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 SHOW ME, SWEET EYES, SHOW ME THIS." P. 
 
POEMS OF LOVE 
 
 FKOM THE BEST AUTHORS 
 
 selected and arranged by 
 amy'neally 
 
 SECOND SERIES 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY 
 
 31 West Twenty-Third Street 
 
 1898 
 
 2nd COPY, 
 1898. 
 
 ■CFIVFn. 
 

 671 
 
 Copyright; 1898, by 
 
 E. P. DUTTON & CO. 
 
 z.-snat'l 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Ballad of Colors jr. TT. Mackail 104 
 
 A Brilliant Unknown 27 
 
 Adieu George Wilmot Harris 54 
 
 After-Song 305 
 
 After the Ball Mrs. Lucy H. Hooper 67 
 
 After the Wedding William L. Keese 158 
 
 A Last Talk Unknown 162 
 
 Alone Unknown 110 
 
 A Love Lyric Henry Halloran, C.M.G. 21 
 
 A Lover's Lullaby J. Ashby-Sterry 9 
 
 A Love Song Anonymous 59 
 
 Amoret J.B.Nichols 129 
 
 An Incident Unknown 36 
 
 A Nocturne J.B. Nichols 188 
 
 An Old Romance Douglas Brooke 82 
 
 An Old Song Resung. W. B. Teats 204 
 
 A Protest C.G.D. 98 
 
 A Question. 
 
 H. I. D. Ryder (From the German of Halm) 23 
 
 A Ring Presented to Julia Robert Herrick 167 
 
 A Song— Be Still, My Heart. .Ebenezer Storey Hay 78 
 
 A Song— Upon a Time I Had a Heart. .0. Her ford 2 
 
 A Song of Blessing Frank L. Stanton 58 
 
 A Song of Hearts Unknown 109 
 
 A Song of the Four Seasons Austin Dobson 16 
 
iv CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 At Cupid's Shrine Beaumont and Fletcher 154 
 
 At Your Gate Barton Grey 100 
 
 A Valentine B.A.B. 92 
 
 A Valentine Bobert Browning 10 
 
 A Vilanelle Eugene Davis 308 
 
 A Woman's Way Madeline S. Bridges 173 
 
 Caeli Francis W. Bourdillon 89 
 
 Chansonnette T. Wratislaw 119 
 
 Contempt Ersilio Bicchi 191 
 
 Content Anna Poole Beardsley 34 
 
 Cupid. ... William Blake 45 
 
 Cupid Relieved Soame Jenyns 43 
 
 Daisy Francis Thompson 190 
 
 Dance Song Francis W. L. Adams 3 
 
 Dead Leaves : A Song E. B. Loughran 117 
 
 Dear Betty Charles Hanbury Williams 203 
 
 Dear Love, Thou Art So Far Above. 
 
 Philip Bourke Marston 184 
 
 Destiny Edwin Arnold 92 
 
 De Tout Mon Coeur Grace M. Duffleld 12 
 
 Diaphenia Henry Constable 204 
 
 Dorothy Unknown 124 
 
 Drifting Garret Walch 169 
 
 Drifting Down J. Ashby-Sterry 107 
 
 Fair Rosalind Anonymous 12 
 
 For Love's Sake Zitella Cook 35 
 
 From Midas The Hon. William Foster 143 
 
 Go, Lovely Rose ! Waller 207 
 
 Good-Night Unknown 79 
 
 Good-Night Unknown 138 
 
 Had I a Thousand Souls. 
 
 John Bowing (From the Spanish) 50 
 
 Half- Way In Love J.B.B. Nichols 105 
 
 Heart Song AlvaDeane 95 
 
 He Danced At Her Wedding Unknown 96 
 
CONTENTS. v 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Her Eyes Are Blue Unknown 121 
 
 Her Lips Walter Savage Landor 40 
 
 Her Soul Is Pure Robert Loneman 77 
 
 His Valentine H. S. 3 
 
 How Do I Love Thee ? Robert Browning 35 
 
 If Love Be Steadfast 24 
 
 If I Had Known You W. S. Blunt 20 
 
 If 'Tis Love to Wish You Near. . . . Charles Dibdin 44 
 
 If We Should Meet Arthur J. Baker 64 
 
 I Have Been Taught Unknown 206 
 
 In An Hour Unknown 192 
 
 In Cupid's Court Unknown 51 
 
 I Never Could Love Till Now. 
 
