Chapter XVII: Part 17

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.