance. + +Samuel Bishop [1731-1795] + + +THE GOLDEN WEDDING + +O Love, whose patient pilgrim feet +Life's longest path have trod; +Whose ministry hath symbolled sweet +The dearer love of God; +The sacred myrtle wreathes again +Thine altar, as of old; +And what was green with summer then, +Is mellowed now to gold. + +Not now, as then, the future's face +Is flushed with fancy's light; +But memory, with a milder grace, +Shall rule the feast to-night. +Blest was the sun of joy that shone, +Nor less the blinding shower; +The bud of fifty years agone +Is love's perfected flower. + +O memory, ope thy mystic door; +O dream of youth, return; +And let the light that gleamed of yore +Beside this altar burn. +The past is plain; 'twas love designed +E'en sorrow's iron chain; +And, mercy's shining thread has twined +With the dark warp of pain. + +So be it still. O Thou who hast +That younger bridal blest, +Till the May-morn of love has passed +To evening's golden west; +Come to this later Cana, Lord, +And, at thy touch divine, +The water of that earlier board +To-night shall turn to wine. + +David Gray [1837-1888] + + +MOGGY AND ME + +Oh wha are sae happy as me an' my Moggy? +Oh wha are sae happy as Moggy an' me? +We're baith turnin' auld, an' our walth is soon tauld, +But contentment bides aye in our cottage sae wee. +She toils a' the day when I'm out wi' the hirsel, +An' chants to the bairns while I sing on the brae; +An' aye her blithe smile welcomes me frae my toil, +When down the glen I come weary an' wae. + +Aboon our auld heads we've a nice little biggin, +That keeps out the cauld when the simmer's awa; +We've twa webs o' linen o' Moggy's ain spinnin', +As thick as silk velvet and white as the snaw; +We've kye in the byre, an' yauds in the stable, +A grumphie sae fat that she hardly can stand; +An' something, I guess, in yon auld painted press +To cheer up the speerits an' steady the hand. + +'Tis true we hae had mony sorrows an' crosses, +Our pouches oft toom, an' our hearts fu' o' care; +But wi' a' our crosses, our sorrows an' losses, +Contentment, thank heaven! has aye been our share. +I've an auld roostit sword that was left by my father, +Whilk aye has been drawn when my king had a fae; +We hae friends ane or twa that aft gie us a ca', +To laugh when we're happy or grieve when we're wae. + +Our duke may hae gowd mair than schoolmen can reckon, +An' flunkies to watch ilka glance o' his e'e, +His lady aye braw sittin' prim in her ha'; +But are they sae happy as Moggy an' me? +A' ye wha ne'er fand the straight road to be happy, +Wha are nae content wi' the lot that ye dree, +Come down to the dwellin' o' whilk I've been tellin', +You'll learn it by lookin' at Moggy an' me. + +James Hogg [1770-1835] + + +"O, LAY THY HAND IN MINE, DEAR!" + +O, lay thy hand in mine, dear! +We're growing old; +But Time hath brought no sign, dear, +That hearts grow cold. +'Tis long, long since our new love +Made life divine; +But age enricheth true love, +Like noble wine. + +And lay thy cheek to mine, dear, +And take thy rest; +Mine arms around thee twine, dear, +And make thy nest. +A many cares are pressing +On this dear head; +But Sorrow's hands in blessing +Are surely laid. + +O, lean thy life on mine, dear! +'Twill shelter thee. +Thou wert a winsome vine, dear, +On my young tree: +And so, till boughs are leafless, +And songbirds flown, +We'll twine, then lay us, griefless +Together down. + +Gerald Massey [1828-1907] + + +THE EXEQUY + +Accept, thou shrine of my dead saint, +Instead of dirges this complaint; +And for sweet flowers to crown thy hearse, +Receive a strew of weeping verse +From thy grieved friend, whom thou might'st see +Quite melted into tears for thee. +Dear loss! since thy untimely fate, +My task hath been to meditate +On thee, on thee: thou art the book, +The library whereon I look, +Though almost blind. For thee (loved clay) +I languish out, not live, the day, +Using no other exercise +But which I practise with mine eyes: +By which wet glasses I find out +How lazily time creeps about +To one that mourns: this, only this, +My exercise and business is: +So I compute the weary hours +With sighs dissolved into showers. + +Nor wonder if my time go thus +Backward and most preposterous; +Thou hast benighted me; thy set +This eve of blackness did beget, +Who wast my day (though overcast +Before thou hadst thy noontide passed): +And I remember must in tears +Thou scarce hadst seen so many years +As day tells hours. By thy clear sun +My love and fortune first did run; +But thou wilt never more appear +Folded within my hemisphere, +Since both thy light and motion, +Like a fled star, is fallen and gone, +And 'twixt me and my soul's dear wish +The earth now interposed is, +Which such a strange eclipse doth make +As ne'er was read in almanac. + +I could allow thee for a time +To darken me and my sad clime; +Were it a month, a year, or ten, +I would thy exile live till then, +And all that space my mirth adjourn, +So thou wouldst promise to return, +And putting off thy ashy shroud +At length disperse this sorrow's cloud. +But woe is me! the longest date +Too narrow is to calculate +These empty hopes: never shall I +Be so much blest as to descry +A glimpse of thee, till that day come +Which shall the earth to cinders doom, +And a fierce fever must calcine +The body of this world - like thine, +(My little world!) That fit of fire +Once off, our bodies shall aspire +To our souls' bliss: then we shall rise +And view ourselves with clearer eyes +In that calm region where no night +Can hide us from each other's sight. + +Meantime thou hast her, earth: much good +May my harm do thee! Since it stood +With Heaven's will I might not call +Her longer mine, I give thee all +My short-lived right and interest +In her whom living I loved best: +With a most free and bounteous grief +I give thee what I could not keep. +Be kind to her, and prithee look +Thou write into thy Doomsday book +Each parcel of this rarity +Which in thy casket shrined doth lie, +See that thou make thy reckoning straight, +And yield her back again by weight; +For thou must audit on thy trust +Each grain and atom of this dust, +As thou wilt answer Him that lent - +Not gave - thee my dear monument. +So close the ground, and 'bout her shade +Black curtains draw: my bride is laid. + +Sleep on, my Love, in thy cold bed +Never to be disquieted! +My last good-night! Thou wilt not wake +Till I thy fate shall overtake: +Till age, or grief, or sickness must +Marry my body to that dust +It so much loves; and fill the room +My heart keeps empty in thy tomb. +Stay for me there: I will not fail +To meet thee in that hollow vale. +And think not much of my delay: +I am already on the way, +And follow thee with all the speed +Desire can make, or sorrows breed. +Each minute is a short degree +And every hour a step towards thee. +At night when I betake to rest, +Next morn I rise nearer my west +Of life, almost by eight hours' sail, +Than when sleep breathed his drowsy gale. + +Thus from the Sun my bottom steers, +And my day's compass downward bears: +Nor labor I to stem the tide +Through which to thee I swiftly glide. +'Tis true, with shame and grief I yield, +Thou, like the van, first took'st the field; +And gotten hast the victory +In thus adventuring to die +Before me, whose more years might crave +A just precedence in the grave. +But hark! my pulse, like a soft drum, +Beats my approach, tells thee I come: +And slow howe'er my marches be +I shall at last sit down by thee. + +The thought of this bids me go on +And wait my dissolution +With hope and comfort. Dear (forgive +The crime), I am content to live +Divided, with but half a heart, +Till we shall meet and never part. + +Henry King [1592-1669] + + + + + + + +LOVE SONNETS + + + + + + +SONNETS +From "Amoretti" + + III +The sovereign beauty which I do admire, +Witness the world how worthy to be praised! +The light whereof hath kindled heavenly fire +In my frail spirit, by her from baseness raised; +That being now with her huge brightness dazed, +Base thing I can no more endure to view: +But, looking still on her, I stand amazed +At wondrous sight of so celestial hue. +So when my tongue would speak her praises due, +It stopped is with thought's astonishment; +And when my pen would write her titles true, +It ravished is with fancy's wonderment: +Yet in my heart I then both speak and write +The wonder that my wit cannot indite. + + VIII +More than most fair, full of the living fire +Kindled above unto the Maker near; +No eyes but joys, in which all powers conspire +That to the world naught else be counted dear; +Through your bright beams doth not the blinded guest +Shoot out his darts to base affections wound; +But angels come to lead frail minds to rest +In chaste desires, on heavenly beauty bound. +You frame my thoughts, and fashion me within; +You stop my tongue, and teach my heart to speak; +You calm the storm that passion did begin, +Strong through your cause, but by your virtue weak. +Dark is the world, where your light shined never; +Well is he born that may behold you ever. + + XXIV +When I behold that beauty's wonderment, +And rare perfection of each goodly part, +Of Nature's still the only complement, +I honor and admire the Maker's art. +But when I feel the bitter baleful smart +Which her fair eyes un'wares do work in me, +That death out of their shiny beams do dart, +I think that I a new Pandora see, +Whom all the gods in council did agree +Into this sinful world from heaven to send, +That she to wicked men a scourge should be, +For all their faults with which they did offend. +But since ye are my scourge, I will entreat +That for my faults ye will me gently beat. + + XXXIV +Like as a ship, that through the ocean wide, +By conduct of some star doth make her way, +Whenas a storm hath dimmed her trusty guide, +Out of her course doth wander far astray; +So I, whose star, that wont with her bright ray +Me to direct, with clouds is overcast, +Do wander now, in darkness and dismay, +Through hidden perils round about me placed; +Yet hope I well that, when this storm is past, +My Helice, the lodestar of my life, +Will shine again, and look on me at last, +With lovely light to clear my cloudy grief: +Till then I wander care-full, comfortless, +In secret sorrow, and sad pensiveness. + + LV +So oft as I her beauty do behold, +And therewith do her cruelty compare, +I marvel of what substance was the mould, +The which her made at once so cruel fair; +Not earth, for her high thoughts more heavenly are; +Not water, for her love doth burn like fire; +Not air, for she is not so light or rare; +Not fire, for she doth freeze with faint desire. +Then needs another element inquire +Whereof she might be made - that is, the sky; +For to the heaven her haughty looks aspire, +And eke her mind is pure immortal high. +Then, since to heaven ye likened are the best, +Be like in mercy as in all the rest. + + LXVIII +Most glorious Lord of Life! that on this day +Didst make thy triumph over death and sin, +And, having harrowed hell, didst bring away +Captivity thence captive, us to win, +This joyous day, dear Lord, with joy begin; +And grant that we, for whom thou diddest die, +Being with thy dear blood clean washed from sin, +May live forever in felicity; +And that thy love we weighing worthily, +May likewise love thee for the same again, +And for thy sake, that all 'like dear didst buy, +With love may one another entertain! +So let us love, dear Love, like as we ought: +Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught. + + LXX +Fresh Spring, the herald of love's mighty king, +In whose coat-armor richly are displayed +All sorts of flowers the which on earth do spring +In goodly colors gloriously arrayed; +Go to my love, where she is careless laid, +Yet in her winter's bower not well awake; +Tell her the joyous time will not be stayed, +Unless she do him by the forelock take; +Bid her therefore herself soon ready make +To wait on Love amongst his lovely crew; +Where everyone that misseth then her mate +Shall be by him amerced with penance due. +Make haste, therefore, sweet love, whilst it is prime; +For none can call again the passed time. + + LXXV +One day I wrote her name upon the strand, +But came the waves and washed it away: +Again I wrote it with a second hand, +But came the tide and made my pains his prey. +"Vain man," said she, "that dost in vain essay +A mortal thing so to immortalize; +For I myself shall like to this decay, +And eke my name be wiped out likewise." +"Not so," quoth I; "let baser things devise +To die in dust, but you shall live by fame; +My verse your virtues rare shall eternize, +And in the heavens write your glorious name: +Where, whenas Death shall all the world subdue, +Our love shall live, and later life renew." + + LXXIX +Men call you fair, and you do credit it, +For that yourself ye daily such do see: +But the true fair, that is the gentle wit +And virtuous mind, is much more praised of me: +For all the rest, however fair it be, +Shall turn to naught and lose that glorious hue; +But only that is permanent and free +From frail corruption that doth flesh ensue. +That is true beauty; that doth argue you +To be divine, and born of heavenly seed; +Derived from that fair Spirit from whom all true +And perfect beauty did at first proceed: +He only fair, and what he fair hath made; +All other fair, like flowers, untimely fade. + +Edmund Spenser [1552?