 Matthew Gregory Lewis 209 
 
 In Love's Attic E.R. White 84 
 
 Isabel Ebenezer Storey Hay 146 
 
 Italian Love Song Rudel 157 
 
 It Might Have Been Unknown 214 
 
 Jack and I Unidentified 194 
 
 Just Once More Nellie C. Hastings 31 
 
 Kisses Tennyson 19 
 
 Life and Death Pall Mall Budget 10 
 
 Life and Love Robert Clarkson Tongue 174 
 
 Life's Completeness Unknown 76 
 
 Life's Sweetest Things Geo. Roxby 99 
 
 Lines— Between the Hands . . Dante Gabriel Rossetti 207 
 
 Lines— Her Eyes Are Bright Unknown 91 
 
 Lines— I Have Watched Charles Kingsley 99 
 
 Lines— Kiss and Love Auberon Herbert 52 
 
 Lines— Kiss, Sunbeams, Kiss (From the Greek) 97 
 
 Lines— The Branches Cross Unknown 67 
 
 Lines— To My Valentine Unknown 59 
 
 Lines— Woman Is Formed Waif 21 
 
 Longings , Pakenham Beatty 180 
 
 Love John Oliver Hobbs 6 
 
vi CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Love Mrs. Browning 53 
 
 Love Lord Byron 123 
 
 Love Samuel Butler 169 
 
 Love and I W.J. Crosbie 108 
 
 Love and Death Unidentified 201 
 
 Love and Hate 157 
 
 Love ! If a God Thou Art Francis Davison 27 
 
 Love In Summer Unknown 155 
 
 Love In Winter Austin Dobson 187 
 
 Love Is In Her Sunny Eyes Abraham Cowley 9 
 
 Love Is Not Blind Rosalie M. Jones 86 
 
 Love Like a Shadow Shakespeare 29 
 
 Love, Love, Love Thomas Lodge 8 
 
 Love Me Barry Cornwall 48 
 
 Love the Pursuer Robert Browning 87 
 
 Love Walked Upon the Sea H. C. Beeching 131 
 
 Lovers 1 Quarrels Michael Dayton 145 
 
 Lovers Still Magdalen Rock 199 
 
 Love's a Riddle Henry Carey 42 
 
 Love's Avowal Samuel Minturn Peck 4 
 
 Love's Dream and Awakening Unknown 153 
 
 Love's Eternity Thomas Carew 166 
 
 Love's Holiday Unknown 5 
 
 Love's Imagining , Hopestill Goodwin 13 
 
 Love's Immortality Robert Southey 210 
 
 Love's Lamention Philip J. Holdsworth 117 
 
 Love's Light and Tune Francis W. L. Adams 133 
 
 Love's Litany Wallace Bruce 28 
 
 Love's Messengers William Manley 1 
 
 Love's Philosophy Percy Bysshe Shelley 49 
 
 Love's Valentines Unknown 7 
 
 Love's Voyage Maurice Thompson 38 
 
 Loving at First Sight George Granville 41 
 
 Lying Unknown 127 
 
 Man's Love and Woman's Rose Terry Cook 180 
 
CONTENTS. vii 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Men Were Deceivers Ever. 
 
 ( " Much Ado About Nothing " ) Shakespeare 25 
 
 Mine and Thine (From the German of Fischer) 45 
 
 My Dear Mistress John Wilmot 37 
 
 "My Girl 1 ' L. F. S. Barnard 88 
 
 My Jean Robert Burns 154 
 
 My Lady's Gowns Lulu Wintzer 61 
 
 My Lady Knows Anonymous 46 
 
 My Valentine Lorenzo 165 
 
 No Saint Ronald Macfte 19 
 
 Now Robert Browning 177 
 
 O Cupid John Lyly 15 
 
 Of Love Unknown 57 
 
 Oh, Darling, When You Love Me. 
 
 Frederick Langbridge 65 
 " Oh My Love, Whom My Soul Loves So ! " 
 
 Philip Bourke Marston 13 
 
 O ! Leave Me Not, Dear Heart Unknown 94 
 
 O Love, Come Back Philip Bourke Marston 136 
 
 One Touch of the Hand Unknown 90 
 
 On His Mistress's Eyebrow J. B. Nichols 55 
 
 Only Frances Sescadarowna Lewin 70 
 
 Pansy Unidentified 197 
 
 Pet's Punishment J. Ashby-Sterry 26 
 
 Phillis Is My Only Joy Sir Charles Sedley 60 
 
 Plighted Dinah Maria Mulock-Craik 93 
 
 Questions and Answers T. Winthrop 213 
 
 Quis Separabit Philip J. Holdsworth 65 
 
 Re-Meetings H. C. Beeching 74 
 
 Rosalind's Madrigal Thomas Lodge 170 
 
 Rose Lorraine Henry Clarence Kendall 148 
 
 Scorned Unidentified 189 
 
 See Thy Lover Humbled at Thy Feet. 
 
 Thomas Hood 103 
 
 She Is Coming Tennyson 39 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Should Fickle Hands Alfred Austin 183 
 
 Silent Kisses Leigh Hunt 211 
 
 Song— Nay ! If Thou Must Depart .Edwin Arnold 87 
 
 Song— The Moth's Kiss First. . . .Robert Browning 90 
 
 Song— To My Valentine Robert Browning 30 
 
 Song— Was My Love So Slight a Thing? 
 
