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diff --git a/38839.txt b/38839.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a3ff097 --- /dev/null +++ b/38839.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3572 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Little Book of Old Time Verse, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Little Book of Old Time Verse + Old Fashioned Flowers + +Author: Various + +Editor: Gladys Sidney Crouch + +Release Date: February 12, 2012 [EBook #38839] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LITTLE BOOK OF OLD TIME VERSE *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: Front cover] + + + + + +A Little Book of + +Old Time Verse + + +Old-fashioned Flowers + +Gathered by + + +Gladys Sidney Crouch + + + + +Published by + +P. F. Volland Company + +NEW YORK CHICAGO TORONTO + + + + +Copyright, 1917 + +P. F. Volland Company + +Chicago + + + + +_To My Father_ + +That the verses in this little book will bring back sweet memories of +the long ago to every reader, as they do to me, is the earnest wish of +the humble gatherer of these old-fashioned flowers. _G. S. C._ + + + + +CHRONOLOGICAL INDEX OF AUTHORS + + +_Sir Edward Dyer_. (Born 1550--Died 1607.) + To Phyllis, the Fair Shepherdess + +_Sir Philip Sidney_. (Born 1554--Died 1586.) + A Ditty + +_John Lyly_. (Born 1554--Died 1606.) + Appelles' Song + +_Thomas Lodge_. (Born 1556--Died 1625.) + Love's Wantonness + +_Thomas Campion_. (Born (unknown)--Died 1619.) + Thrice toss these oaken ashes in the air + Come, O come, my life's delight + +_Robert Green_. (Born 1560--Died 1592.) + Content + +_Christopher Marlowe_. (Born 1562--Died 1593.) + The Passionate Shepherd to His Love + +_William Shakespeare_. (Born 1564--Died 1616.) + O Mistress Mine, Where are you Roaming + +_Ben Jonson_. (Born 1573--Died 1637.) + To Celia + +_John Donne_. (Born 1573--Died 1631.) + Song + +_Francis Beaumont_. (Born 1584--Died 1610.) + Fie on Love + +_George Wither_. (Born 1588--Died 1667.) + The Author's Resolution in a Sonnet + +_Thomas Carew_. (Born 1589--Died 1639.) + Song + A Fragment + Truce in Love Entreated + Phillida Flouts Me + +_Robert Herrick_. (Born 1591--Died 1674.) + A Hymn to Love + To Anthea + To Daffodils + To Electra + To his Mistress + To his Mistress, Objecting to his Neither Toying nor Talking + To the Virgins, to make much of Time + +_Henry King_. (Born 1592--Died 1669.) + On the Life of Man + +_Thomas Bateson_. (Born 1600--Died (no record).) + Her hair the net of golden wire + +_Sir William D'Avenant_. (Born 1605--Died 1668.) + The Lark now Leaves his Watr'y Nest + +_Edmund Waller_. (Born 1605--Died 1687.) + Song: Go Lovely Rose + Song to Flavia + +_Sir John Suckling_. (Born 1609--Died 1641.) + Why so pale and wan, fond lover + Song: O pr'y thee send me back my heart + The Constant Lover + +_Richard Lovelace_. (Born 1618--Died 1658.) + Stone walls do not a prison make + To Althea, from Prison + To Lucasta, on going to the wars + +_Thomas Stanley_. (Born 1625--Died 1678.) + Speaking and Kissing + +_Walter Porter_. (Born (no record)--Died 1649.) + Love in thy youth, fair maid, be wise + +_George Granville_ (Lord Lansdowne). (Born 1668--Died 1735.) + Adieu L'Amour + +_William Congreve_. (Born 1672--Died 1728.) + Song: Though she be false to me and love + +_John Oldmixon_. (Born 1673--Died 1742.) + Song: I lately vowed but 'twas in haste + +_Dr. Isaac Watts_. (Born 1674--Died 1748.) + Few Happy Matches + +_Aaron Hill_. (Born 1684--Died 1749.) + Song: Gentle love, this hour befriend me + +_William Somerville_. (Born 1692--Died 1742.) + Cupid Mistaken + Song: Hard is the fate of him who loves + To a discarded toast + +_Thomas Walker_. (Born 1698--Died 1743.) + Sweet love, I will no more abuse thee + +_James Thomson_. (Born 1700--Died 1748.) + Unless with my Amanda blest + +_George Lyttleton_. (Born 1709--Died 1773.) + Song: When Delia on the plain appear + +_Edward Moore_. (Born 1711--Died 1757.) + Song: How blest has my time been + +_John Wilke_. (Born 1727--Died 1797.) + Love not me for comely grace + +_Robert Burns_. (Born 1759--Died 1796.) + Delia + My Jean + Of A' the Airts the Wind Can Blaw + The Bonnie Wee Thing + +_Sir Walter Scott_. (Born 1771--Died 1832.) + The Truth of Woman + +_Samuel Taylor Coleridge_. (Born 1772--Died 1834.) + Names + +_Walter Savage Landor_. (Born 1775--Died 1864.) + The Maid I love ne'er thought of me + +_William Stanley Roscoe_. (Born 1782--Died 1841.) + To Spring: On the Banks of the Cam + +_Leigh Hunt_. (Born 1784--Died 1859.) + Jenny Kissed Me + The Nun + +_Bryan Waller Proctor_. (Born 1787--Died 1874.) + Hermione + +_George Gordon_ (Lord Byron). (Born 1788--Died 1824.) + There be none of Beauty's daughters + +_William Cullen-Bryant_. (Born 1794--Died 1878.) + The Forest Maid + +_George Darley_. (Born 1795--Died 1846.) + Love's Likeness + +_Hartley Coleridge_. (Born 1796--Died 1849.) + Song: She is not fair to outward view + To a lofty beauty, from her poor kinsman + +_Thomas Hood_. (Born 1798--Died 1845.) + Time of Roses + +_Sir Henry Taylor_. (Born 1800--Died 1886.) + Song: The bee to the heather + +_Ralph Waldo Emerson_. (Born 1803--Died 1882.) + Days + +_James Clarence Mangan_. (Born 1803--Died 1849.) + Advice against travel + +_Elizabeth Barrett Browning_. (Born 1806--Died 1861.) + My Kate + Grief + +_John Greenleaf Whittier_. (Born 1807--Died 1892.) + Memories + All's Well + +_Oliver Wendell Holmes_. (Born 1809--Died 1894.) + There is no friend like an old friend + +_Robert Jones_. (Born 1809--Died 1879.) + Once did my thoughts both ebb and flow + +_Alfred Tennyson_. (Born 1809--Died 1892.) + Song from 'The Princess' + +_Edgar Allan Poe_. (Born 1809--Died 1849.) + To Helen + +_Frances Anne Kemble_. (Born 1809--Died 1893.) + Faith + +_John Stuart Blackie_. (Born 1809--Died 1895.) + My Loves + +_Robert Browning_. (Born 1812--Died 1889.) + Home-Thoughts from Abroad + +_Philip James Bailey_. (Born 1816--Died 1902.) + My Lady + +_Henry David Thoreau_. (Born 1817--Died 1862.) + Love + +_John Ruskin_. (Born 1819--Died 1900.) + Trust thou thy love + +_Francis Turner Palgrave_. (Born 1823--Died 1897.) + Eutopia + +_William Caldwell Roscoe_. (Born 1823--Died 1859.) + Spiritual Love + +_George Meredith_. (Born 1828--Died 1909.) + Lucifer in Starlight + Woman + Love in the Valley + +_Richard Garnett_. (Born 1835--Died 1906.) + The Fair Circassian + +_Matilda Betham Edwards_. (Born 1836.) + A Valentine + +_Christina Georgina Rossetti_. (Born 1839--Died 1894.) + A Birthday + Remember + +_John Addington Symonds_. (Born 1840--Died 1893.) + Farewell + +_Austin Dobson_. (Born 1840.) + On a fan that belonged to the Marquis de Pompadour + A Rondeau to Ethel + +_Thomas Hardy_. (Born 1840.) + The Darkling Thrush + +_Frederic William Henry Myers_. (Born 1843--Died 1901.) + Evanescence + +_Robert Louis Stevenson_. (Born 1850--Died 1894.) + Wishes + Romance + +_Francis William Bourdillon_. (Born 1852.) + A Violinist + +_Edward Cracroft Lefroy_. (Born 1855--Died 1891.) + Ageanax + A Summer in Old Sicily + +_Douglas Brook Wheelton Sladen_. (Born 1856.) + Under the Wattle + +_William Sharp_. (Born 1856--Died 1902.) + On a nightingale in April + +_Agnes Mary Frances Duclaux_. (Born 1857.) + Then, when all the feasting's done + +_Arthur Symons_. (Born 1865.) + Rain on the Down + +_William Butler Yeats_. (Born 1865.) + Down by the Sally Gardens + When you are Old + +_Richard LeGallienne_. (Born 1866.) + Song: She's somewhere in the sunlight strong + +_Alfred Noyes_. (Born 1880.) + A Japanese Love Song + + + + + INDEX OF FIRST LINES + + A beautiful and happy girl + + Better trust all, and be deceived + Bid me to live, and I will live + Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing + + Calia, confess, 'tis all in vain + Chicken skin, delicate, white + Choose me your Valentine + Come live with me, and be my love + Come, O come, my life's delight + Cupid and my Campaspe played + + Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days + Dear voyager, a lucky star be thine + Down by the sally gardens + Drink to me only with thine eyes + + Fair daffodils, we weep to see + Fair maid, had I not heard thy baby cries + Fair the face of orient day + False though she