-1599] + + +SONNETS +From "Astrophel and Stella" + + I +Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show, +That She, dear She! might take some pleasure of my pain; +Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know, +Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain: +I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe, +Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain; +Oft turning others' leaves, to see if thence would flow +Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sunburnt brain: +But words came halting forth, wanting Invention's stay. +Invention, Nature's child, fled step-dame Study's blows; +And others' feet still seemed but strangers in my way. +Thus, great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes, +Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite: +"Fool!" said my Muse to me, "look in thy heart, and write!" + + XXXI +With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies! +How silently, and with how wan a face! +What! may it be that even in heavenly place +That busy archer his sharp arrows tries? +Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes +Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case; +I read it in thy looks. Thy languished grace +To me, that feel the like, thy state descries. +Then, even of fellowship, O Moon, tell me, +Is constant love deemed there but want of wit? +Are beauties there as proud as here they be? +Do they above love to be loved, and yet +Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess? +Do they call virtue there, ungratefulness? + + XXXIX +Come Sleep! O Sleep, the certain knot of peace, +The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe, +The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, +The indifferent judge between the high and low! +With shield of proof, shield me from out the press +Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw: +O make in me those civil wars to cease! +I will good tribute pay if thou do so. +Take thou of me, smooth pillows, sweetest bed, +A chamber deaf to noise and blind to light, +A rosy garland, and a weary head: +And if these things, as being thine in right, +Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me, +Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see. + + LXII +Late tired with woe, even ready for to pine +With rage of love, I called my Love unkind; +She in whose eyes love, though unfelt, doth shine, +Sweet said that I true love in her should find. +I joyed; but straight thus watered was my wine, +That love she did, but loved a love not blind; +Which would not let me, whom she loved, decline +From nobler cause, fit for my birth and mind: +And therefore, by her love's authority, +Willed me these tempests of vain love to fly, +And anchor fast myself on Virtue's shore. +Alas, if this the only metal be +Of love new-coined to help my beggary, +Dear! love me not, that ye may love me more! + + LXIV +No more, my Dear, no more these counsels try; +O give my passions leave to run their race! +Let Fortune lay on me her worst disgrace; +Let folk o'ercharged with brain, against me cry; +Let clouds bedim my face, break in mine eye; +Let me no steps but of lost labor trace; +Let all the earth with scorn recount my case; +But do not will me from my love to fly! +I do not envy Aristotle's wit; +Nor do aspire to Caesar's bleeding fame; +Nor aught do care, though some above me sit; +Nor hope, nor wish another course to frame, +But that which once may win thy cruel heart: +Thou art my Wit, and thou my Virtue art. + + LXXIII +Love still a boy and oft a wanton is, +Schooled only by his mother's tender eye; +What wonder, then, if he his lesson miss, +When for so soft a rod dear play he try? +And yet my Star, because a sugared kiss +In sport I sucked while she asleep did lie, +Doth lower, nay chide, nay threat, for only this. - +Sweet, it was saucy Love, not humble I! +But no 'scuse serves; she makes her wrath appear +In Beauty's throne; see now, who dares come near +Those scarlet judges, threatening bloody pain! +O heavenly fool, thy most kiss-worthy face +Anger invests with such a lovely grace, +That Anger's self I needs must kiss again. + + CIII +O happy Thames that didst my Stella bear! +I saw thee with full many a smiling line +Upon thy cheerful face, Joy's livery wear, +While those fair planets on thy streams did shine. +The boat for joy could not to dance forbear; +While wanton winds, with beauties so divine, +Ravished, stayed not, till in her golden hair +They did themselves, (O sweetest prison!) twine. +And fain those Aeol's youths there would their stay +Have made, but forced by Nature still to fly, +First did with puffing kiss those locks display. +She so dishevelled, blushed. From window, I, +With sight thereof, cried out, "O fair disgrace! +Let Honor's self to thee grant highest place!" + + CVII +Stella! since thou so right a Princess art +Of all the powers which life bestows on me, +That ere by them aught undertaken be, +They first resort unto that sovereign part; +Sweet! for a while give respite to my heart, +Which pants as though it still should leap to thee; +And on my thoughts give thy lieutenancy +To this great cause, which needs both use and art. +And as a Queen, who from her presence sends +Whom she employs, dismiss from thee my wit, +Till it have wrought what thy own will attends: +On servants' shame oft master's blame doth sit. +O, let not fools in me thy works reprove, +And scorning, say, "See what it is to love!" + +Philip Sidney [1554-1586] + + +SONNETS +From "To Delia" + + VI +Fair is my Love, and cruel as she's fair: +Her brow shades frowns, although her eyes are sunny; +Her smiles are lightning, though her pride despair, +And her disdains are gall, her favors honey. +A modest maid, decked with a blush of honor, +Whose feet do tread green paths of youth and love; +The wonder of all eyes that look upon her, +Sacred on earth, designed a Saint above. +Chastity and Beauty, which were deadly foes, +Live reconciled friends within her brow; +And had she Pity to conjoin with those, +Then who had heard the plaints I utter now? +O had she not been fair, and thus unkind, +My Muse had slept, and none had known my mind. + + XII +My spotless love hovers, with purest wings, +About the temple of the proudest frame, +Where blaze those lights, fairest of earthly things, +Which clear our clouded world with brightest flame. +My ambitious thoughts, confined in her face, +Affect no honor but what she can give; +My hopes do rest in limits of her grace; +I weigh no comfort, unless she relieve. +For she, that can my heart imparadise, +Holds in her fairest hand what dearest is. +My Fortune's Wheel's the Circle of her Eyes, +Whose rolling grace deign once a turn of bliss! +All my life's sweet consists in her alone; +So much I love the most unloving one. + + XXX +And yet I cannot reprehend the flight +Or blame the attempt, presuming so to soar; +The mounting venture, for a high delight, +Did make the honor of the fall the more. +For who gets wealth, that puts not from the shore? +Danger hath honor; great designs, their fame; +Glory doth follow, courage goes before; +And though the event oft answers not the same, +Suffice that high attempts have never shame. +The Mean-observer (whom base safety keeps) +Lives without honor, dies without a name, +And in eternal darkness ever sleeps. +And therefore, Delia! 'tis to me no blot +To have attempted, though attained thee not. + + XXXVI +When men shall find thy flower, thy glory pass, +And thou, with careful brow, sitting alone, +Received hast this message from thy glass, +That tells the truth, and says that All is gone; +Fresh shalt thou see in me the wounds thou madest, +Though spent thy flame, in me the heat remaining: +I that have loved thee thus before thou fadest, +My faith shall wax, when thou art in thy waning! +The world shall find this miracle in me, +That fire can burn when all the matter's spent: +Then what my faith hath been, thyself shalt see, +And that thou wast unkind, thou may'st repent! +Thou may'st repent that thou hast scorned my tears, +When Winter snows upon thy golden hairs. + + XXXIX +Look, Delia, how we esteem the half-blown rose +The image of thy blush, and Summer's honor! +Whilst yet her tender bud doth undisclose +That full of beauty Time bestows upon her. +No sooner spreads her glory in the air +But straight her wide-blown pomp comes to decline; +She then is scorned that late adorned the fair; +So fade the roses of those cheeks of thine. +No April can revive thy withered flowers +Whose springing grace adorns thy glory now; +Swift, speedy Time, feathered with flying hours, +Dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow. +Then do not thou such treasure waste in vain, +But love now, whilst thou may'st be loved again. + + XLV +Beauty, sweet Love, is like the morning dew, +Whose short refresh upon the tender green +Cheers for a time, but till the sun doth show: +And straight 'tis gone, as it had never been. +Soon doth it fade, that makes the fairest flourish; +Short is the glory of the blushing rose: +The hue which thou so carefully dost nourish, +Yet which, at length, thou must be forced to lose. +When thou, surcharged with burthen of thy years, +Shalt bend thy wrinkles homeward to the earth; +When Time hath made a passport for thy fears, +Dated in Age, the Calends of our Death: +But ah, no more! This hath been often told; +And women grieve to think they must be old. + + XLVI +I must not grieve my Love, whose eyes would read +Lines of delight, whereon her youth might smile! +Flowers have a time, before they come to seed; +And she is young, and now must sport the while. +And sport, Sweet Maid, in season of these years, +And learn to gather flowers before they wither! +And where the sweetest blossom first appears, +Let Love and Youth conduct thy pleasures thither! +Lighten forth smiles to clear the clouded air, +And calm the tempest which my sighs do raise! +Pity and smiles do best become the fair; +Pity and smiles shall yield thee lasting praise. +I hope to say, when all my griefs are gone, +"Happy the heart that sighed for such a one!" + + L +Let others sing of Knights and Paladines +In aged accents and untimely words, +Paint shadows in imaginary lines, +Which well the reach of their high wit records: +But I must sing of Thee, and those fair eyes! +Authentic shall my verse in time to come, +When the yet unborn shall say, Lo, where she lies! +Whose beauty made him speak, that else was dumb! +These are the arks, the trophies I erect, +That fortify thy name against old age; +And these thy sacred virtues must protect +Against the Dark, and Time's consuming rage. +Though the error of my youth in them appear, +Suffice, they showed I lived, and loved thee dear. + + LI +Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, +Brother to Death, in silent darkness born: +Relieve my languish, and restore the light; +With dark forgetting of my care, return! +And let the day be time enough to mourn +The shipwreck of my ill-adventured youth: +Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn, +Without the torment of the night's untruth. +Cease, dreams, the images of day-desires, +To model forth