Part 38
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.