be to me and love + Forty Viziers saw I go + + Gather ye rosebuds while ye may + Gentle love, this hour befriend me + Gods, what a sun! I think the world's aglow + Go little book, and wish to all + Go, lovely rose + + Hard is the fate of him who loves + Helen, thy beauty is to me + Here end my chains, and thraldom cease + Her hair, the net of golden wire + He that loves a rosy cheek + How blest has my time been, what days have I known, + + I asked my fair, one happy day + I dare not ask a kiss + If the quick spirits in your eye + If you become a nun, dear + I lately vowed, but 'twas in haste + I leant upon a coppice gate + I loved her for that she was beautiful + "In tea-cup times!" The style of dress + I pr'y thee send me back my heart + I see her in the dewy flowers + I saw, I saw the lovely child + I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless + It is buried and done with + It was not in the winter + I will confess with cheerfulness + I will make your brooches and toys for your delight + + Jenny kissed me when we met + + Like to the falling of the star + Love in thy youth, fair maid, be wise + Love guides the roses of thy lips + Love not me for comely grace + + Maidens kilt your skirts and go + My heart is like a singing bird + My little pretty one + My Phyllis hath the morning sun + My true love hath my heart and I have his + + Name the leaves on all the trees + Night and the down by the sea + No more blind god! for see, my heart + No show of bolts and bars + Now fie on foolish love, it not befits + Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white + + O fairest of the rural maids! + O mark yon Rose-tree! When the West + O, Mistress mine, where are you roaming + O, to be in England + Oh thou that from the green vales of the West + Oh, what a plague is love! + On a starr'd night. Prince Lucifer uprose + Once did my thoughts both ebb and flow + Out upon it, I have loved + Over the mountains + + Remember me when I am gone away + + Say, mighty love, and teach my song + Send home my long stray'd eyes to me + Shall I, wasting in despaire + She can be as wise as we + She is not fair to outward view + She's somewhere in the sunlight strong + She was not as pretty as women I know + Stone walls do not a prison make + Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content + + Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind + The air which thy smooth voice doth break + The bee to the heather + The clouds, which rise with thunder, slake + The lark above our heads doth know + The lark now leaves his wat'ry nest + The Maid I love ne'er thought of me + The yellow moon is a dancing phantom + The young moon is white + There be none of beauty's daughters + There is a garden where lilies + There is no friend like an old friend + Though cruel fate should bid us part + Thou hast beauty bright and fair + Thrice toss these oaken ashes in the air + 'Tis not your beauty can engage + Traverse not the globe for lore! + Trust thou thy Love: if she be proud, is she not sweet? + + Under yonder beech-tree single on the green-sward + Unless with my Amanda blest + + Venus whipt Cupid t'other day + + Were the gray clouds not made + What care I tho' beauty fading + What shall I send my love today + When Delia on the plain appears + When love, with unconfined wings + When you are old and gray and full of sleep + Why should not the wattle do? + Why so pale and wan, fond lover? + Woman's faith, and woman's trust-- + + You say I love not, 'cause I do not play + + + + + A LITTLE BOOK OF OLD TIME VERSE + + + + + Love's Wantonness + + Love guides the roses of thy lips, + And flies about them like a bee; + If I approach he forward skips, + And if I kiss he stingeth me. + + Love in thine eyes doth build his bower, + And sleeps within their pretty shrine, + And if I look the boy will lower, + And from their orbs shoot shafts divine. + --_Thomas Lodge_ + + + + + Song + + Send home my long-stray'd eyes to me, + Which, O! too long have dwelt on thee: + But if from you they've learnt 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. + --_John Donne, D.D._ + + + + + Fie on Love + + Now fie on foolish love, it not befits + Or man or woman know it. + Love was not meant for people in their wits, + And they that fondly show it + Betray the straw, and features in their brain, + And shall have Bedlam for their pain: + If simple love be such a curse, + To marry is to make it ten times worse. + --_Francis Beaumont_ + + + + + A Fragment + + 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. + --_Thomas Carew_ + + + + + Truce in Love Entreated + + No more, blind god! for see, my heart + Is made thy quiver, there remains + No void place, for another dart; + And, alas! that conquest gains + Small praise, that only brings away + A tame and unresisting prey. + + Behold a nobler foe, all arm'd, + Defies thy weak artillery, + That hath thy bow and quiver charm'd; + A rebel beauty, conquering thee: + If thou dar'st equal combat try, + Wound her, for 'tis for her I die. + --_Thomas Carew_ + + + + + Jenny Kissed Me + + Jenny kiss'd 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 miss'd me, + Say I'm growing old, but add, + Jenny kiss'd me. + --_Leigh Hunt_ + + + + + A Ditty + + 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: + My true love hath my heart, and I have his. + + His heart in me, keeps him and me in one, + My heart in him, his thought and senses guides; + He loves my heart, for once it was his own, + I cherish his, because in me it bides: + My true love hath my heart, and I have his. + --_Sir Phillip Sidney_ + + + + + 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_ + + + + + To Phyllis, the Fair Shepherdess + + My Phyllis hath the morning sun + At first to look upon her: + And Phyllis hath morn-waking birds + Her rising still to honour. + My Phyllis hath prime feathered flowers + That smile when she treads on them: + And Phyllis hath a gallant flock + That leaps since she doth own them. + But Phyllis hath too hard a heart, + Alas, that she should have it! + It yields no mercy to desert + Nor peace to those that crave it. + Sweet Sun, when thou look'st on, + Pray her regard my moan! + Sweet birds, when you sing to her. + To yield some pity woo her! + Sweet flowers, that she treads on, + Tell her, her beauty dreads one; + And if in life her love she'll not agree me. + Pray her before I die, she will come see me. + --_Sir Edward Dyer_ + + + + + The Passionate Shepherd to His Love + + Come live with me and be my love, + And we will all the pleasures prove + That valleys, groves, and hills, and fields, + Woods or steepy mountain yields. + + And we will sit upon the rocks, + Seeing 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, + Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle. + + A gown made of the finest wool, + Which from our pretty lambs we'll 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, + Come live with me and be my love. + --_Christopher Marlowe_ + + + + + Content + + Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content, + The quiet mind is richer than a crown, + Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent, + The poor estate scorns fortune's angry frown; + Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss, + Beggars enjoy, when princess oft do miss. + + The homely house that harbours quiet rest, + The cottage that affords no pride nor care, + The mean that 'grees with country music best, + The sweet consort of mirth and modest fare, + Obscured life sets down a type of bliss; + A mind content both crown and kingdom is. + --_Robert Greene_ + + + + + My Jean + + Though cruel fate should bid us part, + Far as the pole and line, + Her dear idea round my heart + Should tenderly entwine. + Though mountains rise, and deserts howl, + And oceans roar between; + Yet, dearer than my deathless soul, + I still would love my Jean. + --_Robert Burns_ + + + + + Sweet Love, I will no more abuse thee, + Nor with my voice accuse thee; + But tune my notes unto thy praise, + And tell the world Love ne'er decays. + Sweet Love doth concord ever cherish: + What wanteth concord soon must perish. + --_Thomas Walker_ + + + + + To Celia + + 