Part 11
I bring you all my lonely days, My heart that hungered so; I love you through the wistful haze Of autumns burning low; And on pale seas, beneath wan sky, By weary tides beset, I voyage still, till you and I Over the world are met.
I bring you all my happy days, - Armfuls of flowers - oh, I love you as the sunlight stays On mountains heaped with snow: And where the dearest dream-buds lie, With tears and dew-drops wet, I toss to-day; for you and I Over the world are met!
Benjamin R. C. Low [1880-
TO ARCADY
Across the hills of Arcady Into the Land of Song - Ah, dear, if you will go with me The way will not be long!
It will not lead through solitudes Of wind-blown woods or sea; Dear, no! the city's weariest moods May scarce veil Arcady.
'Tis in no unfamiliar land Lit by some distant star. No! Arcady is where you stand, And Song is where you are!
So walk but hand in hand with me - No road can lead us wrong; These are the hills of Arcady - Here is the Land of Song!
Charles Buxton Going [1863-
WILD WISHES
I wish, because the sweetness of your passing Makes all the earth a garden where you tread, That I might be the meanest of your roses, To pave your path with petals passion-red!
I wish, because the softness of your breathing Stirs the white jasmine at your window frame, That I might be the fragrance of a flower, To stir the night breeze with your dearest name!
I wish, because the glory of your dreaming Strews all the field of heaven with throbbing stars, That I might storm the portals of your slumber, And soar with you beyond night's golden bars!
I wish to be the day you die, Beloved, Though at its close my foolish heart must break! But most of all, I wish, my dearest darling, To be the Blessed Morning when you wake!
Ethel M. Hewitt [18 -
"BECAUSE OF YOU"
Sweet have I known the blossoms of the morning Tenderly tinted to their hearts of dew: But now my flowers have found a fuller fragrance, Because of you.
Long have I worshiped in my soul's enshrining High visions of the noble and the true - Now all my aims and all my prayers are purer, Because of you.
Wise have I seen the uses of life's labor; To all its puzzles found some answering clue. But now my life has learned a nobler meaning, Because of you.
In the past days I chafed at pain and waiting, Grasping at gladness as the children do; Now it is sweet to wait and joy to suffer, Because of you.
In the long years of silences that part us Dimmed by my tears and darkened to my view, Close shall I hold my memories and my madness, Because of you.
Whether our lips shall touch or hands shall hunger, Whether our love be fed or joys be few, Life will be sweeter and more worth the living, Because of you.
Sophia Almon Hensley [1866-
THEN
I give thee treasures hour by hour, That old-time princes asked in vain, And pined for in their useless power, Or died of passion's eager pain.
I give thee love as God gives light, Aside from merit, or from prayer, Rejoicing in its own delight, And freer than the lavish air.
I give thee prayers, like jewels strung On golden threads of hope and fear; And tenderer thoughts than ever hung In a sad angel's pitying tear.
As earth pours freely to the sea Her thousand streams of wealth untold, So flows my silent life to thee, Glad that its very sands are gold.
What care I for thy carelessness? I give from depths that overflow, Regardless that their power to bless Thy spirit cannot sound or know.
Far lingering on a distant dawn, My triumph shines, more sweet than late; When, from these mortal mists withdrawn, Thy heart shall know me - I can wait.
Rose Terry Cooke [1827-1892]
THE MISSIVE
I that tremble at your feet Am a rose; Nothing dewier or more sweet Buds or blows; He that plucked me, he that threw me Breathed in fire his whole soul through me.
How the cold air is infused With the scent! See, this satin leaf is bruised - Bruised and bent, Lift me, lift the wounded blossom, Soothe it at your rosier bosom!
Frown not with averted eyes! Joy's a flower That is born a god, and dies In an hour. Take me, for the Summer closes, And your life is but a rose's.
Edmund Gosse [1849-1928]
PLYMOUTH HARBOR
Oh, what know they of harbors Who toss not on the sea! They tell of fairer havens But none so fair there be
As Plymouth town outstretching Her quiet arms to me; Her breast's broad welcome spreading From Mewstone to Penlee.