 T. Wratislaw 113 
 
 Solitary Unknown 81 
 
 Start and Goal 148 
 
 Swedish Love Song Georgia Roberts 185 
 
 Sweetheart Unknown 120 
 
 Sweetheart Rosamund Marriott Watson 212 
 
 The Departure Tennyson 56 
 
 The Enchantment Thomas Otway 37 
 
 TheKiss Unknown 22 
 
 The Kiss Ben Jonson 30 
 
 The Lover's Request John Donne 132 
 
 Then and Now George Arnold 215 
 
 The Maid's Lament ... Walter Savage Landor 123 
 
 The Old Love Song. Unknown 73 
 
 The Parting Kiss Robert Dodsley 42 
 
 The Reflections of a Mirror Unknown 62 
 
 The Rose's Invitation Harold MacGrath 33 
 
 The Sea Shell George MacDonald 85 
 
 The Second Wife May Austin 113 
 
 The Serenade Tom Hall 75 
 
 The Skipper's Bride William Carleton, Jr. 134 
 
 The Song of Love and Death Tennyson 124 
 
 The Spirit of Love W. R. Wills 83 
 
 The Thought of Her Unknown 32 
 
 The Vows of Men Thomas Haines Bayly 102 
 
 The Wanderer (A Rondel) Austin Dobson 182 
 
 This Would I Do Constant Runcia 18 
 
 Three Loves Walter Herrics Pollock 17 
 
 Thy Voice Is On the Rolling Air , Tennyson 80 
 
CONTENTS. ix 
 
 PAGE 
 
 To-day Unknown 48 
 
 To Dianeme Robert Herrick 11 
 
 To Her That's Far Awa' Unknown 63 
 
 To Laura E.B. Laughran 164 
 
 To My Valentine Unknown 11 
 
 Transcendentalism J. W. Mackail 172 
 
 Triolet Annie V. Culbertson 51 
 
 True Woman— Her Heaven. 
 
 Dante Gabriel Rossetti 186 
 
 Two Loves Father Ryan 182 
 
 Two of An "Unkind Unknown 175 
 
 Two Roses Anonymous 40 
 
 Two Roses Samuel Minturn Peck 175 
 
 11 Unblessed " Jane Be Winton Knox 151 
 
 Under the Rose Unknown 177 
 
 Valentine's Day Charles Kingsley 29 
 
 Valentine To a Flirt Felix Carmen 52 
 
 Was It Wise ? Unknown 193 
 
 Welcome, Welcome I. William Browne 167 
 
 We Must Not Doubt Adelaide A. Proctor M.6 
 
 Whispers Lindsay Duncan 139 
 
 White Violets Annie Vivanti 192 
 
 Who Shall Go First ? Unidentified 196 
 
 Why ? Unknown 47 
 
 Within Her Book H.G.P. 112 
 
 World Wounded Francis W. L. Adams 128 
 
 Year After Year Dinah Maria Mulock-Craik 178 
 
FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 LOVE'S MESSENGERS. 
 
 The rose shall be my messenger, 
 
 The herald of devotion ; 
 Each petal sweet shall be the seat 
 
 Of tenderest emotion; 
 And in the heart of each fair rose, 
 
 Deep hidden in the core, 
 There rests my soul, my inner self, 
 
 To love but you e'ermore. 
 
 Each rose will die, each petal fade 
 
 And wither fast away; 
 Each freighted heart that speaks my love 
 
 Will anguish and decay; 
 Not so with love — my soul that's hid 
 
 Within each rose's core, 
 That love will breathe and speak and live 
 
 Forever, evermore. 
 
FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 'Twill live for you and speak to you 
 
 When roses cease to be; 
 'Twill breathe the rose's fragrance rare 
 
 For thee, my sweet, for thee! 
 Then haste, my messengers of love, 
 
 Tell her my each emotion; 
 Oh, petals sweet, at her dear feet, 
 
 Bespeak my fond devotion. 
 
 William Manley. 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 Upon a time I had a Heart, 
 And it was bright and gay; 
 And I gave it to a Lady for to have and keep 
 
 alway. 
 She sooth'd it and she smooth'd it and she 
 
 stabb'd it till it bled, 
 She brighten'd it and lighten'd it and weighed 
 
 it down with lead; 
 She flatter'd it and batter'd it and filled it full 
 
 of gall; 
 Yet had I Twenty Thousand Hearts, 
 Still should she have them all. 
 
 O. Herford. 
 
DANCE SONG. 
 
 HIS VALENTINE. 
 
 With envy deep these flowers I send, 
 Fresh kissed with heavenly dew; 
 
 Why do I envy them? Because 
 They'll be caressed by you. 
 
 HER REPLY. 
 
 Your flowers, sweet, have just arrived, 
 
 And thank you, dear, I do; 
 Did I caress them? Yes, indeed, 
 
 And wished that they were you. 
 
 H. S. 
 
 DANCE SONG. 
 
 How could I, sweet, have sung another song? 
 
 To you there was but one for me to sing, 
 But one, and, ah! you know it all so long, 
 That now I fear it seems an idle thing. 
 With tireless feet, with tireless feet, 
 Dance on, dance on! I love you, sweet. 
 
4 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 How shall I whisper, dear, another word? 
 
 Do I not hold you, breathing heart to heart? 
 My heart has naught to say yours has not 
 heard, 
 Of all Love's speeches silence is the best. 
 I will not fear, I will not fear, 
 Dance on, dance on! I love you, dear. 
 Francis W. L. Adams. 
 