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 honouring 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_ + + + + + 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 dote upon me ever. + --_John Wilkye_ + + + + + To His Mistress + + Choose me your Valentine; + Next, let us marry; + Love to the death will pine + If we long tarry. + + Promise and keep your vows. + Or vow ye never; + Love's doctrine disallows + Troth-breakers ever. + + You have broke promise twice, + Dear, to undo me; + If you prove faithless thrice, + None then will woo ye. + --_Robert Herrick_ + + + + + The Author's Resolution in a Sonnet + + Shall I, wasting in despaire + Dye, because a woman's fair? + Or make pale my cheeks with care + Cause anothers Rosie are? + Be she fairer than the Day + Or the flowry Meads in May, + If she thinke not well of me, + What care I _how_ faire she be? + + Shall a woman's Vertues move + Me to perish for her love? + Or her well deservings knowne + Make me quite forget mine 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 fortunes seem too high + Shall I play the fool and die? + She that bears a Noble mind, + If not outward helpes she find, + Think that with them he wold do, + That without them dares her woe. + And unlesse that _Minde_ I see + What care I how great she be? + + Great, or Good, or Kind, or Faire, + I will ne're the more despaire: + If she love me (this believe) + I will Die ere she shall grieve, + If she slight me when I woe, + I can scorne and let her goe, + For if she be not for me + What care I for whom she be? + --_George Wither_ + + + + + Song + + If the quick spirits in your eye + Now languish, and anon must die; + If ev'ry sweet and ev'ry 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_ + + + + + Love Will Find the Way + + Over the mountains + And over the waves, + Under the fountains + And under the graves; + Under the floods that are deepest, + Which Neptune obey; + Over the 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 soon find out his way. + + You may esteem him + A child for his might; + Or you may deem him + A coward for his flight; + But if she whom Love doth honour + 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 confin'd, + And some do suppose him, + Poor thing, to be blind; + But if ne'er so close you wall him, + Do the best that you may; + Blind Love, if so ye call him, + Will find out his way. + + You may train the eagle + To stoop to your fist; + Or you may inveigle + The Phoenix of the East; + The lioness, you may move her + To give o'er her prey; + But you will ne'er stop a lover-- + He will find out his way. + --_Unknown_ + + + + + To Daffodils + + Fair daffodils, we weep to see + You haste away so soon; + As yet the early-rising sun + Has not attained his noon. + Stay, stay, + Until the lasting day + Has run + But to the evensong + And, having prayed together, we + Will go with you along. + --_Robert Herrick_ + + + + + Phillida Flouts Me + + Oh, what a plague is love! + I cannot bear it. + She will inconstant prove, + I greatly fear it; + It so torments my mind, + That my heart faileth. + She wavers with the wind, + As a ship saileth; + Please her the best I may, + She looks another way; + Alack and well a-day! + Phillida flouts me. + + I often heard her say + That she loved posies; + In the last month of May + I gave her roses, + Cowslips and gilly flow'rs + And the sweet lily, + I got to deck the bow'rs + Of my dear Philly; + She did them all disdain, + And threw them back again; + Therefore, 'tis flat and plain + Phillida flouts me. + + Which way, soe'er I go. + She still torments me; + And whatso'er I do, + Nothing contents me: + I fade, and pine away + With grief and sorrow; + I fall quite to decay, + Like any shadow; + Since 'twill no better be, + I'll bear it patiently; + Yet all the world may see + Phillida flouts me. + --_Thomas Carew_ + + + + + Song 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_ + + + + + 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 for herself she will not love, + Nothing can make her: + The devil take her! + --_Sir John Suckling_ + + + + + Unless with my Amanda blest, + In vain I twine the woodbine bower; + Unless to deck her sweeter breast, + In vain I rear the breathing flower: + + Awaken'd by the genial year, + In vain the birds around me sing; + In vain the freshening fields appear: + _Without my love there is no Spring_. + --_James Thomson_ + + + + + Once did my thoughts both ebb and flow, + As passion did them move, + Once did I hope, straight fear again,-- + And then I was in love. + + Once did I waking spend the night, + And tell how many minutes move, + Once did I wishing waste the day,-- + And then I was in love. + + Once, by my carving true love's knot, + The weeping trees did prove + That wounds and tears were both our lot,-- + And then I was in love. + + Once did I breathe another's breath, + And in my mistress move, + Once was I not mine own at all,-- + And then I was in love. + + Once wore I bracelets made of hair, + And collars did approve, + Once wore my clothes made out of wax,-- + And then I was in love. + + Once did I sonnet to my saint, + My soul in numbers move, + Once did I tell a thousand lies,-- + And then I was in love. + + Once in my ear did dangling hang + A little turtle-dove, + Once, in a word, I was a fool,-- + And then I was in love. + --_Robert Jones_ + + + + + To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time + + Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, + Old time is still a-flying: + And this same flower that smiles today + Tomorrow will be dying. + + The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun, + The higher he's a-getting, + The sooner will his race be run, + And nearer he's to setting. + + That age is best which is the first, + When youth and blood are warmer; + But being spent, the worse, and worst + Times still succeed the former. + + Then be not coy, but use your time. + And while ye may go marry: + For having lost but once your prime + You may forever tarry. + --_Robert Herrick_ + + + + + My Kate + + She was not as pretty as women I know, + And yet all your best made of sunshine and snow + Drop to shade, melt to naught in the long-trodden ways, + While she's still remember'd on warm and cold days-- + My Kate. + + Her air had a meaning, her movements a grace; + You turn'd from the fairest to gaze on her face: + And when you had once seen her forehead and mouth, + You saw as distinctly her soul and her truth-- + My Kate. + + Such a blue inner light from her eyelids outbroke, + You look'd at her silence and fancied she spoke: + When she did, so peculiar yet soft was the tone, + Tho' the loudest spoke also, you heard her alone-- + My Kate. + + I doubt if she said to you much that could act + As a thought or suggestion: she did not attract + In the sense of the brilliant or wise: I infer + Twas her thinking of others, made you think of her-- + My Kate. + + She never found fault with you, never implied + Your wrong by her right; and yet men at her side + Grew nobler, girls purer, as thro' the whole town + The children were gladder that pull'd at her gown-- + My Kate. + + None knelt at her feet confess'd lovers in thrall; + They knelt more to God than they used,--that was all: + If you praised her as charming, some ask'd what you meant. + But the charm of her presence was felt when she went-- + My Kate. + + The weak and the gentle, the ribald and rude, + She took as she found them, and did them all good; + It always was so with her--see what you have! + She has made the grass greener even here with her grave-- + My Kate. + + My dear one!