Ah, with this home-thought, darling, Come crowding thoughts of thee. Oh, what know they of harbors Who toss not on the sea!
Mrs. Ernest Radford [1858-
THE SERF'S SECRET
I know a secret, such a one The hawthorn blossoms spider-spun, The dew-damp daisies in the grass Laugh up to greet me as I pass To meet the upland sun.
It is that I would rather be The little page, on bended knee, Who stoops to gather up her train Beneath the porch-lamp's ruby rain Than hold a realm in fee.
It is that in her scornful eye, Too hid for courtly sneer to spy, I saw, one day, a look which said That I, and only I, might shed Love-light across her sky.
I know a secret, such a one The hawthorn blossoms spider-spun, The dew-damp daisies in the grass Laugh up to greet me as I pass To meet the upland sun.
William Vaughn Moody [1869-1910]
"O, INEXPRESSIBLE AS SWEET"
O, inexpressible as sweet, Love takes my voice away; I cannot tell thee when we meet What most I long to say.
But hadst thou hearing in thy heart To know what beats in mine, Then shouldst thou walk, where'er thou art, In melodies divine.
So warbling birds lift higher notes Than to our ears belong; The music fills their throbbing throats, But silence steals the song.
George Edward Woodberry [1855-1930]
THE CYCLAMEN
Over the plains where Persian hosts Laid down their lives for glory Flutter the cyclamens, like ghosts That witness to their story. Oh, fair! Oh, white! Oh, pure as snow! On countless graves how sweet they grow!
Or crimson, like the cruel wounds From which the life-blood, flowing, Poured out where now on grassy mounds The low, soft winds are blowing: Oh, fair! Oh, red! Like blood of slain; Not even time can cleanse that stain.
But when my dear these blossoms holds, All loveliness her dower, All woe and joy the past enfolds In her find fullest flower. Oh, fair! Oh, pure! Oh, white and red! If she but live, what are the dead!
Arlo Bates [1850-1918]
THE WEST-COUNTRY LOVER
Then, lady, at last thou art sick of my sighing? Good-bye! So long as I sue, thou wilt still be denying? Good-bye! Ah, well! shall I vow then to serve thee forever, And swear no unkindness our kinship can sever? Nay, nay, dear my lass! here's an end of endeavor. Good-bye!
Yet let no sweet ruth for my misery grieve thee. Good-bye! The man who has loved knows as well how to leave thee. Good-bye! The gorse is enkindled, there's bloom on the heather, And love is my joy, and so too is fair weather; I still ride abroad, though we ride not together. Good-bye!
My horse is my mate; let the wind be my master. Good-bye! Though Care may pursue, yet my hound follows faster. Good-bye! The red deer's a-tremble in coverts unbroken. He hears the hoof-thunder; he scents the death-token. Shall I mope at home, under vows never spoken? Good-bye!
The brown earth's my book, and I ride forth to read it. Good-bye! The stream runneth fast, but my will shall outspeed it. Good-bye! I love thee, dear lass, but I hate the hag Sorrow. As sun follows rain, and to-night has its morrow, So I'll taste of joy, though I steal, beg, or borrow! Good-bye!
Alice Brown [1857-
"BE YE IN LOVE WITH APRIL-TIDE"
Be ye in love with April-tide? I' faith, in love am I! For now 'tis sun, and now 'tis shower, And now 'tis frost and now 'tis flower, And now 'tis Laura laughing-eyed, And now 'tis Laura shy!
Ye doubtful days, O slower glide! Still smile and frown, O sky! Some beauty unforeseen I trace In every change of Laura's face; - Be ye in love with April-tide? I' faith, in love am I!
Clinton Scollard [1860-1932]
UNITY
Heart of my heart, the world is young: Love lies hidden in every rose! Every song that the skylark sung Once, we thought, must come to a close: Now we know the spirit of song, Song that is merged in the chant of the whole, Hand in hand as we wander along, What should we doubt of the years that roll?