the passions of the morrow; +Never let rising sun approve you liars, +To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow. +Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain; +And never wake to feel the day's disdain. + +Samuel Daniel [1562-1619] + + +SONNETS +From "Idea" +To The Reader Of These Sonnets + +Into these Loves, who but for Passion looks, +At this first sight, here let him lay them by, +And seek elsewhere in turning other books, +Which better may his labor satisfy. +No far-fetched sigh shall ever wound my breast; +Love from mine eye a tear shall never wring; +Nor in "Ah me's!" my whining sonnets dressed! +A libertine, fantasticly I sing! +My verse is the true image of my mind, +Ever in motion, still desiring change; +And as thus, to variety inclined, +So in all humors sportively I range! +My Muse is rightly of the English strain, +That cannot long one fashion entertain. + + IV +Bright Star of Beauty! on whose eyelids sit +A thousand nymph-like and enamored Graces, +The Goddesses of Memory and Wit, +Which there in order take their several places; +In whose dear bosom, sweet delicious Love +Lays down his quiver, which he once did bear, +Since he that blessed paradise did prove; +And leaves his mother's lap, to sport him there. +Let others strive to entertain with words! +My soul is of a braver mettle made: +I hold that vile, which vulgar wit affords, +In me's that faith which Time cannot invade! +Let what I praise be still made good by you! +Be you most worthy, whilst I am most true! + + XX +An evil Spirit (your Beauty) haunts me still, +Wherewith, alas, I have been long possessed; +Which ceaseth not to attempt me to each ill, +Nor give me once, but one poor minute's rest. +In me it speaks, whether I sleep or wake; +And when by means to drive it out I try, +With greater torments then it me doth take, +And tortures me in most extremity. +Before my face, it lays down my despairs, +And hastes me on unto a sudden death; +Now tempting me, to drown myself in tears, +And then in sighing to give up my breath. +Thus am I still provoked to every evil, +By this good-wicked Spirit, sweet Angel-Devil. + + XXXVII +Dear! why should you command me to my rest, +When now the night doth summon all to sleep? +Methinks this time becometh lovers best! +Night was ordained together friends to keep. +How happy are all other living things, +Which, through the day, disjoined by several flight, +The quiet evening yet together brings, +And each returns unto his Love at night! +O thou that art so courteous else to all, +Why shouldst thou, Night, abuse me only thus! +That every creature to his kind doth call, +And yet 'tis thou dost only sever us? +Well could I wish it would be ever day, +If, when night comes, you bid me go away! + + XL +My heart the Anvil where my thoughts do beat; +My words the Hammers fashioning my Desire; +My breast the Forge including all the heat, +Love is the Fuel which maintains the fire. +My sighs the Bellows which the flame increaseth, +Filling mine ears with noise and nightly groaning. +Toiling with pain, my labor never ceaseth; +In grievous Passions, my woes still bemoaning. +My eyes with tears against the fire striving, +Whose scorching glede my heart to cinders turneth: +But with those drops, the flame again reviving +Still more and more it to my torment burneth. +With Sisyphus thus do I roll the stone, +And turn the wheel with damned Ixion. + + XLII +How many paltry, foolish, painted things, +That now in coaches trouble every street, +Shall be forgotten, whom no poet sings, +Ere they be well wrapped in their winding-sheet? +Where I to thee eternity shall give, +When nothing else remaineth of these days, +And queens hereafter shall be glad to live +Upon the alms of thy superfluous praise; +Virgins and matrons reading these my rhymes, +Shall be so much delighted with thy story, +That they shall grieve they lived not in these times, +To have seen thee, their sex's only glory: +So shalt thou fly above the vulgar throng, +Still to survive in my immortal song. + + LXI +Since there's no help, come, let us kiss and part! +Nay, I have done. You get no more of me! +And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart, +That thus so cleanly I myself can free. +Shake hands for ever! Cancel all our vows! +And when we meet at any time again, +Be it not seen in either of our brows +That we one jot of former love retain. +Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath, +When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies, +When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death, +And Innocence is closing up his eyes: +Now, if thou wouldst, when all have given him over, +From death to life thou might'st him yet recover! + +Michael Drayton [1563-1631] + + +SONNETS +From "Diana" + + IX +My Lady's presence makes the Roses red, +Because to see her lips they blush for shame. +The Lily's leaves, for envy pale became; +And her white hands in them this envy bred. +The Marigold the leaves abroad doth spread, +Because the sun's and her power is the same. +The Violet of purple color came, +Dyed in the blood she made my heart to shed. +In brief, all flowers from her their virtue take; +From her sweet breath, their sweet smells do proceed; +The living heat which her eyebeams doth make +Warmeth the ground, and quickeneth the seed. +The rain, wherewith she watereth the flowers, +Falls from mine eyes, which she dissolves in showers. + + LXII +To live in hell, and heaven to behold; +To welcome life, and die a living death; +To sweat with heat, and yet be freezing cold; +To grasp at stars, and lie the earth beneath; +To tread a maze that never shall have end; +To burn in sighs, and starve in daily tears; +To climb a hill, and never to descend; +Giants to kill, and quake at childish fears; +To pine for food, and watch the Hesperian tree; +To thirst for drink, and nectar still to draw; +To live accurst, whom men hold blest to be; +And weep those wrongs which never creature saw; +If this be love, if love in these be founded, +My heart is love, for these in it are grounded. + +Henry Constable (?) [1562-1613] + + +SONNETS + + XVIII +Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day? +Thou art more lovely and more temperate: +Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, +And Summer's lease hath all too short a date: +Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, +And often is his gold complexion dimmed; +And every fair from fair sometime declines, +By chance or nature's changing course untrimmed: +But thy eternal Summer shall not fade +Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; +Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade, +When in eternal lines to time thou growest: +So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, +So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. + + XXIII +As an unperfect actor on the stage, +Who with his fear is put besides his part, +Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, +Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart; +So I, for fear of trust, forget to say +The perfect ceremony of love's rite, +And in mine own love's strength seem to decay, +O'ercharged with burden of mine own love's might. +O, let my books be then the eloquence +And dumb presagers of my speaking breast; +Who plead for love, and look for recompense, +More than that tongue that more hath more expressed. +O, learn to read what silent love hath writ: +To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit. + + XXIX +When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, +I all alone beweep my outcast state, +And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, +And look upon myself, and curse my fate, +Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, +Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, +Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, +With what I most enjoy contented least; +Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, +Haply I think on thee: and then my state, +Like to the lark at break of day arising +From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate: +For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings +That then I scorn to change my state with kings. + + XXX +When to the sessions of sweet silent thought +I summon up remembrance of things past, +I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, +And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste: +Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, +For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, +And weep afresh love's long-since cancelled woe, +And moan the expense of many a vanished sight: +Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, +And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er +The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, +Which I new pay as if not paid before: +But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, +All losses are restored, and sorrows end. + + XXXII +If thou survive my well-contented day +When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover, +And shalt by fortune once more re-survey +These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover, +Compare them with the bettering of the time, +And though they be outstripped by every pen, +Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme, +Exceeded by the height of happier men. +O, then vouchsafe me but this loving thought: +"Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age, +A dearer birth than this his love had brought, +To march in ranks of better equipage: +But since he died, and poets better prove, +Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love." + + XXXIII +Full many a glorious morning have I seen +Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, +Kissing with golden lace the meadows green, +Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy. +Anon permit the basest clouds to ride +With ugly rack on his celestial face, +And from the forlorn world his visage hide, +Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace: +Even so my sun one early morn did shine +With all-triumphant splendor on my brow; +But out, alack! he was but one hour mine, +The region cloud hath masked him from me now. +Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth; +Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun staineth. + + LX +Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, +So do our minutes hasten to their end; +Each changing place with that which goes before, +In sequent toil all forwards do contend. +Nativity, once in the main of light, +Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crowned, +Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, +And Time that gave, doth now his gift confound. +Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, +And delves the parallels in beauty's brow; +Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, +And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow: +And yet, to times in hope, my verse shall stand +Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. + + LXXI +No longer mourn for me when I am dead, +Than you shall hear the surly, sullen bell +Give warning to the world that I am fled +From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell: +Nay, if you read this line, remember not +The hand that writ it; for I love you so, +That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, +If thinking on me then should make you woe. +O, if (I say) you look upon this verse, +When I perhaps compounded am with clay, +Do not so much as my poor name rehearse, +But let your love even with my life decay; +Lest the wise world should look into your moan, +And mock you with me after I am gone. + + LXXIII +That time of year thou may'st in me behold +When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang +Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, +Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. +In me thou see'st the twilight of such day +As after sunset fadeth in the west, +Which by and by black night doth take away, +Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. +In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire +That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, +As the death-bed whereon it must expire, +Consumed