--When thou wast alive with the rest, + I held thee the sweetest and loved thee the best: + And now thou art dead, shall I not take thy part + As thy smiles used to do for thyself, my sweet Heart-- + My Kate? + --_Elizabeth Barrett Browning_ + + + + + There is no friend like an old friend + Who has shared our morning days, + No greeting like his welcome, + No homage like his praise. + Fame is the scentless sunflower, + With gaudy crown of gold; + But friendship is the breathing rose + With sweets in every fold. + --_Oliver Wendell Holmes_ + + + + + Grief + + I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless; + That only men incredulous of despair, + Half taught in anguish, through the midnight air + Beat upward to God's throne in loud excess + Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness + In soul as countries lieth silent-bare + Under the blanching, vertical eye-glare + Of the absolute Heavens. Deep-hearted man, express + Grief for thy Dead in silence like to death-- + Most like a monumental statue set + In everlasting watch and moveless woe + Till itself crumble to the dust beneath. + Touch it; the marble eyelids are not wet: + If it could weep, it could arise and go. + --_Elizabeth Barrett Browning_ + + + + + Love + + _Totus est Inermis Idem_... + + No show of bolts and bars + Can keep the foeman out, + Or 'scape his secret mine + Who enter'd with the doubt + That drew the line. + No warder at the gate + Can let the friendly in; + But, like the sun, o'er all + He will the castle win, + And shine along the wall. + + Implacable is Love-- + Foes may be bought or teased + From their hostile intent, + But he goes unappeased + Who is on kindness bent. + --_Henry David Thoreau_ + + + + + Trust Thou Thy Love + + Trust thou thy Love: if she be proud, is she not sweet? + Trust thou thy Love: if she be mute, is she not pure? + Lay thou thy soul full in her hands, low at her feet; + Fail, Sun and Breath!--yet, for thy peace, She shall endure. + --_John Ruskin_ + + + + + Spiritual Love + + What care I tho' beauty fading + Die ere Time can turn his glass? + What tho' locks the Graces braiding + Perish like the summer grass? + Tho' thy charms should all decay, + Think not my affections may! + + For thy charms--tho' bright as morning-- + Captured not my idle heart; + Love so grounded ends in scorning, + Lacks the barb to hold the dart. + My devotion more secure + Woos thy spirit high and pure. + --_William Caldwell Roscoe_ + + + + + Woman + + 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. + --_George Meredith_ + + + + + To Spring: On the Banks of the Cam + + O Thou that from the green vales of the West + Com'st in thy tender robes with bashful feet, + And to the gathering clouds + Liftest thy soft blue eye: + + I woo thee. Spring!--Tho' thy dishevell'd hair + In misty ringlets sweep thy snowy breast, + And thy young lips deplore + Stern Boreas' ruthless rage: + + While morn is stee'd in dews, and the dank show'r + Drops from the green boughs of the budding trees; + And the thrush tunes his song + Warbling with unripe throat: + + Thro' the deep wood where spreads the sylvan oak + I follow thee, and see thy hands unfold + The love-sick primrose pale + And moist-eyed violet: + + While in the central grove, at thy soft voice, + The Dryads start forth from their wintry cells, + And from their oozy waves + The Naiads lift their heads + + In sedgy bonnets trimm'd with rushy leaves + And water-blossoms from the forest stream, + To pay their vows to thee, + Their thrice adored queen! + + The stripling shepherd wand'ring thro' the wood + Startles the linnet from her downy nest, + Or wreathes his crook with flowers, + The sweetest of the fields. + + From the grey branches of the ivied ash + The stock-dove pours her vernal elegy, + While further down the vale + Echoes the cuckoo's note. + + Beneath this trellis'd arbour's antique roof, + When the wild laurel rustles in the breeze, + By Cam's slow murmuring stream + I waste the live-long day; + + And bid thee. Spring, rule fair the infant year, + Till my loved Maid in russet stole approach: + O yield her to my arms, + Her red lips breathing love! + + So shall the sweet May drink thy falling tears, + And on thy blue eyes pour a beam of joy; + And float thy azure locks + Upon the western wind. + + So shall the nightingale rejoice thy woods, + And Hesper early light his dewy star; + And oft at eventide + Beneath the rising moon. + + May lovers' whispers soothe thy list'ning ear, + And as they steal the soft impassion'd kiss, + Confess thy genial reign, + O love-inspiring Spring! + --_William Stanley Roscoe_ + + + + + I pr'y thee 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'st 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 you 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 love, and farewell woe, + I will no longer pine; + For I'll believe I have her heart + As much as she hath mine. + --_Sir John Suckling_ + + + + + 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_ + + + + + Appelles' Song + + Cupid and my Campaspe played + At cards for kisses,--Cupid paid; + He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows, + His mother's doves, and teams 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 of his chin: + All these did my Campaspe win. + At 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_ + + + + + 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 fetter'd to her eye-- + The birds that wanton in the air, + Know no such liberty. + --_Richard Lovelace_ + + + + + On the Life of Man + + Like to the falling of a star, + Or as the flights of eagles are, + Or like the fresh Spring's gaudy hue, + Or silver drops of morning dew, + Or like the wind that chafes the flood, + Or bubbles which on water stood; + Even such is man, whose borrowed light + Is straight called in and paid tonight + The wind blows out, the bubble dies, + The spring entombed in autumn lies, + The dew's dried up, the star is shot, + The flight is past, and man forgot. + --_Henry King_ + + + + + Of A' the Airts the Wind Can Blaw + + 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. + --_Robert Burns_ + + + + + O Mistress Mine, Where Are You Roaming? + + 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. + --_Shakespeare_ + + + + + Thrice toss these oaken ashes in the air, + Thrice sit thou mute in this enchanted chair, + Then thrice three times tie up this true love's knot, + And murmur soft, "She will or she will not." + + Go, burn these poisonous weeds in yon blue fire, + These screech owls' feathers and this prickling briar, + This cypress gathered at a dead man's grave, + That all my fears and cares an end may have. + + Then come, you Fairies! dance with me a round! + Melt her hard heart with your melodious sound! + In vain are all the charms I can devise: + She hath an art to break them with her eyes. + --_Thomas Campion_ + + + + + Come, O come, my life's delight! + Let me not in languor pine! + Love loves no delay; thy sight + The more enjoyed, the more divine! + O come, and take from me + The pain of being deprived of thee! + + Thou all sweetness dost enclose, + Like a little world of bliss; + Beauty guards thy looks, the rose + In them pure and eternal is: + Come, then, and make thy flight + As swift to me as heavenly light! + --_Thomas Campion_ + + + + + The Darkling Thrush + + I leant upon a coppice gate + When Frost was spectre-gray, + And Winter's dregs made desolate + The weakening eye of day. + The tangled vine-stems scored the sky + Like strings of broken lyres, + And all mankind that haunted nigh + Had sought their household fires. + + The land's sharp features seem'd to be + The Century's corpse outleant, + His crypt the cloudy canopy, + The wind his death-lament. + The ancient pulse of germ and birth + Was shrunken hard and dry, + And every spirit upon earth + Seem'd fervourless as I. + + At once a voice arose among + The bleak twigs overhead + In a full-hearted evensong + Of joy illimited; + An aged thrush, frail, quant, and small, + In blast-beruffled plume. + Had chosen thus to fling his soul + Upon the growing gloom. + + So little cause for carollings + Of such ecstatic sound + Was written on terrestrial things + Afar or nigh around, + That I could think there trembled through + His happy good-night air + Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew + And I was unaware. + --_Thomas Hardy_ + + + + + To Lucasta, on Going to the Wars + + Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind, + That from the nunnery + Of your 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 you too shall adore; + I could not love thee, dear, so much + Loved I not honour more! + --_Richard Lovelace_ + + + + + A Japanese Love Song + + The young moon is white, + But the willows are blue: + Your