Heart of my heart, we can not die! Love triumphant in flower and tree, Every life that laughs at the sky Tells us nothing can cease to be; One, we are one with a song to-day, One with the clover that scents the wold, One with the Unknown, far away, One with the stars, when earth grows old.
Heart of my heart, we are one with the wind, One with the clouds that are whirled o'er the lea, One in many, O broken and blind, One as the waves are at one with the sea! Ay! when life seems scattered apart, Darkens, ends as a tale that is told, One, we are one, O heart of my heart, One, still one, while the world grows old.
Alfred Noyes [1880-
THE QUEEN
He loves not well whose love is bold! I would not have thee come too nigh: The sun's gold would not seem pure gold Unless the sun were in the sky: To take him thence and chain him near Would make his glory disappear.
He keeps his state, - keep thou in thine, And shine upon me from afar! So shall I bask in light divine, That falls from love's own guiding star; So shall thy eminence be high, And so my passion shall not die;
But all my life shall reach its hands Of lofty longing toward thy face, And be as one who, speechless, stands In rapture at some perfect grace! My love, my hope, my all shall be To look to heaven and look to thee!
Thy eyes shall be the heavenly lights, Thy voice the gentle summer breeze, - What time it sways, on moonlit nights, The murmuring tops of leafy trees; And I shall touch thy beauteous form In June's red roses, rich and warm.
But thou thyself shall come not down From that pure region far above; But keep thy throne and wear thy crown, Queen of my heart and queen of love! A monarch in thy realm complete, And I a monarch - at thy feet!
William Winter [1836-1917]
A LOVER'S ENVY
I envy every flower that blows Beside the pathway where she goes, And every bird that sings to her, And every breeze that brings to her The fragrance of the rose.
I envy every poet's rhyme That moves her heart at eventime, And every tree that wears for her Its brightest bloom, and bears for her The fruitage of its prime.
I envy every Southern night That paves her path with moonbeams white, And silvers all the leaves for her, And in their shadow weaves for her A dream of dear delight.
I envy none whose love requires Of her a gift, a task that tires: I only long to live to her, I only ask to give to her All that her heart desires.
Henry Van Dyke [1852-1933]
STAR SONG
When sunset flows into golden glows And the breath of the night is new, Love, find afar eve's eager star - That is my thought of you.
O tear-wet eye that scans the sky Your lonely lattice through: Choose any one, from sun to sun - That is my thought of you.
And when you wake at the morning's break To rival rose and dew, The star that stays till the leaping rays - That is my thought of you.
Ay, though by day they seem away Beyond or cloud or blue, From dawn to night unquenched their light - As are my thoughts of you.
Robert Underwood Johnson [1853-
"MY HEART SHALL BE THY GARDEN"
My heart shall be thy garden. Come, my own, Into thy garden; thine be happy hours Among my fairest thoughts, my tallest flowers, From root to crowning petal, thine alone. Thine is the place from where the seeds are sown Up to the sky inclosed, with all its showers. But ah, the birds, the birds! Who shall build bowers To keep these thine? O friend, the birds have flown.
For as these come and go, and quit our pine To follow the sweet season, or, new-corners, Sing one song only from our alder-trees, My heart has thoughts, which, though thine eyes hold mine. Flit to the silent world and other summers, With wings that dip beyond the silver seas.
Alice Meynell [1853-1922]
AT NIGHT
Home, home from the horizon far and clear, Hither the soft wings sweep; Flocks of the memories of the day draw near The dovecote doors of sleep.
Oh which are they that come through sweetest light Of all these homing birds? Which with the straightest and the swiftest flight? Your words to me, your words!
Alice Meynell [1850-1922]
SONG
Song is so old, Love is so new - Let me be still And kneel to you.
Let me be still And breathe no word, Save what my warm blood Sings unheard.
Let my warm blood Sing low of you - Song is so fair, Love is so new!
Hermann Hagedorn [1882-
"ALL LAST NIGHT"
All last night I had quiet In a fragrant dream and warm: She had become my Sabbath, And round my neck, her arm.