with that which it was nourished by. +This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong +To love that well which thou must leave ere long. + + CIV +To me, fair friend, you never can be old; +For as you were when first your eye I eyed, +Such seems your beauty still. Three Winters cold +Have from the forests shook three Summers' pride; +Three beauteous Springs to yellow Autumn turned +In process of the seasons have I seen, +Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burned, +Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green. +Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand, +Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived; +So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand, +Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived: +For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred: +Ere you were born was beauty's Summer dead. + + CVI +When in the chronicle of wasted time +I see descriptions of the fairest wights, +And beauty making beautiful old rhyme +In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights; +Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best +Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, +I see their antique pen would have expressed +Even such a beauty as you master now. +So all their praises are but prophecies +Of this our time, all, you prefiguring; +And, for they looked but with divining eyes, +They had not skill enough your worth to sing: +For we, which now behold these present days, +Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. + + CIX +O, never say that I was false of heart +Though absence seemed my flame to qualify: +As easy might I from myself depart +As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie; +That is my home of love; if I have ranged, +Like him that travels, I return again, +Just to the time, not with the time exchanged, +So that myself bring water for my stain. +Never believe, though in my nature reigned +All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, +That it could so preposterously be stained +To leave for nothing all thy sum of good! +For nothing this wide universe I call, +Save thou, my rose: in it thou art my all. + + CXVI +Let me not to the marriage of true minds +Admit impediments. Love is not love +Which alters when it alteration finds, +Or bends with the remover to remove: +O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark +That looks on tempests, and is never shaken; +It is the star to every wandering bark, +Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. +Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks +Within his bending sickle's compass come; +Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, +But bears it out even to the edge of doom: +If this be error, and upon me proved, +I never writ, nor no man ever loved. + + CXXX +My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; +Coral is far more red than her lips' red; +If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; +If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. +I have seen roses damasked, red and white, +But no such roses see I in her cheeks; +And in some perfumes is there more delight +Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. +I love to hear her speak, - yet well I know +That music hath a far more pleasing sound; +I grant I never saw a goddess go, - +My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground: +And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare +As any she belied with false compare. + + CXLVI +Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, +Pressed by these rebel powers that thee array, +Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth, +Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? +Why so large cost, having so short a lease, +Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? +Shall worms, inheritors of this excess, +Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end? +Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, +And let that pine to aggravate thy store; +Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; +Within be fed, without be rich no more: +So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men; +And Death once dead, there's no more dying then. + +William Shakespeare [1564-1616] + + +"ALEXIS, HERE SHE STAYED" + +Alexis, here she stayed; among these pines, +Sweet hermitress, she did alone repair; +Here did she spread the treasure of her hair, +More rich than that brought from the Colchian mines. +She set her by these musked eglantines, +The happy place the print seems yet to bear; +Her voice did sweeten here thy sugared lines, +To which winds, trees, beasts, birds, did lend their ear. +Me here she first perceived, and here a morn +Of bright carnations did o'erspread her face; +Here did she sigh, here first my hopes were born, +And I first got a pledge of promised grace: +But, ah! what served it to be happy so, +Since passed pleasures double but new woe? + +William Drummond [1585-1649] + + +"WERE I AS BASE AS IS THE LOWLY PLAIN" + +Were I as base as is the lowly plain, +And you, my love, as high as heaven above, +Yet should the thoughts of me, your humble swain, +Ascend to heaven in honor of my love. +Were I as high as heaven above the plain, +And you, my love, as humble and as low +As are the deepest bottoms of the main, +Wheresoe'er you were, with you my love should go. +Were you the earth, dear love, and I the skies, +My love should shine on you, like to the sun, +And look upon you with ten thousand eyes, +Till heaven waxed blind and till the world were done. +Wheresoe'er I am, - below, or else above you, - +Wheresoe'er you are, my heart shall truly love you. + +Joshua Sylvester [1563-1618] + + +A SONNET OF THE MOON + +Look how the pale Queen of the silent night +Doth cause the ocean to attend upon her, +And he, as long as she is in his sight, +With his full tide is ready her to honor: +But when the silver wagon of the Moon +Is mounted up so high he cannot follow, +The sea calls home his crystal waves to moan, +And with low ebb doth manifest his sorrow. +So you that are the sovereign of my heart, +Have all my joys attending on your will, +My joys low-ebbing when you do depart, +When you return, their tide my heart doth fill. +So as you come, and as you do depart, +Joys ebb and flow within my tender heart. + +Charles Best [fl. 1602] + + +TO MARY UNWIN + +Mary! I want a lyre with other strings, +Such aid from Heaven as some have feigned they drew, +An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new +And undebased by praise of meaner things; +That, ere through age or woe I shed my wings, +I may record thy worth with honor due, +In verse as musical as thou art true, +And that immortalizes whom it sings: +But thou hast little need. There is a Book +By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light, +On which the eyes of God not rarely look, +A chronicle of actions just and bright: +There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine; +And, since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine. + +William Cowper [1731-1800] + + +"WHY ART THOU SILENT" + +Why art thou silent? Is thy love a plant +Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air +Of absence withers what was once so fair? +Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant? +Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant, +Bound to thy service with unceasing care - +The mind's least generous wish a mendicant +For naught but what thy happiness could spare. +Speak! - though this soft warm heart, once free to hold +A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine, +Be left more desolate, more dreary cold +Than a forsaken bird's-nest filled with snow +'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine - +Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may know! + +William Wordsworth [1770-1850] + + +SONNETS +From "The House of Life" + + IV +LOVESIGHT +When do I see thee most, beloved one? +When in the light the spirits of mine eyes +Before thy face, their altar, solemnize +The worship of that Love through thee made known? +Or when in the dusk hours, (we two alone,) +Close-kissed and eloquent of still replies +Thy twilight-hidden glimmering visage lies, +And my soul only sees thy soul its own? +O love, my love! if I no more should see +Thyself, nor on the earth the shadow of thee, +Nor image of thine eyes in any spring, - +How then should sound upon Life's darkening slope +The ground-whirl of the perished leaves of Hope, +The wind of Death's imperishable wing? + + V +HEART'S HOPE +By what word's power, the key of paths untrod, +Shall I the difficult deeps of Love explore, +Till parted waves of Song yield up the shore +Even as that sea which Israel crossed dryshod? +For lo! in some poor rhythmic period, +Lady, I fain would tell how evermore +Thy soul I know not from thy body, nor +Thee from myself, neither our love from God. +Yea, in God's name, and Love's, and thine, would I +Draw from one loving heart such evidence +As to all hearts all things shall signify; +Tender as dawn's first lull-fire, and intense +As instantaneous penetrating sense, +In Spring's birth-hour, of other Springs gone by. + + XV +THE BIRTH-BOND +Have you not noted, in some family +Where two were born of a first marriage-bed, +How still they own their gracious bond, though fed +And nursed on the forgotten breast and knee? - +How to their father's children they shall be +In act and thought of one goodwill; but each +Shall for the other have, in silence speech, +And in a word complete community? +Even so, when first I saw you, seemed it, love, +That among souls allied to mine was yet +One nearer kindred than life hinted of. +O born with me somewhere that men forget, +And though in years of sight and sound unmet, +Known for my soul's birth-partner well enough! + + XIX +SILENT NOON +Your hands lie open in the long fresh grass, - +The finger-points look through like rosy blooms: +Your eyes smile peace. The pasture gleams and glooms +'Neath billowing skies that scatter and amass. +All round our nest, far as the eye can pass, +Are golden kingcup-fields with silver edge +Where the cow-parsley skirts the hawthorn-hedge. +'Tis visible silence, still as the hour-glass. +Deep in the sun-searched growths the dragon-fly +Hangs like a blue thread loosened from the sky: - +So this winged hour is dropped to us from above. +Oh! clasp we to our hearts, for deathless dower, +This close-companioned inarticulate hour +When twofold silence was the song of love. + + XXVI +MID-RAPTURE +Thou lovely and beloved, thou my love; +Whose kiss seems still the first; whose summoning eyes, +Even now, as for our love-world's new sunrise, +Shed very dawn; whose voice, attuned above +All modulation of the deep-bowered dove, +Is like a hand laid softly on the soul; +Whose hand is like a sweet voice to control +Those worn tired brows it hath the keeping of: - +What word can answer to thy word, - what gaze +To thine, which now absorbs within its sphere +My worshipping face, till I am mirrored there +Light-circled in a heaven of deep-drawn rays? +What clasp, what kiss mine inmost heart can prove, +O lovely and beloved, O my love? + + XXXI +HER GIFTS +High grace, the dower of queens; and therewithal +Some wood-born wonder's sweet simplicity; +A glance like water brimming with the sky +Or hyacinth-light where forest-shadows fall; +Such thrilling pallor of cheek as doth enthrall +The heart; a mouth whose passionate forms imply +All music and all silence held thereby; +Deep golden locks, her sovereign coronal; +A round reared neck, meet column of Love's shrine +To cling to when the heart takes sanctuary; +Hands which for ever at Love's bidding be, +And soft-stirred feet still answering to his sign: - +These are her gifts, as tongue may tell them o'er. +Breathe low her name, my soul; for that means more. + + XXXIV +THE DARK GLASS +Not I myself know all my love for thee: +How should I reach so far, who cannot weigh +To-morrow's dower by gage of yesterday? +Shall birth and death, and all dark names that be +As doors and windows bared to some loud sea, +Lash deaf mine ears and blind my face with spray; +And shall my sense pierce love, - the last relay +And ultimate outpost of eternity? +Lo! what am I to Love, the