 LOVE'S AVOWAL. 
 
 I love thee, O, no words can say 
 
 One-half my love, howe'er I try, 
 And yet my heart must have its way 
 
 And seek expression in a cry. 
 I call to thee with pangs forlorn; 
 
 I love thee, oh, I love thee, sweet! 
 Though met with anger and with scorn, 
 
 Still would my lips my love repeat. 
 
 I love thee, O, would thou couldst know 
 
 The hunger in my lonely heart. 
 Amid the throng I hide my woe 
 
 And mask with smiles the secret smart. 
 I love thee, oh, I love thee! all 
 
 My hopes and dreams around thee range j 
 Though storm betide and wreck befall, 
 
 My deathless passion ne'er can change. 
 
LOVE'S HOLIDAY. 
 
 I love thee, lo, all pomp and power 
 
 Beside thy love would sink from sight; 
 And even glory's crimson flower 
 
 Would pale before that pearl of light. 
 O matchless pearl! if it were mine 
 
 So happy all my days would be, 
 My heart would throb with bliss divine, 
 
 And angel eyes would envy me. 
 
 Samuel Minturn Peck. 
 
 LOVE'S HOLIDAY. 
 
 This is the day of all the year 
 When love would have its way, 
 
 When lover's words are sweet to hear; 
 This is love's holiday. 
 
 Sweet waifs of hope to-day are mine, 
 
 My fancy wanders free; 
 I choose thee for my valentine 
 
 And dream of only thee. 
 
 From this dear dream bid me not wake. 
 
 Follow my fancy too; 
 For love and mercy's own sweet sake, 
 
 Oh, bid my dream come true! 
 
FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 I fling an offering at thy feet, 
 
 A heart that throbs for thee; 
 Oh, make the pledge thine own, my sweet, 
 
 Nor fling it back to me. 
 
 Unknown. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 Love is a bubble, 
 Love is a trouble, 
 Love is a sigh, 
 
 And love is a grin. 
 Love is sweet honey, 
 Love is cold money, 
 Love is a lie, 
 
 And love is a sin. 
 
 Love is a jig — 
 
 To tread you a measure; 
 Love is a dirge — 
 
 To fill you with grief; 
 Love is bright wine — 
 
 To quicken your pleasure; 
 Love's the North Wind — 
 
 And Man the dead leaf. 
 
 John Oliver Hobbs. 
 
LOVE'S VALENTINE. 7 
 
 LOVE'S VALENTINE. 
 
 "I love my love with an 'A.' 
 
 I love my love and my love loves me." 
 " With what do you love me, love ? " quoth 
 she. 
 
 " Ah ! that is not hard to say ! 
 
 Because you are an angel, you know, my May, 
 And all in the world to me." 
 
 " I love you next with a capital ' B,' 
 Because you are Beautiful." — "Nay," quoth 
 she; 
 " You must hate me first with an ' A.' " 
 " Ah ! then I am vanquished, unless I say, 
 I hate most devoutly your being ' away/ 
 Absent one moment from me." 
 
 "And where did you meet me, love?" quoth 
 
 she, 
 " Say quickly ! Why truly, how slow you 
 be! 
 Come hasten along with your ' A/ " 
 "Wherever it was on whatever day, 
 North or South, I can only say 
 It was Fairyland to me." 
 
8 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 " ' F ! ' you have not yet got to ' B ! ' 
 ' Fairyland ' ? Why not ' Arcady ' ? 
 
 Yes, love, you are dull to-day." 
 
 " A to Z and Z to A, 
 
 No letters, no words, love ever can say, 
 My sweetest, how I love thee ! " 
 
 Unknown. 
 
 LOVE, LOVE, LOVE. 
 
 Turn I my looks unto the skies, 
 Love with his arrows wounds my eyes; 
 If so I gaze upon the ground, 
 Love then in every flower is found; 
 Search I the shade to hide my pain, 
 Love meets me in the shade again; 
 Want I to walk in secret grove, 
 E'en there I meet with sacred Love; 
 If so I bathe me in the spring, 
 E'en on the bank I hear him sing; 
 If so I meditate alone, 
 He will be partner of my moan; 
 If so I mourn, he weeps with me, 
 And where I am, there will he be. 
 
 Thomas Lodge. 
 
A LOVER'S LULLABY. 
 
 A LOVER'S LULLABY. 
 
 Mirror your sweet eyes in mine, love, 
 See how they glitter and shine! 
 
 Quick fly such moments divine, love, 
 Link your lithe fingers in mine! 
 
 Lay your soft cheek against mine, love, 
 Pillow your head on my breast; 
 
 While your brown locks I entwine, love, 
 Pout your red lips when they're prest! 
 
 Mirror your fate then, in mine, love; 
 
 Sorrow and sighing resign; 
 Life is too short to repine, love, 
 
 Link your fair future in mine! 
 
 J. Ashby-Sterry. 
 
 LOVE IS IN HER SUNNY EYES. 
 