small lips are red, + But the great clouds are gray: + The waves are so many + That whisper to you; + But my love is only + One flight of spray. + + The bright drops are many, + The dark wave is one: + The dark wave subsides, + And the bright sea remains! + And wherever, O singing + Maid, you may run, + You are one with the world + For all your pains. + + Tho' the great skies are dark, + And your small feet are white, + Tho' your wide eyes are blue + And the closed poppies red, + Tho' the kisses are many, + That colour the night, + They are linked like pearls + On one golden thread. + + Were the gray clouds not made + For the red of your mouth; + The ages for flight + Of the butterfly years; + The sweet of the peach + For the pale lips of drouth, + The sunlight of smiles + For the shadow of tears? + + Love, Love is the thread + That has pierced them with bliss! + All their hues are but notes + In one world-wide tune: + Lips, willows and waves, + We are one as we kiss, + And your face and the flowers + Faint away in the moon. + --_Alfred Noyes_ + + + + + Wishes + + Go, little book, and wish to all + Flowers in the garden, meat in the hall, + A bin of wine, a spice of wit, + A house with lawns enclosing it, + A living river by the door, + A nightingale in the sycamore. + --_Robert Louis Stevenson_ + + + + + Evanescence + + I saw, I saw the lovely child + I watch'd her by the way, + I learnt her gestures sweet and wild + Her loving eyes and gay. + + Her name?--I heard not, nay, nor care; + Enough it was for me + To find her innocently fair + And delicately free. + + O cease and go ere dreams be done, + Nor trace the angel's birth, + Nor find the Paradisal one + A blossom of the earth! + + Thus is it with our subtlest joys,-- + How quick the soul's alarm! + How lightly deed or word destroys + That evanescent charm! + + It comes unbidden, comes unbought, + Unfetter'd flees away; + His swiftest and his sweetest thought + Can never poet say. + --_Frederic William Henry Myers_ + + + + + 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_ + + + + + Her hair the net of golden wire, + Wherein my heart, led by my wandering eyes, + So fast entangled is that in no wise + It can, nor will, again retire; + But rather will in that sweet bondage die + Than break one hair to gain her liberty. + --_Thomas Bateson_ + + + + + Celia's Homecoming + + Maidens kilt your skirts and go + Down the stormy garden-ways. + Pluck the last sweet pinks that blow, + Gather roses, gather bays, + Since our Celia comes to-day, + That has been so long away. + + Crowd her chamber with your sweets-- + Not a flower but grows for her! + Make her bed with linen sheets + That have lain in lavender: + Light a fire before she come, + Lest she find us chill at home. + + Ah, what joy when Celia stands + By the leaping blaze at last, + Stooping low to warm her hands + All benumbed with the blast, + While we hide her cloak away, + To assure us she shall stay! + + Cyder bring and cowslip wine, + Fruits and flavours from the East, + Pears and pippins too, and fine + Saffron loaves to make a feast; + China dishes, silver cups, + For the board where Celia sups! + + Then, when all the feasting's done, + She shall draw us round the blaze, + Laugh, and tell us every one + Of her far triumphant days-- + Celia, out of doors a star, + By the hearth a holier Lar! + --_Agnes Mary Frances Dudaux_ + + + + + Love in the Valley + + Under yonder beech-tree single on the green-sward, + Couch'd 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 mirror'd 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! + --_George Meredith_ + + + + + Lucifer in Starlight + + On a starr'd night Prince Lucifer uprose. + Tired of his dark dominion swung the fiend + Above the rolling ball in cloud part screen'd, + Where sinners hugg'd their sceptre of repose. + Poor prey to his hot fit of pride were those. + And now upon his western wing he lean'd, + Now his huge bulk o'er Afric's sands careen'd, + Now the black planet shadow'd Arctic snows. + Soaring through wider zones that prick'd his scars + With memory of the old revolt from Awe, + He reach'd a middle height, and at the stars, + Which are the brain of heaven, he look'd, and sank + Around the ancient track march'd, rank on rank, + The army of unalterable law. + --_George Meredith_ + + + + + The maid I love ne'er thought of me + Amid the scenes of gaiety; + But when her heart or mine sank low, + Ah, then it was no longer so! + From the slant palm she rais'd her head, + And kiss'd the cheek whence youth had fled. + Angels! some future day for this, + Give her as sweet and pure a kiss. + --_Walter Savage Landor_ + + + + + To Anthea + + 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 shalt find, + That heart I'll give to thee. + + Bid that heart stay, and it will stay + To honour thy decree; + Or bid it languish quite away, + And it shalt do so for thee. + + Bid me to weep, and I will weep, + While I have eyes to see; + And having none, yet I will keep + A heart to weep 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_ + + + + + The Fair Circassian + + Forty Viziers saw I go + Up to the Seraglio, + Burning, each and every man, + For the fair Circassian. + + Ere the morn had disappear'd, + Every Vizier wore a beard; + Ere the afternoon was born + Every Vizier came back shorn. + + 'Let the man that woos to win + Woo with an unhairy chin:' + Thus she said, and as she bid + Each devoted Vizier did. + + From the beards a cord she made, + Loop'd it to the balustrade, + Glided down and went away + To her own Circassia. + + When the Sultan heard, wax'd he + Somewhat wroth, and presently + In the noose themselves did lend + Every Vizier did suspend. + + Sages all, this rhyme who read, + Of your beards take prudent heed, + And beware the wily plans + Of the fair Circassians. + --_Richard Garnett_ + + + + + 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 dozen in her place. + --_John Suckling_ + + + + + Farewell + + It is buried and done with, + The love that we knew: + Those cobwebs we spun with + Are beaded with dew. + + I loved thee; I leave thee: + To love thee was pain: + I dare not believe thee + To love thee again. + + Like spectres unshriven + Are the years that I lost; + To thee they were given + Without count of cost. + + I cannot revive them + By penance or prayer; + Hell's tempest must drive them + Thro' turbulent air. + + Farewell, and forget me; + For I, too, am free + From the shame that beset me, + The sorrow of thee. + --_John Addington Symonds_ + + + + + Song + + How blest has my time been, what days have I known, + Since wedlock's soft bondage made Jessie my own! + So joyful my heart is, so easy my chain, + That freedom is tasteless and roving a pain. + + Through walks, grown with woodbines, as often we stray, + Around us our girls and boys frolic and play, + How pleasing their sport is, the wanton ones see, + And borrow their looks from my Jessie and me. + + To try her sweet temper sometimes am I seen + In revels all day with the nymphs of the green; + Though painful my absence, my doubts she beguiles, + And meets me at night with compliance and smiles. + + What though on her cheek the rose loses its hue, + Her ease and good humour bloom all the year through, + Time still, as he flies, brings increase to her truth, + And gives to her mind what he steals from her youth. + + Ye shepherds so gay, who make love to ensnare, + And cheat with false vows the too credulous fair, + In search of true pleasure how vainly you roam, + To hold it for life, you must find it at home. + --_Edward Moore_ + + + + + On a Fan that Belonged to the + Marquise de Pompadour + + Chicken-skin, delicate, white, + Painted by Carlo Vanloo, + Loves in a riot of light, + Roses and vaporous blue; + Hark to the dainty frou-frou! + Picture above if you can, + Eyes that could melt as the dew-- + This was the Pompadour's fan! + + See how they rise at the sight, + Thronging the OEil de Boeuf through, + Courtiers as butterflies bright, + Beauties that Fragonard drew, + Talon-rouge, falbala, queue, + Cardinal, Duke,--to a man, + Eager to sigh or to sue,-- + This was the Pompadour's fan! + + Ah! but things more than polite + Hung on this