lord of all? +One murmuring shell he gathers from the sand, - +One little heart-flame sheltered in his hand. +Yet through thine eyes he grants me clearest call +And veriest touch of powers primordial +That any hour-girt life may understand. + + XLIX +WILLOWWOOD +I sat with Love upon a woodside well, +Leaning across the water, I and he; +Nor ever did he speak nor looked at me, +But touched his lute wherein was audible +The certain secret thing he had to tell: +Only our mirrored eyes met silently +In the low wave; and that sound came to be +The passionate voice I knew; and my tears fell. +And at their fall, his eyes beneath grew hers; +And with his foot and with his wing-feathers +He swept the spring that watered my heart's drouth. +Then the dark ripples spread to waving hair, +And as I stooped, her own lips rising there +Bubbled with brimming kisses at my mouth. + + LXXVIII +BODY'S BEAUTY +Or Adam's first wife, Lilith, it is told +(The witch he loved before the gift of Eve,) +That, ere the snake's, her sweet tongue could deceive, +And her enchanted hair was the first gold. +And still she sits, young while the earth is old, +And, subtly of herself contemplative, +Draws men to watch the bright web she can weave, +Till heart and body and life are in its hold. +The rose and poppy are her flowers: for where +Is he not found, O Lilith! whom shed scent +And soft-shed kisses and soft sleep shall snare? +Lo! as that youth's eyes burned at thine, so went +Thy spell through him, and left his straight neck bent, +And round his heart one strangling golden hair. + +Dante Gabriel Rossetti [1828-1882] + + +SONNETS + +MEETING +They made the chamber sweet with flowers and leaves, +And the bed sweet with flowers on which I lay; +While my soul, love-bound, loitered on its way. +I did not hear the birds about the eaves, +Nor hear the reapers talk among the sheaves: +Only my soul kept watch from day to day, +My thirsty soul kept watch for one away: - +Perhaps he loves, I thought, remembers, grieves. +At length there came the step upon the stair, +Upon the lock the old familiar hand: +Then first my spirit seemed to scent the air +Of Paradise; then first the tardy sand +Of time ran golden; and I felt my hair +Put on a glory, and my soul expand. + +THE FIRST DAY +I wish I could remember the first day, +First hour, first moment of your meeting me, +If bright or dim the season, it might be +Summer or Winter for aught I can say; +So unrecorded did it slip away, +So blind was I to see and to foresee, +So dull to mark the budding of my tree +That would not blossom yet for many a May. +If only I could recollect it, such +A day of days! I let it come and go +As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow; +It seemed to mean so little, meant so much; +If only now I could recall that touch, +First touch of hand in hand - Did one but know! + +REMEMBER +Remember me when I am gone away, +Gone far away into the silent land; +When you can no more hold me by the hand, +Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay. +Remember me when no more, day by day, +You tell me of our future that you planned: +Only remember me; you understand +It will be late to counsel then or pray. +Yet if you should forget me for a while +And afterwards remember, do not grieve: +For if the darkness and corruption leave +A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, +Better by far you should forget and smile +Than that you should remember and be sad. + +REST +O earth, lie heavily upon her eyes; +Seal her sweet eyes weary of watching, Earth; +Lie close around her; leave no room for mirth +With its harsh laughter, nor for sound of sighs. +She hath no questions, she hath no replies, +Hushed in and curtained with a blessed dearth +Of all that irked her from the hour of birth; +With stillness that is almost Paradise. +Darkness more clear than noonday holdeth her, +Silence more musical than any song; +Even her very heart has ceased to stir: +Until the morning of Eternity +Her rest shall not begin nor end, but be; +And when she wakes she will not think it long. + +Christina Georgina Rossetti [1830-1894] + + +HOW MY SONGS OF HER BEGAN + +God made my lady lovely to behold; - +Above the painter's dream he set her face, +And wrought her body in divinest grace; +He touched the brown hair with a sense of gold, +And in the perfect form He did enfold +What was alone as perfect, the sweet heart; +Knowledge most rare to her He did impart, +And filled with love and worship all her days. +And then God thought Him how it would be well +To give her music, and to Love He said, +"Bring thou some minstrel now that he may tell +How fair and sweet a thing My hands have made." +Then at Love's call I came, bowed down my head, +And at His will my lyre grew audible. + +Philip Bourke Marston [1850-1887] + + +AT THE LAST + +Because the shadows deepened verily, - +Because the end of all seemed near, forsooth, - +Her gracious spirit, ever quick to ruth, +Had pity on her bond-slave, even on me. +She came in with the twilight noiselessly, +Fair as a rose, immaculate as Truth; +She leaned above my wrecked and wasted youth; +I felt her presence, which I could not see. +"God keep you, my poor friend," I heard her say; +And then she kissed my dry, hot lips and eyes. +Kiss thou the next kiss, quiet Death, I pray; +Be instant on this hour, and so surprise +My spirit while the vision seems to stay; +Take thou the heart with the heart's Paradise. + +Philip Bourke Marston [1850-1887] + + +TO ONE WHO WOULD MAKE A CONFESSION + +On! leave the past to bury its own dead. +The past is naught to us, the present all. +What need of last year's leaves to strew Love's bed? +What need of ghosts to grace a festival? +I would not, if I could, those days recall, +Those days not ours. For us the feast is spread, +The lamps are lit, and music plays withal. +Then let us love and leave the rest unsaid. +This island is our home. Around it roar +Great gulfs and oceans, channels, straits and seas. +What matter in what wreck we reached the shore, +So we both reached it? We can mock at these. +Oh leave the past, if past indeed there be; +I would not know it; I would know but thee. + +Wilfrid Scawen Blunt [1840-1922] + + +THE PLEASURES OF LOVE + +I do not care for kisses. 'Tis a debt +We paid for the first privilege of love. +These are the rains of April which have wet +Our fallow hearts and forced their germs to move. +Now the green corn has sprouted. Each new day +Brings better pleasures, a more dear surprise, +The blade, the ear, the harvest - and our way +Leads through a region wealthy grown and wise. +We now compare our fortunes. Each his store +Displays to kindred eyes of garnered grain, +Two happy farmers, learned in love's lore, +Who weigh and touch and argue and complain - +Dear endless argument! Yet sometimes we +Even as we argue kiss. There! Let it be. + +Wilfrid Scawen Blunt [1840-1922] + + +"WERE BUT MY SPIRIT LOOSED UPON THE AIR" + +Were but my spirit loosed upon the air, - +By some High Power who could Life's chains unbind, +Set free to seek what most it longs to find, - +To no proud Court of Kings would I repair: +I would but climb, once more, a narrow stair, +When day was wearing late, and dusk was kind; +And one should greet me to my failings blind, +Content so I but shared his twilight there. +Nay! well I know he waits not as of old, - +I could not find him in the old-time place, - +I must pursue him, made by sorrow bold, +Through worlds unknown, in strange celestial race, +Whose mystic round no traveller has told, +From star to star, until I see his face. + +Louise Chandler Moulton [1835-1908] + + +RENOUNCEMENT + +I must not think of thee; and, tired yet strong, +I shun the thought that lurks in all delight - +The thought of thee - and in the blue heaven's height, +And in the dearest passage of a song. +Oh, just beyond the fairest thoughts that throng +This breast the thought of thee waits, hidden yet bright +But it must never, never come in sight; +I must stop short of thee the whole day long. +But when sleep comes to close each difficult day, +When night gives pause to the long watch I keep, +And all my bonds I needs must loose apart, +Must doff my will as raiment laid away, - +With the first dream that comes with the first sleep +I run, I run, I am gathered to thy heart. + +Alice Meynell [1850-1922] + + +"MY LOVE FOR THEE" + +My love for thee doth march like armed men, +Against a queenly city they would take. +Along the army's front its banners shake; +Across the mountain and the sun-smit plain +It steadfast sweeps as sweeps the steadfast rain; +And now the trumpet makes the still air quake, +And now the thundering cannon doth awake +Echo on echo, echoing loud again. +But, lo! the conquest higher than bard e'er sung: +Instead of answering cannon, proud surrender! +Joyful the iron gates are open flung +And, for the conqueror, welcome gay and tender! +O, bright the invader's path with tribute flowers, +While comrade flags flame forth on wall and towers! + +Richard Watson Gilder [1844-1909] + + +SONNETS + +AFTER THE ITALIAN + +I know not if I love her overmuch; +But this I know, that when unto her face +She lifts her hand, which rests there, still, a space, +Then slowly falls - 'tis I who feel that touch. +And when she sudden shakes her head, with such +A look, I soon her secret meaning trace. +So when she runs I think 'tis I who race. +Like a poor cripple who has lost his crutch +I am if she is gone; and when she goes, +I know not why, for that is a strange art - +As if myself should from myself depart. +I know not if I love her more than those +Who long her light have known; but for the rose +She covers in her hair, I'd give my heart. + +I like her gentle hand that sometimes strays, +To find the place, through the same book with mine; +I like her feet; and O, those eyes divine! +And when we say farewell, perhaps she stays +Love-lingering - then hurries on her ways, +As if she thought, "To end my pain and thine." +I like her voice better than new-made wine; +I like the mandolin whereon she plays. +And I like, too, the cloak I saw her wear, +And the red scarf that her white neck doth cover, +And well I like the door that she comes through; +I like the ribbon that doth bind her hair - +But then, in truth, I am that lady's lover, +And every new day there is something new. + +Richard Watson Gilder [1844-1909] + + +STANZAS +From "Modern Love" + + I +By this he knew she wept with waking eyes: +That, at his hand's light quiver by her head, +The strange low sobs that shook their common bed +Were called into her with a sharp surprise, +And strangled mute, like little gaping snakes, +Dreadfully venomous to him. She lay +Stone-still, and the long darkness flowed away +With muffled pulses. Then as midnight makes +Her giant heart of Memory and Tears +Drink the pale drug of silence, and so beat +Sleep's heavy measure, they from head to feet +Were moveless, looking through their dead black years, +By vain regret scrawled over the blank wall. +Like sculptured effigies they might be seen +Upon their marriage-tomb, the sword between; +Each wishing for the sword that severs all. + + II +It ended, and the morrow brought the task. +Her eyes were guilty gates, that let him in +By shutting all too zealous for their sin: +Each sucked a secret, and each wore a mask. +But, oh, the bitter taste her beauty had! +He sickened as at breath of poison-flowers: +A languid humor stole among the hours, +And if their smiles encountered, he went mad, +And raged deep inward, till the light was brown +Before his vision, and the world forgot, +Looked wicked as some old dull murder-spot. +A star with lurid beams, she seemed to crown +The pit of infamy: and then again +He fainted on his vengefulness, and strove +To ape the magnanimity of love, +And smote himself, a shuddering heap of pain. + + III +This was the woman; what now of the man? +But pass him. If he comes beneath a heel, +He shall be crushed until he cannot feel, +Or, being callous, haply till he can. +But he is nothing: - nothing? Only mark +The rich light striking out from her on him! +Ha! what a sense it is when her eyes swim +Across the man she singles, leaving dark +All else! Lord God, who mad'st the thing so fair, +See that I am drawn to her, even now! +It cannot be such harm on her cool brow +To