 Love in her sunny eyes does basking play; 
 
 Love walks the pleasant mazes of her hair; 
 Love does on both her lips for ever stray, 
 And sows and reaps a thousand kisses there; 
 In all her outward parts Love's always seen, 
 But, oh ! he never went within. 
 
 Abraham Cowley, 
 
10 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 LIFE AND DEATH. 
 
 To look for thee — sigh for thee — cry for thee, 
 
 Under my breath, 
 To clasp but a shade where thy head hath been 
 laid, 
 
 It is death. 
 
 To long for thee — yearn for thee — burn for 
 thee — 
 Sorrow and strife! — 
 
 But to have thee — and hold thee — and fold 
 thee — 
 It is life — it is life! 
 
 Pall Mall Budget. 
 
 A VALENTINE. 
 
 Kiss me as if you entered gay 
 My heart at some noon day, 
 
 A bud that dare not disallow 
 The claim, so all is rendered up. 
 
 Over your head to sleep I bow. 
 
 Browning. 
 
TO DIANEME. 11 
 
 TO MY VALENTINE. 
 
 What is love, that all the world 
 
 Talks so much about it? 
 Is it joy, or is it pain, 
 
 Or is it both without it? 
 
 Love's a tyrant, and a slave; 
 
 A torment and a treasure. 
 Having it, we know no pain; 
 
 Wanting it, no pleasure. 
 
 Unknown. 
 
 TO DIANEME. 
 
 Give me one kiss 
 
 And no more; 
 If, so be, this 
 
 Makes you poor, 
 To enrich you, 
 
 I'll restore 
 For that one, two 
 
 Thousand score. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
12 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 DE TOUT MON CXEUR. 
 
 The sweetest songs I ever sing 
 
 Are those I sing to you; 
 The deepest thoughts that I can bring 
 
 Are thoughts I never knew 
 Until your soft eyes' questioning 
 
 Had made me question too. 
 
 My soul lies open to your sight, 
 
 When all the world's away, 
 Like that pale flower that at night, 
 
 As ancient legends say, 
 Unfolds beneath the moon's clear light, 
 
 And dies at dawn of day. 
 
 Grace H. Duffield. 
 
 FAIR ROSALIND. 
 
 Fair Rosalind in woful wise 
 
 Six hearts has bound in thrall; 
 As yet she undetermined lies 
 
 Which she her spouse will call. 
 Wretched, and only wretched he 
 
 To whom that lot shall fall; 
 For if her heart aright I see, 
 
 She means to please them all. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
OH MY LOVE!" 13 
 
 LOVE'S IMAGINING. 
 
 Dear love, I sometimes think how it would be 
 If thou should'st love me; if, on such a day, 
 day of wonder! thou should'st come and 
 say, 
 " I love thee " ; or but let me guess the plea-' 
 If once thine eyes should brighten suddenly; 
 If once thy step should hasten or delay 
 Because of me; if once thy hand should stay 
 A needless instant in my own! Ah, me! 
 From such imaginings I wake and start, 
 
 And dull and worthless life's endeavors seem, 
 Before the tender beauty of my dream — 
 And then I whisper my impatient heart, 
 
 "Be still, be comforted, O heart of mine; 
 Thou art not all bereft; the dream is thine." 
 Hopestill Goodwin. 
 
 "OH MY LOVE, WHOM MY SOUL 
 LOVES SO!" 
 
 Oh my Love, whom my soul loves so, 
 Could she suddenly enter this room, 
 
 How the heart of my heart would glow, 
 And the place with her presence bloom! 
 
14 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 My Sweet! My arms should enfold her, 
 My lips on her lips be pressed — 
 
 Her head should be on my shoulder, 
 Her heart in my heart be at rest. 
 
 Oh Light of my Life, Love of Loves! 
 
 With your beautiful lips and sad eyes, 
 How the heart in me yearns and moves 
 
 When your kiss — that for Heaven would 
 suffice — 
 My lips take upon them and quiver; 
 
 And my spirit arises and goes 
 Down a wonderful, mystical river, 
 
 The sound of whose flowing Love knows; 
 For it flows between banks where one sees 
 
 The blossoms Love maketh his own; 
 And one knows by the tremulous trees, 
 
 Where the breath of the Love- God has blown: 
 Through the branches His hands part asunder 
 
 And the light of His eyes lighten through, 
 Comes music of rapturous wonder 
 
 From the spirits that dwell in His view. — 
 
 Who praise Him for all He has given; 
 
 And praise Him for letting them know 
 The sun and the moon of His heaven — 
 
 Yet the sound of their praising is low; 
 
CUPID. 15 
 
 For their voices are faint with their rapture, 
 And come from a depth so profound 
 
 That only our spirits can capture 
 The innermost sweet of the sound. 
 
 Philip Bourse Marston. 
 
 O CUPID. 
 
 Cupid! monarch over kings, 
 Wherefore hast thou feet and wings? 
 Is it to show how swift thou art, 
 When thou wounded a tender heart? 
 Thy wings being clipped, and feet held still, 
 Thy bow so many could not kill. 
 