toy, voyez vous! + Matters of state and of might, + Things that great ministers do; + Things that, maybe, overthrew + Those in whose brains they began; + Here was the sign and the cue,-- + This was the Pompadour's fan! + + + _Envoy_. + + Where are the secrets it knew? + Weavings of plot and of plan? + --But where is the Pompadour, too? + This was the Pompadour's Fan! + --_Austin Dobson_ + + + + + A Birthday + + My heart is like a singing bird + Whose nest is in a water'd shoot; + My heart is like an apple-tree + Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit; + My heart is like a rainbow shell + That paddles in a halcyon sea; + My heart is gladder than all these, + Because my love is come to me. + + Raise me a dais of silk and down; + Hang it with vair and purple dyes; + Carve it in doves and pomegranates, + And peacocks with a hundred eyes; + Work it in gold and silver grapes, + In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys; + Because the birthday of my life + Is come, my love is come to me. + --_Christina Georgina Rossetti_ + + + + + "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. + --_Walter Porter_ + + + + + Days + + Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days, + Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes + And marching single in an endless file, + Bring diadems and faggots in their hands. + To each they offer gifts after his will-- + Bread, kingdoms, stars, and sky that holds them all. + I, in my pleached garden, watch'd the pomp, + Forgot my morning wishes, hastily + Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day + Turn'd and departed silent. I, too late, + Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn. + --_Ralph Waldo Emerson_ + + + + + A Hymn to Love + + I will confess + With cheerfulness, + Love is a thing so likes me, + That let her lay + On me all day + I'll kiss the hand that strikes me. + + I will not, I + Now blubb'ring, cry, + It (ah!) too late repents me, + That I did fall + To love at all, + Since love so much contents me. + + No, no, I'll be + In fetters free: + While others they sit wringing + Their hands for pain, + I'll entertain + The wounds of love with singing. + --_Robert Herrick_ + + + + + Adieu L'Amour + + Here end my chains, and thraldom cease, + If not in joy, I'll live at least in peace; + Since for the pleasures of an hour, + We must endure an age of pain; + I'll be this abject thing no more, + Love, give me back my heart again. + + Despair tormented first my breast, + Now falsehood, a more cruel guest; + O! for the peace of human kind, + Make women longer true, or sooner kind; + With justice, or with mercy reign, + O Love! or give me back my heart again. + --_George Granville_ (_Lord Lansdowne_) + + + + + My Little Pretty One + + My little pretty one! + My softly winning one! + Oh! thou'rt a merry one! + And playful as can be. + With a beck thou com'st anon; + In a trice, too, thou are gone, + And I must sigh alone, + But sighs are lost upon thee. + + Art thou my smiling one, + Art thou my pouting one, + Art thou my teasing one, + A goddess, elf, or grace? + With a frown thou wound'st my heart, + With a smile thou heal'st the smart; + Why play the tyrant's part + With such an innocent face? + --_Old Song_ + + + + + Song + + 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 had'st 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. + --_Edmund Waller_ + + + + + Song + + The bee to the heather, + The lark to the sky, + The roe to the greenwood, + And whither shall I? + + O, Alice! Ah, Alice! + So sweet to the bee + Are moorland and heather + By Cannock and Leigh! + + O, Alice! Ah, Alice! + O'er Teddesley Park + The sunny sky scatters + The notes of the lark! + + O, Alice! Ah, Alice! + In Beaudesert glade + The roes toss their antlers + For joy of the shade!-- + + But Alice, dear Alice! + Glade, moorland, nor sky + Without you can content me-- + And whither shall I? + --_Sir Henry Taylor_ + + + + + Song + + The lark now leaves his wat'ry 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_ + + + + + Rain on the Down + + Night, and the down by the sea, + And the veil of rain on the down; + And she came through the mist and the rain to me + From the safe warm lights of the town. + + The rain shone in her hair, + And her face gleam'd in the rain; + And only the night and the rain were there + As she came to me out of the rain. + --_Arthur Symons_ + + + + + Down by the Sally Gardens + + Down by the sally gardens my love and I did meet; + She pass'd the sally 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 bade 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_ + + + + + 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_ + + + + + Song + + When Delia on the plain appears + Aw'd 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 ravish'd ear + No other voice but 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 pleas'd 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_ + + + + + Advice Against Travel + + Traverse not the globe for lore! The sternest + But the surest teacher is the heart; + Studying that and that alone, thou learnest + Best and soonest whence and what thou art. + + Moor, Chinese, Egyptian, Russian, Roman, + Tread one common down-hill path of doom; + Everywhere the names are man and woman, + Everywhere the old sad sins find room. + + Evil angels tempt us in all places. + What but sands or snows hath earth to give? + Dream not, friend, of deserts and oases; + But look inwards, and begin to live! + --_James Clarence Mangan_ + + + + + 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 plann'd: + 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. + --_Christina Georgina Rossetti_ + + + + + 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 lull'd 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_ (_Lord Byron_) + + + + + A Valentine + + What shall I send my love today + When all the woods attune to love, + And I would show the lark and dove + That I can love as well as they? ... + + I'll send a kiss, for that would be + The quickest sent, the lightest borne; + And well I know to-morrow morn + She'll send it back again to me. + + Go, happy winds! ah, do not stay + Enamour'd of my lady's cheek, + But hasten home, and I'll bespeak + Your services another day! + --_Matilda Betham Edwards_ + + + + + To His Mistress, Objecting to His Neither Toying + nor Talking + + You say I love not, 'cause I do not play + Still with your curls, and kiss the time away. + You blame me, too, because I can't devise + Some sport, to please those babies in your eyes; + By Love's religion, I must here confess it, + The most I love when I the least express it. + Small griefs find tongues; full casks are ever found + To give, if any, yet but little sound. + Deep waters noiseless are; and this we know, + That chiding streams betray small depths below. + So, when Love speechless is, she doth express + A depth in love, and that depth bottomless. + Now since my love is tongueless, know me such, + Who speak but little, 'cause I love so much. + --_Robert Herrick_ + + + + + When You Are Old + + 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_ + + + + + Song + + 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_ + + + + + Song + + I lately vow'd, but 'twas in haste, + That I no more would court + The joys that 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_ + + + + + My Loves + + Name the leaves on all the trees, + Name the waves on all the seas, + Name the notes of all the groves, + Thus thou namest all my loves. + + I do love the young, the old, + Maiden modest, virgin bold; + Tiny beauties and the tall-- + Earth has room enough for all! + + Which is better--who can say?-- + Mary grave or Lucy gay? + She who half her charms conceals, + She who flashes while she feels? + + Why should I my love confine? + Why should fair be mine or thine? + If I praise a tulip, why + Should I pass the primrose by? + + Paris was a pedant fool + Meting beauty by the rule: + Pallas? Juno? Venus?