I knew the warmth in my dreaming; The fragrance, I suppose, Was her hair about me, Or else she wore a rose.
Her hair, I think; for likest Woodruffe 'twas, when Spring Loitering down wet woodways Treads it sauntering.
No light, nor any speaking; Fragrant only and warm. Enough to know my lodging, The white Sabbath of her arm.
Lascelles Abercrombie [1881-
THE LAST WORD
When I have folded up this tent And laid the soiled thing by, I shall go forth 'neath different stars, Under an unknown sky.
And yet whatever house I find Beneath the grass or snow Will ne'er be tenantless of love Or lack the face I know.
O lips - wild roses wet with rain! Blown hair of drifted brown! O passionate eyes! O panting heart - When in that colder town
I lie, the one inhabitant, My hands across my breast, How warm through all eternity The summer of my rest!
To each frail root beneath the ground That thrusts its flower above, I shall impart a fiercer sap - I who have known your love!
And growing things will lean to me To learn what love hath won, Till I shall whisper to the dust That secret of the Sun.
Yea, though my spirit never wake To hear the voice I knew, Even an endless sleep would be Stirred by the dreams of You!
Frederic Lawrence Knowles [1869-1905]
"HEART OF MY HEART"
Heart of my heart, my life, my light! If you were lost what should I do? I dare not let you from my sight Lest Death should fall in love with you.
Such countless terrors lie in wait! The gods know well how dear you are! What if they left me desolate And plucked and set you for their star!
Then hold me close, the gods are strong, And perfect joy so rare a flower No man may hope to keep it long - And I may lose you any hour.
Then kiss me close, my star, my flower! So shall the future grant me this: That there was not a single hour We might have kissed, and did not kiss!
Unknown
MY LADDIE
Oh, my laddie, my laddie, I lo'e your very plaidie, I lo'e your very bonnet Wi' the silver buckle on it, I lo'e your collie Harry, I lo'e the kent ye carry; But oh! it's past my power to tell How much, how much I lo'e yoursel!
Oh, my dearie, my dearie, I could luik an' never weary At your een sae blue an' iaughin', That a heart o' stane wad saften, While your mouth sae proud an' curly Gars my heart gang tirlie-wirlie; But oh! yoursel, your very sel, I lo'e ten thousand times as well!
Oh! my darlin', my darlin', Let's flit whaur flits the starlin', Let's loll upo' the heather A' this bonny, bonny weather; Ye shall fauld me in your plaidie, My luve, my luve, my laddie; An' close, an' close into your ear I'll tell ye how I lo'e ye, dear.
Amelie Rives [1863-
THE SHADED POOL
A laughing knot of village maids Goes gaily tripping to the brook, For water-nymphs they mean to be, And seek some still, secluded nook. Here Laura goes, my own delight, And Colin's love, the madcap Jane, And half a score of goddesses Trip over daisies in the plain: Already now they loose their hair And peep from out the tangled gold, Or speed the flying foot to reach The brook that's only summer-cold; The lovely locks stream out behind The shepherdesses on the wing, And Laura's is the wealth I love, And Laura's is the gold I sing.
A-row upon the bank they pant, And all unlace the country shoe; Their fingers tug the garter-knots To loose the hose of varied hue. The flashing knee at last appears, The lower curves of youth and grace, Whereat the girls intently scan The mazy thickets of the place. But who's to see except the thrush Upon the wild crab-apple tree? Within his branchy haunt he sits - A very Peeping Tom is he! Now music bubbles in his throat, And now he pipes the scene in song - The virgins slipping from their robes, The cheated stockings lean and long, The swift-descending petticoat, The breasts that heave because they ran, The rounded arms, the brilliant limbs, The pretty necklaces of tan. Did ever amorous God in Greece, In search of some young mouth to kiss, By any river chance upon A sylvan scene as bright as this? But though each maid is pure and fair, For one alone my heart I bring, And Laura's is the shape I love, And Laura's is the snow I sing.