 It is all one in Venus's wanton school, 
 
 Who highest sits, the wise man or the fool? 
 
 Fools in love's college 
 
 Have far more knowledge 
 
 To read a woman over, 
 
 Than a neat prating lover: 
 
 Nay, 'tis confessed, 
 
 That fools please women best. 
 
 John Lyly. 
 
16 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 A SONG OF THE FOUR SEASONS. 
 
 When Spring comes laughing 
 
 By vale and hill, 
 Wind-flower waking 
 
 And daffodil, — 
 Sing stars of morning, 
 
 Sing morning skies, 
 Sing blue of speedwell, — 
 
 And my Love's eyes. 
 
 When comes the Summer, 
 
 Full-leaved and strong, 
 And gay birds gossip 
 
 The orchard long, — 
 Sing hid, sweet honey 
 
 That no bee sips; 
 Sing red, red rosier, — 
 
 And my Love's lips. 
 
 When Autumn scatters 
 
 The leaves again, 
 And piled sheaves bury 
 
 The broad- wheeled wain, — 
 Sing flutes of harvest 
 
 Where men rejoice; 
 Sing rounds of reapers, — 
 
 And my Love's voice. 
 
THREE LOVES. 17 
 
 But when comes Winter 
 
 With hail and storm, 
 And red fire roaring 
 
 And ingle warm, — 
 Sing first sad going 
 
 Of friends that part; 
 Then sing glad meeting, — 
 
 And my Love's heart. 
 
 Austin Dobson. 
 
 THREE LOVES. 
 
 There was one I dearly loved whose heart 
 Seemed to mine a counterpart. 
 The notes were false, or my ear was wrong, 
 And so an ending of that song. 
 
 There was one who loved me well whose soul 
 
 Fitted to mine as oar to thole. 
 
 A gale sprang up as a gale well may, 
 
 And to-morrow was turned to yesterday. 
 
 There was one I loved whose radiant face 
 Made me run a perilous race. 
 There is one I love and one loves me 
 With a love that spells eternity. 
 
 Walter Herries Pollock. 
 2 
 
18 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 THIS WOULD I DO. 
 
 If I were a rose, 
 
 This would I do : 
 I would lie upon the white neck of her I love 
 And let my life go out upon the fragrance 
 
 Of her breath. 
 
 If I were a star, 
 
 This would I do: 
 I would look down deep in her eyes. 
 In the eyes I love, and learn there 
 
 How to shine. 
 
 If I were a truth strong as the Eternal One, 
 
 This would I do: 
 I would live in her heart, in the heart 
 I know so well, and 
 
 Be at home. 
 
 If I were a sin, 
 
 This would I do: 
 I would fly far away, and though her soft hand 
 In pity were stretched out, I would not stay, 
 but fly 
 
 And leave her pure. 
 
 Constant Runcia. 
 
KISSES. 19 
 
 NO SAINT. 
 
 Sometimes her mouth with deep regret 
 
 Is grave, I know: 
 Sometimes her eyes with tears are wet 
 As a bedewed violet, 
 
 And overflow. 
 She has her human faults — and yet 
 
 I love her so. 
 
 And have I therefore loved amiss 
 
 And been unwise? 
 Nay, I have only deeper bliss: 
 I love her just because of this — 
 
 Her sins and sighs; 
 And doubly tenderly I kiss 
 
 Her mouth and eyes. 
 
 Ronald Macfie. 
 
 KISSES. 
 
 Once he drew 
 
 With one long kiss my whole soul through 
 
 My lips, as the sunlight drinketh dew. 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
20 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 IF I HAD KNOWN YOU. 
 
 I. 
 
 If I had known you — oh, if I had known you — 
 In other days when youth and love were 
 strong, 
 
 I would have raised a temple to enthrone you 
 On some fair pinnacle of cloudless song. 
 
 If you had touched me then with your dear 
 laughter, 
 
 As now its echo smites me in my grief, 
 I would have given my soul for you, and after 
 
 Lived in my love, grown on in my belief. 
 
 III. 
 
 If you had loved me — oh, you would have loved 
 me — 
 Earth would have worshipped us, its seers 
 sublime, 
 My song had been a psalm, and saints had 
 proved me 
 Prophet and priest, your poet for all time. 
 
 W. S. Blunt. 
 
LINES. 21 
 
 A LOVE LYRIC. 
 
 I wish thou wert a stem of roses, 
 
 And I a golden bee, to sip 
 The honey- dew that now reposes 
 
 In balmy kisses on thy lip. 
 
 I wish thine eyes were violet blue, 
 And I a wandering western breeze, 
 
 To press thee with my wings of dew, 
 And melt them into ecstasies! 
 
 I wish thou wert a golden curl, 
 And I the myrtle-wreath that bound it; 
 
 I wish thou wert a peerless pearl, 
 And I the casket to surround it ! 
 
 I wish thou wert a lucid star, 
 And I the atmosphere about thee ! 
 
 But if we must be as we are, 
 Dearest, I cannot live without thee. 
 
 Henry Halloran, C.M.G. 
 
 LINES. 
 