--he + Should have chosen all the three! + --_John Stuart Blackie_ + + + + + Cupid Mistaken + + Venus whipt Cupid t'other day, + For having lost his bow and quiver; + For he had given them both away + To Stella, queen of Isis river. + + "Mamma! you wrong me while you strike," + Cried weeping Cupid, "for I vow, + Stella and you are so alike, + I thought that I had lent them you." + --_William Somerville_ + + + + + Song + + Hard is the fate of him who loves, + Yet dares not tell his trembling pain, + But to the sympathetic groves, + But to the lonely listening plain. + + Oh! when she blesses next your shade, + Oh! when her footsteps next are seen + In flowery tracts along the mead, + In fresher mazes o'er the green, + + Ye gentle spirits of the vale, + To whom the tears of love are dear, + From dying lilies waft a gale, + And sigh my sorrows in her ear. + + Oh, tell her what she cannot blame, + Though fear my tongue must ever bind; + Oh, tell her that my virtuous flame + Is as her spotless soul, refin'd. + + Not her own guardian angel eyes + With chaster tenderness his care, + Not purer her own wishes rise, + Not holier her own sighs in prayer. + + But if, at first, her virgin fear + Should start at love's suspected name, + With that of friendship soothe her ear-- + True love and friendship are the same. + --_William Somerville_ + + + + + Faith + + Better trust all, and be deceived, + And weep that trust and that deceiving, + Than doubt one heart that, if believed, + Had bless'd one's life with true believing. + + O, in this mocking world too fast + The doubting fiend o'ertakes our youth! + Better be cheated to the last + Than lose the blessed hope of truth. + --_Frances Anne Kemble_ + + + + + Memories + + A beautiful and happy girl, + With step as light as summer air, + Eyes glad with smiles, and brow of pearl, + Shadow'd by many a careless curl + Of unconfined and flowing hair; + A seeming child in everything, + Save thoughtful brow and ripening charms, + As Nature wears the smile of Spring + When sinking into Summer's arms. + + A mind rejoicing in the light + Which melted through its graceful bower, + Leaf after leaf, dew-moist and bright, + And stainless in its holy white, + Unfolding like a morning flower: + A heart, which, like a fine-toned lute, + With every breath of feeling woke, + And, even when the tongue was mute, + From eye and lip in music spoke. + --_John Greenleaf Whittier_ + + + + + The Forest Maid + + O fairest of the rural maids! + Thy birth was in the forest shades; + And all the beauty of the place + Is in thy heart and on thy face. + + The twilight of the trees and rocks + Is in the light shade of thy locks, + Thy step is as the wind that weaves + Its playful way among the leaves. + + Thine eyes are springs, in whose serene + And silent waters heaven is seen; + Their lashes are the herds that look + On their young figures in the brook. + + The forest depths by foot unpress'd + Are not more sinless than thy breast; + The holy peace that fills the air + Of those calm solitudes is there. + --_William Cullen Bryant_ + + + + + All's Well + + The clouds, which rise with thunder, slake + Our thirsty souls with rain; + The blow most dreaded falls to break + From off our limbs a chain; + And wrongs of man to man but make + The love of God more plain. + As through the shadowy lens of even + The eye looks farthest into heaven + On gleams of star and depths of blue + The glaring sunshine never knew! + --_John Greenleaf Whittier_ + + + + + A Violinist + + The lark above our heads doth know + A heaven we see not here below; + She sees it, and for joy she sings; + Then falls with ineffectual wings. + + Ah, soaring soul! faint not nor tire! + Each heaven attain'd reveals a higher, + Thy thought is of thy failure; we + List raptured, and thank God for thee. + --_Francis William Bourdillon_ + + + + + To Helen + + Helen, thy beauty is to me + Like those Nicean barks of yore + That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, + The weary way-worn 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_ + + + + + The Truth of Woman + + Woman's faith, and woman's trust-- + Write the characters in dust; + Stamp them on the running stream, + Print them on the moon's pale beam, + And each evanescent letter + Shall be clearer, firmer, better, + And more permanent, I ween, + Than the thing those letters mean. + + I have strain'd the spider's thread + 'Gainst the promise of a maid; + I have weigh'd a grain of sand + 'Gainst her plight of heart and hand; + I hold my true love of the token, + How her faith proved light and her word was broken: + Again her word and truth she plight, + And I believed them again ere night. + --_Sir Walter Scott_ + + + + + Ageanax + + Dear voyager, a lucky star be thine, + To Mytilene sailing over sea, + Or foul or fair the constellations shine, + Or east or west the wind-blown billows flee. + May halcyon-birds that hover o'er the brine + Diffuse abroad their own tranquillity, + Till ocean stretches stilly as the wine + In this deep cup which now we drain to thee. + + From lip to lip the merry circle through + We pass the tankard and repeat thy name; + And having pledged thee once, we pledge anew, + Lest in thy friends' neglect thou suffer shame. + God-speed to ship, good health to pious crew, + Peace by the way, and port of noble fame! + --_Edward Cracroft Lefroy_ + + + + + Names + + 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!" returned my gentle fair, + "Beloved, what are names but air? + Choose whatever suits the line; + Call me Sappho, call me Chloris, + Call me Lalage or Doris, + Only, only call me Thine!" + --_Samuel Taylor Coleridge_ + + + + + A Summer Day in Old Sicily + + Gods, what a sun! I think the world's aglow + This garment irks me. Phoebus, it is hot! + 'Twere sad if Glycera should find me shot + By flame-tipp'd arrows from the Archer's bow. + Perchance he envies me,--the villain! O + For one tree's shadow or a cliff-side grot! + Where shall I shelter that he slay me not? + In what cool air or element?--I know. + + The sea shall save me from the sweltering land: + Far out I'll wade, till creeping up and up, + The cold green water quenches every limb. + Then to the jealous god with lifted hand + I'll pour libation from a rosy cup, + And leap, and dive, and see the tunnies swim. + --_Edward Cracroft Lefroy_ + + + + + On a Nightingale in April + + The yellow moon is a dancing phantom + Down secret ways of the flowing shade; + And the waveless stream has a murmuring whisper + Where the alders wade. + + Not a breath, not a sigh, save the slow stream's whisper: + Only the moon is a dancing blade + That leads a host of the Crescent warriors + To a phantom raid. + + Out of the lands of Faerie a summons, + A long strange cry that thrills thro' the glade:-- + The grey-green glooms of the elm are stirring, + Newly afraid. + + Last heard, white music, under the olives + Where once Theocritus sang and play'd-- + Thy Thracian song is the old new wonder-- + O moon-white maid! + --_William Sharp_ + + + + + Home-Thoughts from Abroad + + O, to be in England + Now that April's there, + And whoever wakes in England + Sees, some morning, unaware, + That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf + Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf, + While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough + In England--now! + + And after April, when May follows, + And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows! + Hark, where my blossom'd pear-tree in the hedge + Leans to the field and scatters on the clover + Blossoms and dewdrops--at the bent spray's edge-- + That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, + Lest you should think he never could recapture + The first fine careless rapture! + And though the fields look rough with hoary dew, + All will be gay when noontide wakes anew + The buttercups, the little children's dower + --Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower! + --_Robert Browning_ + + + + + FEW HAPPY MATCHES + + Say, mighty Love, and teach my song, + To whom thy sweetest joys belong, + And who the happy pairs + Whose yielding hearts, and joining hands, + Find blessings twisted with their bands + To soften all their cares. + + Two kindest souls alone must meet, + 'Tis friendship makes the bondage sweet, + And feeds their mutual loves: + Bright Venus on her rolling throne + Is drawn by gentlest birds alone, + And Cupids yoke the doves. + --_Dr. Isaac Watts_ + + + + + A Song + + Gentle love, this hour befriend me, + To my eyes resign thy dart; + Notes of melting music lend me, + To dissolve a frozen heart. + + Chill as mountain snow her bosom, + Though I tender language use, + 'Tis by cold indifference frozen, + To my arms, and to my Muse. + + See! my dying eyes are pleading, + Where a breaking heart appears; + For thy pity interceding + With the eloquence of tears. + + While the lamp of life is fading, + And beneath thy coldness dies, + Death my ebbing pulse invading, + Take my soul into thy eyes. + --_Aaron Hill_ + + + + + Love's Likeness + + O mark yon Rose-tree! When the West + Breathes on her with too warm a zest, + She turns her cheek away; + Yet if one moment he refrain, + She turns her cheek to him again, + And woos him still to stay! + + Is she not like a maiden coy + Press'd by some amorous-breathing boy? + Tho' coy, she courts him too, + Winding away her slender form, + She will not have him woo so warm, + And yet will have him woo! + --_George Darley_ + + + + + My Lady + + I loved her for that she was beautiful; + And that to me she seem'd to be all Nature, + And all varieties of things in one: + Would set at night in clouds of tears, and rise + All light and laughter in the morning; fear + No petty customs nor appearances; + But think what others only dream'd about; + And say what others did but think; and do + What others did but say; and glory in + What others dared but do; so pure withal + In soul; in heart and act such conscious yet + Such perfect innocence, she made round her + A halo of delight. 'Twas these which won me;-- + And that she never school'd within her breast + One thought or feeling, but gave holiday + To all; and that she made all even mine + In the communion of Love; and we + Grew like each other, for we loved each other; + She, mild and generous as the air in Spring; + And I, like Earth all budding out with love. + --_Philip James Bailey_ + + + + + To a Discarded Toast + + Celia, confess 'tis all in vain + To patch the ruins of thy face; + Nor of ill-natur'd time complain, + That robs it of each blooming grace. + + If love no more shall bend his bow, + Nor point his arrows from thine eye, + If no lac'd fop, nor feathered beau, + Despairing at thy feet shall die. + + Yet still, my charmer, wit like thine + Shall triumph over age and fate; + Thy setting beams with lustre shine, + And rival their meridian height. + + Beauty, fair flower! soon fades away, + And transient are the joys of love; + But wit, and virtue ne'er decay, + Ador'd below, and bless'd above. + --_William Somerville_ + + + + + The Bonnie Wee Thing + + Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing, + Lovely wee thing, wast 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 sould of mine. + --_Robert Burns_ + + + + + Song from "The Princess" + + Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white; + Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk; + Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font; + The firefly wakens: waken thou with me. + Now droops the milk-white peacock like a ghost, + And like a ghost she glimmers on to me. + + Now lies the Earth all Danae to the stars, + And all thy heart lies open unto me. + + Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves + A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me. + + Now folds the lily all her sweetness up, + And slips into the bosom of the lake: + So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip + Into my bosom and be lost in me. + --_Alfred Tennyson_ + + + + + Song + + She is not fair to outward view + As many maidens be; + Her loveliness I never knew + Until she smiled on me; + O, 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_ + + + + + To a Lofty Beauty, from Her Poor Kinsman + + Fair maid, had I not heard thy baby cries, + Nor seen thy girlish, sweet vicissitude, + Thy mazy motions, striving to elude, + Yet wooing still a parent's watchful eyes, + Thy humours, many as the opal's dyes, + And lovely all;--methinks thy scornful mood, + And bearing high of stately womanhood,-- + Thy brow, where Beauty sits to tyrannize + O'er humble love, had made me sadly fear thee; + For never sure was seen a royal bride, + Whose gentleness gave grace to so much pride-- + My very thoughts would tremble to be near thee: + But when I see thee at thy father's side, + Old times unqueen thee, and old loves endear thee. + --_Hartley Coleridge_ + + + + + Time of Roses + + It was not in the Winter + Our loving lot was cast; + It was the time of roses-- + We pluck'd them as we pass'd! + + That churlish season never frown'd + On early lovers yet: + O no--the world was newly crown'd + With flowers when first we met! + + 'Twas twilight, and I bade you go + But still you held me fast; + It was the time of roses-- + We pluck'd them as we pass'd! + --_Thomas Hood_ + + + + + Hermione + + Thou hast beauty bright and fair, + Manner noble, aspect free, + Eyes that are untouch'd by care; + What then do we ask from thee? + Hermione, Hermione! + + Thou hast reason quick and strong, + Wit that envious men admire, + And a voice, itself a song! + What then can we still desire? + Hermione, Hermione! + + Something thou dost want, O queen! + (As the gold doth ask alloy), + Tears--amidst thy laughter seen, + Pity--mingling with thy joy. + This is all we ask from thee, + Hermione, Hermione! + --_Bryan Waller Proctor_ + + + + + Delia + + Fair the face of orient day, + Fair the tints of op'ning rose; + But fairer still my Delia dawns, + More lovely far her beauty blows. + + Sweet the lark's wild-warbled lay, + Sweet the tinkling rill to hear; + But, Delia, more delightful still, + Steal thine accents on mine ear. + + The flower-enamour'd busy bee + The rosy banquet loves to sip; + Sweet the streamlet's limpid lapse + To the sun-brown'd Arab's lip. + + But, Delia, on thy balmy lips + Let me, no vagrant insect, rove! + O let me steal one liquid kiss! + For oh! my soul is parch'd with love. + --_Robert Burns_ + + + + + Speaking and Kissing + + The air which thy smooth voice doth break, + Into my soul like lightning flies; + My life retires while thou dost speak, + And thy soft breath its room supplies. + + Lost in this pleasing ecstasy, + I join my trembling lips to thine, + And back receive that life from thee + Which I so gladly did resign. + + Forbear, Platonic fools! t'inquire + What numbers do the soul compose; + No harmony can life inspire + But that which from these accents flows. + --_Thomas Stanley_ + + + + + A Rondeau to Ethel + + "In tea-cup times"! The style of dress + Would meet your beauty, I confess; + Belinda-like, the patch you'd wear; + I picture you the powdered hair,-- + You'd make a charming Shepherdess! + + And I--no doubt--could well express + Sir Plume's complete conceitedness,-- + Could poise a clouded cane with care + "In tea-cup times"! + + The parts would fit precisely--yes; + We should achieve a huge success! + You should disdain, and I despair, + With quite the true Augustan air; + But ... could I love you more, or less,-- + "In tea-cup times"? + --_Austin Dobson_ + + + + + 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_ + + + + + Under the Wattle + + "Why should not Wattle do + For Mistletoe? + Ask'd one--they were but two-- + Where wattles grow. + + He was her lover, too, + Who urged her so-- + "Why should not Wattle do + For Mistletoe?" + + A rose-cheek rosier grew; + Rose-lips breathed low-- + "Since it is here--and You-- + I hardly know + Why Wattle should not do." + --_Douglas Brook Wheelton Sladen_ + + + + + Eutopia + + There is a garden where lilies + And roses are side by side; + And all day between them in silence + The silken butterflies glide. + + I may not enter the garden, + Tho' I know the road thereto; + And morn by morn to the gateway + I see the children go. + + They bring back light on their faces; + But they cannot bring back to me + What the lilies say to the roses, + Or the songs of the butterflies be. + --_Francis Turner Palgrave_ + + + + + Designed and Printed + in the Shop of + P. 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