plant a kiss? Yet if I meet him there! +But she is mine! Ah, no! I know too well +I claim a star whose light is overcast: +I claim a phantom-woman in the Past. +The hour has struck, though I heard not the bell! + + XIV +What soul would bargain for a cure that brings +Contempt the nobler agony to kill? +Rather let me bear on the bitter ill, +And strike this rusty bosom with new stings! +It seems there is another veering fit, +Since on a gold-haired lady's eyeballs pure, +I looked with little prospect of a cure, +The while her mouth's red bow loosed shafts of wit. +Just heaven! can it be true that jealousy +Has decked the woman thus? and does her head +Swim somewhat for possessions forfeited? +Madam, you teach me many things that be. +I open an old book, and there I find, +That "Women still may love whom they deceive." +Such love I prize not, madam: by your leave, +The game you play at is not to my mind. + + XVI +In our old shipwrecked days there was an hour +When in the firelight steadily aglow, +Joined slackly, we beheld the red chasm grow +Among the clicking coals. Our library-bower +That eve was left to us: and hushed we sat +As lovers to whom Time is whispering. +From sudden-opened doors we heard them sing: +The nodding elders mixed good wine with chat. +Well knew we that Life's greatest treasure lay +With us, and of it was our talk. "Ah, yes! +Love dies!" I said: I never thought it less. +She yearned to me that sentence to unsay. +Then when the fire domed blackening, I found +Her cheek was salt against my kiss, and swift +Up the sharp scale of sobs her breast did lift: - +Now am I haunted by that taste! that sound! + + XXVI +Love ere he bleeds, an eagle in high skies, +Has earth beneath his wings: from reddened eve +He views the rosy dawn. In vain they weave +The fatal web below while far he flies. +But when the arrow strikes him, there's a change. +He moves but in the track of his spent pain, +Whose red drops are the links of a harsh chain, +Binding him to the ground, with narrow range. +A subtle serpent then has Love become. +I had the eagle in my bosom erst: +Henceforward with the serpent I am cursed. +I can interpret where the mouth is dumb. +Speak, and I see the side-lie of a truth. +Perchance my heart may pardon you this deed: +But be no coward: - you that made Love bleed, +You must bear all the venom of his tooth! + + XLI +How many a thing which we cast to the ground, +When others pick it up becomes a gem! +We grasp at all the wealth it is to them; +And by reflected light its worth is found. +Yet for us still 'tis nothing! and that zeal +Of false appreciation quickly fades. +This truth is little known to human shades, +How rare from their own instinct 'tis to feel! +They waste the soul with spurious desire, +That is not the ripe flame upon the bough. +We two have taken up a lifeless vow +To rob a living passion: dust for fire! +Madam is grave, and eyes the clock that tells +Approaching midnight. We have struck despair +Into two hearts. O, look we like a pair +Who for fresh nuptials joyfully yield all else? + + XLIII +Mark where the pressing wind shoots javelin-like, +Its skeleton shadow on the broad-backed wave! +Here is a fitting spot to dig Love's grave; +Here where the ponderous breakers plunge and strike, +And dart their hissing tongues high up the sand: +In hearing of the ocean, and in sight +Of those ribbed wind-streaks running into white. +If I the death of Love had deeply planned, +I never could have made it half so sure, +As by the unblest kisses which upbraid +The full-waked sense; or failing that, degrade? +'Tis morning: but no morning can restore +What we have forfeited. I see no sin: +The wrong is mixed. In tragic life, God wot, +No villain need be! Passions spin the plot: +We are betrayed by what is false within. + + XLIX +He found her by the ocean's moaning verge, +Nor any wicked change in her discerned; +And she believed his old love had returned, +Which was her exultation, and her scourge. +She took his hand, and walked with him, and seemed +The wife he sought, though shadow-like and dry. +She had one terror, lest her heart should sigh, +And tell her loudly she no longer dreamed. +She dared not say, "This is my breast: look in." +But there's a strength to help the desperate weak. +That night he learned how silence best can speak +The awful things when Pity pleads for Sin. +About the middle of the night her call +Was heard, and he came wondering to the bed. +"Now kiss me, dear! it may be, now!" she said, +Lethe had passed those lips, and he knew all. + + L +Thus piteously Love closed what he begat: +The union of this ever-diverse pair! +These two were rapid falcons in a snare, +Condemned to do the flitting of the bat. +Lovers beneath the singing sky of May, +They wandered once; clear as the dew on flowers: +But they fed not on the advancing hours: +Their hearts held cravings for the buried day. +Then each applied to each that fatal knife, +Deep questioning, which probes to endless dole. +Ah, what a dusty answer gets the soul +When hot for certainties in this our life! - +In tragic hints here see what evermore +Moves dark as yonder midnight ocean's force, +Thundering like ramping hosts of warrior horse, +To throw that faint thin line upon the shore! + +George Meredith [1828-1909] + + +LOVE IN THE WINDS + +When I am standing on a mountain crest, +Or hold the tiller in the dashing spray, +My love of you leaps foaming in my breast, +Shouts with the winds and sweeps to their foray; +My heart bounds with the horses of the sea, +And plunges in the wild ride of the night, +Flaunts in the teeth of tempest the large glee +That rides out Fate and welcomes gods to fight. +Ho, love, I laugh aloud for love of you, +Glad that our love is fellow to rough weather, - +No fretful orchid hothoused from the dew, +But hale and hardy as the highland heather, +Rejoicing in the wind that stings and thrills, +Comrade of ocean, playmate of the hills. + +Richard Hovey [1864-1900] + + +"OH! DEATH WILL FIND ME" + +Oh! Death will find me, long before I tire +Of watching you; and swing me suddenly +Into the shade and loneliness and mire +Of the last land! There, waiting patiently, +One day, I think, I'll feel a cool wind blowing, +See a slow light across the Stygian tide, +And hear the Dead about me stir, unknowing, +And tremble. And I shall know that you have died. +And watch you, a broad-browed and smiling dream, +Pass, light as ever, through the lightless host, +Quietly ponder, start, and sway, and gleam - +Most individual and bewildering ghost! - +And turn, and toss your brown delightful head +Amusedly, among the ancient Dead. + +Rupert Brooke [1887-1915] + + +THE BUSY HEART + +Now that we've done our best and worst, and parted, +I would fill my mind with thoughts that will not rend. +(O heart, I do not dare go empty-hearted) +I'll think of Love in books, Love without end; +Women with child, content; and old men sleeping; +And wet strong ploughlands, scarred for certain grain; +And babes that weep, and so forget their weeping; +And the young heavens, forgetful after rain; +And evening hush, broken by homing wings; +And Song's nobility and Wisdom holy, +That live, we dead. I would think of a thousand things, +Lovely and durable, and taste them slowly, +One after one, like tasting a sweet food. +I have need to busy my heart with quietude. + +Rupert Brooke [1887-1915] + + +THE HILL + +Breathless, we flung us on the windy hill, +Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass. +You said, "Through glory and ecstasy we pass; +Wind, sun, and earth remain, the birds sing still, +When we are old, are old. . . ." "And when we die +All's over that is ours; and life burns on +Through other lovers, other lips," said I, +- "Heart of my heart, our heaven is now, is won!" +"We are Earth's best, that learnt her lesson here. +Life is our cry. We have kept the faith!" we said; +"We shall go down with unreluctant tread +Rose-crowned into the darkness!" . . . Proud we were, +And laughed, that had such brave true things to say. +- And then you suddenly cried, and turned away. + +Rupert Brooke [1887-1915] + + +SONNETS +From "Sonnets to Miranda" + +Daughter of her whose face, and lofty name +Prenuptial, of old States and Cities speak, +Where lands of wine look north to peak on peak +Of the overwatching Alps: through her, you claim +Kinship with vanished Power, unvanished Fame; +And midst a world grown colorless and bleak +I see the blood of Doges in your cheek, +And in your hair the Titian tints of flame. +Daughter of England too, you first drew breath +Where our coy Springs to our coy Summers yield; +And you descend from one whose lance and shield +Were with the grandsire of Elizabeth, +When the Plantagenet saw the avenger Death +Toward him spurring over Bosworth field. + + II +If you had lived in that more stately time +When men remembered the great Tudor queen, +To noblest verse your name had wedded been, +And you for ever crowned with golden rhyme. +If, mid Lorenzo's Florence, made sublime +By Art's Re-Birth, you had moved, a Muse serene, +The mightiest limners had revealed your mien +To all the ages and each wondering clime. +Fled are the singers that from language drew +Its virgin secrets; and in narrow space +The mightiest limners sleep: and only He, +The Eternal Artist, still creates anew +That which is fairer than all song - the grace +That takes the world into captivity. + + III +I dare but sing of you in such a strain +As may beseem the wandering harper's tongue, +Who of the glory of his Queen hath sung, +Outside her castle gates in wind and rain. +She, seated mid the noblest of her train, +In her great halls with pictured arras hung, +Hardly can know what melody hath rung +Through the forgetting night, and rung in vain. +He, with one word from her to whom he brings +The loyal heart that she alone can sway, +Would be made rich for ever; but he sings +Of queenhood too aloof, too great, to say +"Sing on, sing on, O minstrel" - though he flings +His soul to the winds that whirl his songs away. + + V +I cast these lyric offerings at your feet, +And ask you but to fling them not away: +There suffer them to rest, till even they, +By happy nearness to yourself, grow sweet. +He that hath shaped and wrought them holds it meet +That you be sung, not in some artless way, +But with such pomp and ritual as when May +Sends her full choir, the throned Morn to greet. +With something caught from your own lofty air, +With something learned from your own highborn grace, +Song must approach your presence; must forbear +All light and easy accost; and yet abase +Its own proud spirit in awe and reverence there, +Before the Wonder of your form and face. + + VI +I move amid your throng, I watch you hold +Converse with many who are noble and fair, +Yourself the noblest and the fairest there, +Reigning supreme, crowned with that living gold. +I talk with men whose names have been enrolled +In England's book of honor; and I share +With these one honor - your regard; and wear +Your friendship as a jewel of worth untold. +And then I go from out your sphered light +Into a world which still seems full of You. +I know the stars are yonder, that possess +Their ancient seats, heedless what mortals do; +But I behold in all the range of Night +Only the splendor of your loveliness. + + VIII +If I had never known your face at all, +Had only heard you speak, beyond thick screen +Of leaves, in an old garden, when the sheen +Of morning dwelt on dial and ivied wall, +I think your voice had been enough to call +Yourself before me, in living vision seen, +So pregnant with your Essence had it been. +So charged with You, in each soft rise and fall. +At least I know, that when upon the night +With chanted word your voice lets loose your soul, +I am pierced, I am pierced and cloven, with Delight +That hath all Pain within it, and the whole +World's tears, all ecstasy of inward sight, +And the blind cry of all the seas that roll. + +William Watson [1858-1935] + + +SONNETS +From "Thysia" + + II +Twin songs there are, of joyance, or of pain; +One of the morning lark in midmost sky, +When falls to earth a mist, a silver rain, +A glittering cascade of melody; +And mead and wold and the wide heaven rejoice, +And praise the Maker; but alone I kneel +In sorrowing prayer. Then wanes the day; a