 Woman is formed with such bewitching mien 
 That to be loved she needs but to be seen. 
 But seen too oft and of her love too sure, 
 We first embrace, then pity, then endure. 
 
 Waif. 
 
FAVORITE POEMS. 
 THE KISS. 
 
 Show me, sweet eyes, show me this, 
 What is that they call a kiss ? 
 What is this from which we gain 
 Haunting passion that is pain; 
 With it melancholy wan, 
 Memories drear to think upon, 
 Or mad thrills where laughs the heart? 
 Maid, to me, the truth impart; 
 Show me clearly, show me this, 
 What is that they call a kiss? 
 
 Nay, inquirer, not in word 
 Can an answer well be heard; 
 Would you have me plain display 
 That which speech can never say? 
 All in vain my tongue you task 
 Here to tell you what you ask; 
 Lips to lips but fasten; try 
 If that give you no reply; 
 Ah! you thief! you plunderer! this 
 You have stolen was a kiss. 
 
 Unknown. 
 
A QUESTION. \ 
 
 A QUESTION. 
 
 My heart, I will put thee a question, 
 
 Say, what is love, I entreat? 
 Two souls with one thought between them, 
 
 Two hearts with a single beat. 
 
 And say whence love comes hither? 
 
 Here he is, we know, that is all. 
 When he goes tell me how and whither? 
 
 If he goes, 'twas not love at all. 
 
 And what love, loves most purely? 
 
 The love that has no self quest. 
 And where is the deepest loving? 
 
 Where love is silentest. 
 
 And when is love at its richest? 
 "When most it has given away. 
 And what is the tongue love useth? 
 The love that it cannot say. 
 
 H. I. D. Ryder. 
 From the German of Halm. 
 
24 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 IF LOVE BE STEADFAST. 
 
 If love be steadfast, trusted, tried, 
 Grown watchful, true, it needs no guide: 
 It fears not Fate, nor wane, nor night, 
 It walks apace self-crowned with light; 
 Through woe it gains sweet servitude, 
 Through weal it wins sweet solitude; 
 Though luckless years may sound their knell, 
 Though perfect chimes the marriage bell, 
 Will sing this cadence to and fro, 
 Beside the thorns the roses blow, 
 If love be steadfast, trusted, tried — love will 
 abide ! 
 
 If love be fickle, wayward, bold, 
 And grasps its buds ere flowers unfold; 
 With empty hands it walks alone, 
 When chill winds sigh and sob and moan; 
 Through tearful vigils tried with pain, 
 And cruel taunts of self-disdain; 
 Wan, worn and wasted, all unblest 
 Through fruitless hope that brought unrest; 
 Bearing the sign of a wounded trust, 
 That trailed its faith in clay and dust, 
 If love be fickle, wayward, bold — love will grow 
 cold! 
 
MEN WERE DECEIVERS EVER. 25 
 MEN WERE DECEIVERS EVER. 
 
 ("MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.") 
 
 Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more; 
 
 Men were deceivers ever; 
 One foot in sea, and one on shore, 
 To one thing constant never. 
 Then sigh not so, 
 But let them go, 
 And be you blithe and bonny, 
 
 Converting all your sounds of woe 
 Into, Hey nonny, nonny. 
 
 Sing no more ditties, sing no mo, 
 
 Of dumps so dull and heavy; 
 The fraud of men was ever so, 
 Since summer first was leavy. 
 Then sigh not so, 
 But let them go, 
 And be you blithe and bonny, 
 
 Converting all your sounds of woe 
 Into, Hey nonny, nonny. 
 
 Shakespeare, 
 
26 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 PET'S PUNISHMENT. 
 
 O, if my love offended me, 
 And we had words together, 
 
 To show her I would master be, 
 I'd whip her with a feather. 
 
 If then she, like a naughty girl, 
 
 Would tyranny declare it, 
 I'd give my pet a cross of pearl, 
 
 And make her always wear it. 
 
 If still she tried to sulk and sigh, 
 And threw away my posies, 
 
 I'd catch my darling on the sly, 
 And smother her with roses! 
 
 But should she clench her dimpled fists, 
 
 Or contradict her betters, 
 I'd manacle her tiny wrists 
 
 With dainty golden fetters. 
 
 And if she dared her lips to pout — 
 Like many pert young misses — 
 
 I'd wind my arm her waist about, 
 And punish her — with kisses! 
 
 J. Ashby-Sterry. 
 
A BRILLIANT. 27 
 
 LOVE ! IF A GOD THOU ART. 
 
 Love! if a God thou art, 
 
 Then evermore thou must 
 
 Be merciful and just; 
 If thou be just, O wherefore doth thy dart 
 Wound mine alone, and not my lady's heart? 
 
 If merciful; then why 
 
 Am I to pain reserved 
 
 Who have thee truly served, 
 While she, that by thy power sits not afly, 
 Laughs thee to scorn, and lives at liberty? 
 
 Then, if a God thou wilt accounted be, 
 
 Heal me like her, or else wound her like me. 
 Francis Davison. 
 
 A BRILLIANT. 
 