And now upon the brook's green brink, A milk-white bevy, lo, they stand, Half shy, half frightened, reaching back The beauty of a poising hand! How musical their little screams When ripples kiss their shrinking feet! And then the brook embraces all Till gold and white and water meet! Within the streamlet's soft cool arms Delight and love and gracefulness Sport till a flock of tiny waves Swamps all the beds of floating cress; And on his shining face are seen Great yellow lilies drifting down Beyond the ringing apple-tree, Beyond the empty homespun gown. Did ever Orpheus with his lute, When making melody of old, E'er find a stream in Attica So ripely full of pink and gold?
At last they climb the sloping bank And shake upon the thirsty soil A treasury of diamond-drops Not gained by aught of grimy toil. Again the garters clasp the hose, Again the velvet knee is hid, Again the breathless babble tells What Colin said, what Colin did. In grace upon the grass they lie And spread their tresses to the sun, And rival, musical as they, The blackbird's alto shake and run. Did ever Love, on hunting bent, Come idly humming through the hay, And, to his sudden joyfulness, Find fairer game at close of day? Though every maid's a lily-rose, And meet to sway a sceptred king, Yet Laura's is the face I love, And Laura's are the lips I sing.
Norman Gale [1862-
GOOD-NIGHT
Good-night. Good-night. Ah, good the night That wraps thee in its silver light. Good-night. No night is good for me That does not hold a thought of thee. Good-night.
Good-night. Be every night as sweet As that which made our love complete, Till that last night when death shall be One brief "Good-night," for thee and me. Good-night.
S. Weir Mitchell [1829-1914]
THE MYSTIC
By seven vineyards on one hill We walked. The native wine In clusters grew beside us two, For your lips and for mine,
When, "Hark!" you said, - "Was that a bell Or a bubbling spring we heard?" But I was wise and closed my eyes And listened to a bird;
For as summer leaves are bent and shake With singers passing through, So moves in me continually The winged breath of you.
You tasted from a single vine And took from that your fill - But I inclined to every kind, All seven on one hill.
Witter Bynner [1881-
"I AM THE WIND"
I am the wind that wavers, You are the certain land; I am the shadow that passes Over the sand.
I am the leaf that quivers, You the unshaken tree; You are the stars that are steadfast, I am the sea.
You are the light eternal, Like a torch I shall die... You are the surge of deep music, I - but a cry!
Zoe Akins [1886-
"I LOVE MY LIFE, BUT NOT TOO WELL"
I love my life, but not too well To give it to thee like a flower, So it may pleasure thee to dwell Deep in its perfume but an hour. I love my life, but not too well.
I love my life, but not too well To sing it note by note away, So to thy soul the song may tell The beauty of the desolate day. I love my life, but not too well.
I love my life, but not too well To cast it like a cloak on thine, Against the storms that sound and swell Between thy lonely heart and mine. I love my life, but not too well.
Harriet Monroe [1860-1936]
"THIS IS MY LOVE FOR YOU"
I have brought the wine And the folded raiment fine, Pilgrim staff and shoe - This is my love for you.
I will smooth your bed, Lay away your coverlid, Sing the whole day through. This is my love for you.
Mayhap in the night, When the dark beats back the light, I shall struggle too . . . This is my love for you.
In your dream, once more, Will a star lead to my door? To stars and dreams be true This is my love for you . . .
Grace Fallow Norton [1876-
MY LADY'S LIPS
LIPS AND EYES From "Blurt, Master Constable"
Love for such a cherry lip Would be glad to pawn his arrows; Venus here to take a sip Would sell her doves and team of sparrows. But they shall not so; Hey nonny, nonny no! None but I this lip must owe; Hey nonny, nonny no!
Did Jove see this wanton eye, Ganymede must wait no longer; Phoebe here one night did lie, Would change her face and look much younger. But they shall not so; Hey nonny, nonny no! None but I this lip must owe; Hey nonny, nonny no!
Thomas Middleton [1570?-1627]