voice +Trembles along the dusk, till peal on peal +It pierces every living heart that hears, +Pierces and burns and purifies like fire; +Again I kneel under the starry spheres, +And all my soul seems healed, and lifted higher, +Nor could that jubilant song of day prevail +Like thine of tender grief, O nightingale. + + III +Bow down, my song, before her presence high, +In that far world where you must seek her now; +Say that you bring to her no sonnetry, +But plain-set anguish of the breast or brow; +Say that on earth I sang to her alone, +But now, while in her heaven she sits divine, +Turning, I tell the world my bitter moan, +Bidding it share its hopes and griefs with mine, +Versing not what I would, but what I must, +Wail of the wind, or sobbing of the wave; +Ah! say you raised my bowed head from the dust, +And held me backward from a willful grave; +Say this, and her sweet pity will approve, +And bind yet closer her dead bond of love. + + VII +I watch beside you in your silent room; +Without, the chill rain falls, life dies away, +The dead leaves drip, and the fast-gathering gloom +Closes around this brief November day, +First day of holy death, of sacred rest; +I kiss your brow, calm, beautiful and cold, +I lay my yearning arms across your breast, +I claim our darling rapture as of old; +Dear heart, I linger but a little space, +Sweet wife, I come to your new world ere long; +This lily - keep it till our next embrace, +While the mute Angel makes our love more strong, +While here I cling, in life's short agony, +To God, and to your deathless memory. + + XVI +Comes the New Year; wailing the north winds blow; +In her cold, lonely grave my dead love lies; +Dead lies the stiffened earth beneath the snow, +And blinding sleet blots out the desolate skies; +I stand between the living and the dead; +Hateful to me is life, hateful is death; +Her life was sad, and on that narrow bed +She will not turn, nor wake with human breath. +I kneel between the evil and the good; +The struggle o'er, this one sweet faith have I - +Though life and death be dimly understood, +She loved me; I loved her; love cannot die; +Go then thy way with thine accustomed cheer, +Nor heed my churlish greeting, O New Year. + + XXIII +Like some lone miser, dear, behold me stand, +To count my treasures, and their worth extol: - +A last word penciled by that poor left hand; +Two kindred names on the same gentle scroll, +(I found it near your pillow,) traced below; +This little scarf you made, our latest pride; +The violet I digged so long ago, +That nestled in your bosom till you died; +But dearest to my heart, whereon it lies, +Is one warm tress of your luxuriant hair, +Still present to my touch, my lips, my eyes, +Forever changeless, and forever fair, +And even in your grave, beauteous and free +From the cold grasp of mutability. + + XXXVI +So sang I in the springtime of my years - +"There's nothing we can call our own but love;" +So let me murmur now that winter nears, +And even in death the deathless truth approve. +Oft have I seen the slow, the broadening river +Roll its glad waters to the parent sea; +Death is the call of love to love; the giver +Claims his own gift for some new mystery. +In boundless love divine the heavens are spread, +In wedded love is earth's divinest store, +And he that liveth to himself is dead, +And he that lives for love lives evermore; +Only in love can life's true path be trod; +Love is self-giving; therefore love is God. + + XXXVII +Hear, O Self-Giver, infinite as good; +This faith, at least, my wavering heart should hold, +Nor find in dark regret its daily food, +But catch the gleam of glories yet untold. +Yea, even on earth, beloved, as love well knew, +Brief absence brought our fond returning kiss, +So let my soul to God's great world and you +Look onward with sweet pain of secret bliss; - +O sunset sky and lonely gleaming star, +Your beauty thrills me from the bound of space, +O Love, thy loveliness shows best afar, +And only Heaven shall give thee perfect grace; +Grant then, dear Lord, that all who love may be +Heirs of Thy glorious Immortality. + + XLV +How shall I tell the measure of my love? +'Tis vain that I have given thee vows and tears, +Or striven in verse my tenderness to prove, +Or held thy hand in journeyings through the years; +Vain that I follow now with hastening feet, +And sing thy death, still murmuring in my song, +"Only for thee I would the strain were sweet, +Only for thee I would the words were strong;" +Vain even that I closed with death, and fought +To hold thee longer in a world so dear, +Vain that I count a weary world as naught, +That I would die to bring thee back; I hear +God answer me from heaven, O angel wife - +"To prove thy love, live thou a nobler life." + +Morton Luce [1849- + + +SONNETS +From "Sonnets from the Portuguese" + + I +I thought once how Theocritus had sung +Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years, +Who each one in a gracious hand appears +To bear a gift for mortals, old or young: +And, as I mused it in his antique tongue, +I saw, in gradual vision through my tears, +The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years, +Those of my own life, who by turns had flung +A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware, +So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move +Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair; +And a voice said in mastery, while I strove, - +Guess now who holds thee?" - "Death," I said. But, there, +The silver answer rang, - "Not Death, but Love." + + III +Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart! +Unlike our uses and our destinies. +Our ministering two angels look surprise +On one another, as they strike athwart +Their wings in passing. Thou, bethink thee, art +A guest for queens to social pageantries, +With gages from a hundred brighter eyes +Than tears even can make mine, to play thy part +Of chief musician. What hast thou to do +With looking from the lattice-lights at me, +A poor, tired, wandering singer, singing through +The dark, and leaning up a cypress tree? +The chrism is on thine head, - on mine, the dew, - +And Death must dig the level where these agree. + + VI +Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand +Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore +Alone upon the threshold of my door +Of individual life, I shall command +The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand +Serenely in the sunshine as before, +Without the sense of that which I forbore, - +Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land +Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine +With pulses that beat double. What I do +And what I dream include thee, as the wine +Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue +God for myself, He hears that name of thine, +And sees within my eyes the tears of two. + + VII +The face of all the world is changed, I think, +Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul +Move still, oh, still, beside me, as they stole +Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink +Of obvious death, where I, who thought to sink, +Was caught up into love, and taught the whole +Of life in a new rhythm. The cup of dole +God gave for baptism, I am fain to drink, +And praise its sweetness, Sweet, with thee anear. +The name of country, heaven, are changed away +For where thou art or shalt be, there or here; +And this . . . this lute and song . . . loved yesterday, +(The singing angels know) are only dear, +Because thy name moves right in what they say. + + VIII +What can I give thee back, O liberal +And princely giver, who hast brought the gold +And purple of thine heart, unstained, untold, +And laid them on the outside of the wall +For such as I to take or leave withal, +In unexpected largess? Am I cold, +Ungrateful, that for these most manifold +High gifts, I render nothing back at all? +Not so; not cold, - but very poor instead. +Ask God who knows. For frequent tears have run +The colors from my life, and left so dead +And pale a stuff, it were not fitly done +To give the same as pillow to thy head. +Go farther! let it serve to trample on. + + IX +Can it be right to give what I can give? +To let thee sit beneath the fall of tears +As salt as mine, and hear the sighing years +Re-sighing on my lips renunciative +Through those infrequent smiles which fail to live +For all thy adjurations? O my fears, +That this can scarce be right! We are not peers +So to be lovers; and I own, and grieve, +That givers of such gifts as mine are, must +Be counted with the ungenerous. Out, alas! +I will not soil thy purple with my dust, +Nor breathe my poison on thy Venice-glass, +Nor give thee any love - which were unjust. +Beloved, I only love thee! let it pass. + + X +Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed +And worthy of acceptation. Fire is bright, +Let temple burn, or flax; an equal light +Leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or weed: +And love is fire. And when I say at need +I love thee . . . mark! . . . I love thee - in thy sight +I stand transfigured, glorified aright, +With conscience of the new rays that proceed +Out of my face toward thine. There's nothing low +In love, when love the lowest: meanest creatures +Who love God, God accepts while loving so. +And what I feel, across the inferior features +Of what I am, doth flash itself, and show +How that great work of Love enhances Nature's. + + XII +Indeed this very love which is my boast, +And which, when rising up from breast to brow, +Doth crown me with a ruby large enow +To draw men's eyes and prove the inner cost, - +This love even, all my worth, to the uttermost, +I should not love withal, unless that thou +Hadst set me an example, shown me how, +When first thine earnest eyes with mine were crossed, +And love called love. And thus, I cannot speak +Of love even, as a good thing of my own: +Thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak, +And placed it by thee on a golden throne, - +And that I love (O soul, we must be meek!) +Is by thee only, whom I love alone. + + XIV +If thou must love me, let it be for naught +Except for love's sake only. Do not say +"I love her for her smile - her look - her way +Of speaking gently, - for a trick of thought +That falls in well with mine, and certes brought +A sense of pleasant ease on such a day" - +For these things in themselves, Beloved, may +Be changed, or change for thee, - and love, so wrought, +May be unwrought so. Neither love me for +Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry, - +A creature might forget to weep, who bore +Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby! +But love me for love's sake, that evermore +Thou may'st love on, through love's eternity. + + XVII +My poet, thou canst touch on all the notes +God set between His After and Before, +And strike up and strike off the general roar +Of the rushing worlds a melody that floats +In a serene air purely. Antidotes +Of medicated music, answering for +Mankind's forlornest uses, thou canst pour +From thence into their ears. God's will devotes +Thine to such ends, and mine to wait on thine. +How, Dearest, wilt thou have me for most use? +A hope, to sing by gladly? or a fine +Sad memory, with thy songs to interfuse? +A shade, in which to sing - of palm or pine? +A grave, on which to rest from singing? Choose. + + XVIII +I never gave a lock of hair away +To a man, Dearest, except this to thee, +Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully +I ring out to the full brown length and say +"Take it." My day of youth went yesterday; +My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee, +Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle-tree, +As girls do, any more: it only may +Now shade on two pale cheeks the mark of tears, +Taught drooping from the head that hangs aside +Through sorrow's trick. I thought the funeral-shears +Would take this first, but Love is justified, - +Take it thou, - finding pure, from all those years, +The kiss my mother left here when she died. + + XXI +Say over again, and yet once over again, +That thou dost love me. Though the word repeated +Should seem "a cuckoo-song," as thou dost treat it, +Remember, never to the hill or plain, +Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain, +Comes the fresh Spring in all her green completed. +Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted +By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt's pain +Cry: "Speak once more - thou lovest!" Who can fear +Too many stars, though each in heaven shall roll, +Too many flowers, though each shall crown the year? +Say thou dost love me, love me, love me, - toll +The silver iterance! - only minding, Dear, +To love me also in silence with thy soul. + + XXII +When our two souls stand up erect and strong, +Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher, +Until the lengthening wings break into fire +At either curved point, - what bitter wrong +Can the earth do us, that we should not long +Be here contented? Think. In mounting higher, +The angels would press on us and aspire +To drop some golden orb of perfect song +Into our deep, dear silence. Let us stay +Rather on earth, Beloved, - where the unfit +Contrarious moods of men recoil away +And isolate pure spirits, and permit +A place to stand and love in for a day, +With darkness and the death-hour rounding it. + + XXVIII +My letters! all dead paper, mute and white! +And yet they seem alive and quivering +Against my tremulous hands which loose the string +And let them drop down on my knee to-night. +This said, - he wished to have me in his sight +Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring +To come and touch my hand . . . a simple thing, +Yet I wept for it! - this, . . . the paper's light . . . +Said, Dear, I love thee; and I sank and quailed, +As if God's future thundered on my past. +This said, I am thine, - and so its ink has paled +With lying at my heart that beat too fast. +And this . . . O Love, thy words have ill availed, +If, what this said, I dared repeat at last! + + XXXVIII +First time he kissed me, he but only kissed +The fingers of this hand wherewith I write; +And ever since, it grew more clean and white, +Slow to world-greetings, quick with its "Oh, list," +When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst +I could not wear here, plainer to my sight, +Than that first kiss. The second passed in height +The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed, +Half falling on the hair. O beyond meed! +That was the chrism of love, which love's own crown, +With sanctifying sweetness, did precede. +The third upon my lips was folded down +In perfect, purple state; since when, indeed, +I have been proud, and said, "My love, my own!" + + XLIII +How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. +I love thee to the depth and breadth and height +My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight +For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. +I love thee to the level of everyday's +Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. +I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; +I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. +I love thee with the passion put to use +In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. +I love thee with a love I seemed to lose +With my lost saints, - I love thee with the breath, +Smiles, tears, of all my life! - and, if God choose, +I shall but love thee better after death. + +Elizabeth Barrett Browning [1806-1861] + + +ONE WORD MORE +TO E. B. B. + + I +There they are, my fifty men and women +Naming me the fifty poems finished! +Take them, Love, the book and me together; +Where the heart lies, let the brain lie also. + + II +Rafael made a century of sonnets, +Made and wrote them in a certain volume +Dinted with the silver-pointed pencil +Else he only used to draw Madonnas: +These, the world might view - but one, the volume. +Who that one, you ask? Your heart instructs you. +Did she live and love it all her lifetime? +Did she drop, his lady of the sonnets, +Die, and let it drop beside her pillow +Where it lay in place of Rafael's glory, +Rafael's cheek so duteous and so loving - +Cheek, the world was wont to hail a painter's, +Rafael's cheek, her love had turned a poet's? + + III +You and I would rather read that volume, +(Taken to his beating bosom by it) +Lean and list the bosom-beats of Rafael, +Would we not? than wonder at Madonnas - +Her, San Sisto names, and Her, Foligno, +Her, that visits Florence in a vision, +Her, that's left with lilies in the Louvre - +Seen by us and all the world in circle. + + IV +You and I will never read that volume. +Guido Reni, like his own eye's apple +Guarded long the treasure-book and loved it. +Guido Reni dying, all Bologna +Cried, and the world cried too, "Ours, the treasure!" +Suddenly, as rare things will, it vanished. + + V +Dante once prepared to paint an angel: +Whom to please? You whisper "Beatrice." +While he mused and traced it and retraced it, +(Peradventure with a pen corroded +Still by drops of that hot ink he dipped for, +When, his left hand i' the hair o' the wicked, +Back he held the brow and pricked its stigma, +Bit into the live man's flesh for parchment, +Loosed him, laughed to see the writing rankle, +Let the wretch go festering through Florence) - +Dante, who loved well because he hated, +Hated wickedness that hinders loving, +Dante standing, studying his angel, - +In there broke the folk of his Inferno. +Says he - "Certain people of importance" +(Such he gave his daily dreadful line to) +"Entered and would seize, forsooth, the poet." +Says the poet - "Then I stopped my painting." + + VI +You and I would rather see that angel, +Painted by the tenderness of Dante, +Would we not? - than read a fresh Inferno. + + VII +You and I will never see that picture. +While he mused on love and Beatrice, +While he softened o'er his outlined angel, +In they broke, those "people of importance": +We and Bice bear the loss forever. + + VIII +What of Rafael's sonnets, Dante's picture? +This: no artist lives and loves, that longs not +Once, and only once, and for one only, +(Ah, the prize!) to find his love a language +Fit and fair and simple and sufficient - +Using nature that's an art to others, +Not, this one time, art that's turned his nature. +Ay, of all the artists living, loving, +None but would forego his proper dowry, - +Does he paint? he fain would write a poem, - +Does he write? he fain would paint a picture, +Put to proof art alien to the artist's, +Once, and only once, and for one only, +So to be the man and leave the artist, +Gain the man's joy, miss the artist's sorrow. + + IX +Wherefore? Heaven's gift takes earth's abatement! +He who smites the rock and spreads the water, +Bidding drink and live a crowd beneath him, +Even he, the minute makes immortal, +Proves, perchance, but mortal in the minute, +Desecrates, belike, the deed in doing. +While he smites, how can he but remember, +So he smote before, in such a peril, +When they stood and mocked - "Shall smiting help us?" +When they drank and sneered - "A stroke is easy!" +When they wiped their mouths and went their journey, +Throwing him for thanks - "But drought was pleasant." +Thus old memories mar the actual triumph; +Thus the doing savors of disrelish; +Thus achievement lacks a gracious somewhat; +O'er-importuned brows becloud the mandate, +Carelessness or consciousness - the gesture. +For he bears an ancient wrong about him, +Sees and knows again those phalanxed faces, +Hears, yet one time more, the 'customed prelude - +"How shouldst thou of all men, smite, and save us?" +Guesses what is like to prove the sequel - +"Egypt's flesh-pots - nay, the drought was better." + + X +Oh, the crowd must have emphatic warrant! +Theirs, the Sinai-forehead's cloven brilliance, +Right-arm's rod-sweep, tongue's imperial fiat. +Never dares the man put off the prophet. + + XI +Did he love one face from out the thousands, +(Were she Jethro's daughter, white and wifely, +Were she but the Aethiopian bondslave,) +He would envy yon dumb patient camel, +Keeping a reserve of scanty water +Meant to save his own life in the desert; +Ready in the desert to deliver +(Kneeling down to let his breast be opened) +Hoard and life together for his mistress. + + XII +I shall never, in the years remaining, +Paint you pictures, no, nor carve you statues, +Make you music that should all-express me; +So it seems: I stand on my attainment. +This of verse alone, one life allows me; +Verse and nothing else have I to give you. +Other heights in other lives, God willing: +All the gifts from all the heights, your own, Love! + + XIII +Yet a semblance of resource avails us - +Shade so finely touched, love's sense must seize it. +Take these lines, look lovingly and nearly, +Lines I write the first time and the last time. +He who works in fresco, steals a hair-brush, +Curbs the liberal hand, subservient proudly, +Cramps his spirit, crowds its all in little, +Makes a strange art of an art familiar, +Fills his lady's missal-marge with flowerets. +He who blows through bronze, may breathe through silver, +Fitly serenade a slumbrous princess. +He who writes, may write for once as I do. + + XIV +Love, you saw me gather men and women, +Live or dead or fashioned by my fancy, +Enter each and all, and use their service, +Speak from every mouth, - the speech, a poem. +Hardly shall I tell my joys and sorrows, +Hopes and fears, belief and disbelieving: +I am mine and yours - the rest be all men's, +Karshish, Cleon, Norbert, and the fifty. +Let me speak this once in my true person, +Not as Lippo, Roland, or Andrea, +Though the fruit of speech be just this sentence: +Pray you, lock on these my men and women, +Take and keep my fifty poems finished; +Where my heart lies, let my brain lie also! +Poor the speech; be how I speak, for all things. + + XV +Not but that you know me! Lo, the moon's self! +Here in London, yonder late in Florence, +Still we find her face, the thrice-transfigured. +Curving on a sky imbrued with color, +Drifted over Fiesole by twilight, +Came she, our new crescent of a hair's-breadth. +Full she flared it, lamping Samminiato, +Rounder 'twixt the cypresses and rounder, +Perfect till the nightingales applauded. +Now, a piece of her old self, impoverished, +Hard to greet, she traverses the house-roofs, +Hurries with unhandsome thrift of silver, +Goes dispiritedly, glad to finish, + + XVI +What, there's nothing in the moon noteworthy? +Nay: for if that moon could love a mortal, +Use, to charm him (so to fit a fancy), +All her magic ('tis the old sweet mythos), +She would turn a new side to her mortal, +Side unseen of herdsman, huntsman, steersman - +Blank to Zoroaster on his terrace, +Blind to Galileo on his turret, +Dumb to Homer, dumb to Keats - him, even! +Think, the wonder of the moonstruck mortal - +When she turns round, comes again in heaven, +Opens out anew for worse or better! +Proves she like some portent of an iceberg +Swimming full upon the ship it founders, +Hungry with huge teeth of splintered crystals? +Proves she as the paved work of a sapphire +Seen by Moses when he climbed the mountain? +Moses, Aaron, Nadab and Abihu +Climbed and saw the very God, the Highest, +Stand upon the paved work of a sapphire. +Like the bodied heaven in his clearness +Shone the stone, the sapphire of that paved work, +When they ate and drank and saw God also! + + XVII +What were seen? None knows, none ever shall know. +Only this is sure - the sight were other, +Not the moon's same side, born late in Florence, +Dying now impoverished here in London. +God be thanked, the meanest of his creatures +Boasts two soul-sides, one to face the world with, +One to show a woman when he loves her! + + XVIII +This I say of me, but think of you, Love! +This to you - yourself my moon of poets! +Ah, but that's the world's side, there's the wonder, +Thus they see you, praise you, think they know you! +There, in turn I stand with them and praise you - +Out of my own self, I dare to phrase it. +But the best is when I glide from out them, +Cross a step or two of dubious twilight, +Come out on the other side, the novel +Silent silver lights and darks undreamed of, +Where I hush and bless myself with silence. + + XIX +Oh, their Rafael of the dear Madonnas, +Oh, their Dante of the dread Inferno, +Wrote one song - and in my brain I sing it, +Drew one angel - borne, see, on my bosom! + +Robert Browning [1812-1889] + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg V2 The Home Book of Verse, by Burton Stevenson + |