 The poorest man the ground above, 
 Is he who lacks a woman's love; 
 He who hath that doth nothing lack, 
 Save to give thanks and love her back. 
 Unknown. 
 
FAVORITE POEMS. 
 LOVE'S LITANY. 
 
 Sweet the rose on flowery lea, 
 Sweet the sunlight on the sea, 
 Sweeter still your glance to me — 
 I love you. 
 
 Fonder than when evening lies 
 In the lap of summer skies 
 Is the language of the eyes — 
 I love you. 
 
 Bright the voice of ruddy morn 
 Answering to the bugle-horn, 
 Brighter still since you were born — 
 I love you. 
 
 Dear the love songs of the past, 
 Dear the dreams of love that last, 
 All " Love's Litany " thou hast — 
 I love you. 
 
 Wallace Bruce. 
 
VALENTINE'S DAY. 29 
 
 LOVE LIKE A SHADOW. 
 
 Love like a shadow flies 
 
 When substance Love pursues; 
 
 Pursuing that that flies 
 And flying what pursues. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 VALENTINE'S DAY. 
 
 Oh! I wish I were a tiny browny bird from out 
 the south, 
 Settled among the alder-holts, and twittering 
 by the stream; 
 I would put my tiny tail down, and put up my 
 tiny mouth, 
 And sing my tiny life away in one melodious 
 dream. 
 
 I would sing about the blossoms, and the sun- 
 shine and the sky, 
 And the tiny wife I mean to have in such a 
 cosy nest; 
 And if some one came and shot me dead, why 
 then I could but die, 
 With my tiny life and tiny song just ended 
 at their best. 
 
 Charles Kingsley. 
 
30 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 SONG TO MY VALENTINE. 
 
 Nay but you, who do not love her, 
 Is she not pure gold, my mistress? 
 
 Holds earth aught — speak truth — above her? 
 Aught like this tress, see, and this tress, 
 
 And this last fairest tress of all, 
 So fair, see, ere I let it fall! 
 
 Because you spend your lives in praising; 
 
 To praise, you search the wide world over; 
 Then why not witness, calmly gazing, 
 
 If earth holds aught — speak truth — above 
 her? 
 Above this tress, and this, I touch 
 But cannot praise, I love so much. 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 THE KISS. 
 
 O, that joy so soon should waste! 
 
 Or so sweet a bliss 
 
 As a kiss 
 Might not forever last! 
 So sugared, so melting, so soft, so delicious; 
 
 The dew that lies on roses 
 
 When the morn herself discloses, 
 Is not so precious. 
 
JUST ONCE MORE. 31 
 
 O rather than I would it smother, 
 
 Were I to taste such another; 
 It should be my wishing 
 That I might die kissing. 
 
 Ben Jonson. 
 
 JUST ONCE MORE. 
 
 Only one crushed white flower, 
 And the soiled glove I wore; 
 
 Ah! for that feverish hour 
 Just once more! 
 
 Oh! for the sweep and shiver 
 Of the mad music's strain! 
 
 Ah, for the pulse's quiver 
 Once again! 
 
 Ah! for the arms that held me, 
 For one wild hour lived o'er- 
 
 Ah, for his lips to kiss me 
 Just once more! 
 
 Hands that must lightly sever 
 Or e'er the night be done; 
 
 One heart to love forever — 
 Only one! 
 
32 FAVORITE POEMS, 
 
 Ah! for the dream and passion 
 No dream can e'er restore — 
 
 Ah, for love's old, old fashion, 
 Just once more! 
 
 Nellie C. Hastings. 
 
 THE THOUGHT OF HER. 
 
 I care not whether the skies are blue, 
 Or the clouds bend black above me — 
 
 A sweet thought comes with the thought of 
 you— 
 You love me, dear, you love me! 
 
 When the world is cold and its friendships few, 
 
 And toil seems a vain endeavor, 
 A sweet thought sings to my soul of you, 
 
 And the world is sweet forever! 
 
 And love — my love — with the bright eyes true, 
 
 And the red lips kind with kisses, 
 There is no love like my love for you — 
 
 No joy in the world like this is! 
 
 And whether the skies are black or blue, 
 
 With stars or storms above me, 
 My life will shine with the thought of you — 
 
 You love me, dear, you love me! 
 
 Unknown. 
 
THE ROSE'S INVITATION. 33 
 THE ROSE'S INVITATION. 
 
 HE. 
 
 She flings a heavenly rose to me, 
 
 And a rosy tint on her smooth cheek glows ! 
 " Each leaf is a kiss/' with her sweet eyes says 
 
 she, — 
 She flings a heavenly rose to me, 
 And I find as I rise from bended knee, 
 
 A thousand leaves hath the heavenly rose! 
 She flings a heavenly rose to me, 
 
 And a rosy tint on her smooth cheek glows ! 
 
 SHE. 
 
 He will not be stupid, I pray, 
 And misunderstand the poor rose! 
 
 Each leaf he should bring me and say, — 
 
 He will not be stupid, I pray ! — 
 
 " I've a bill to present, you must pay 
 With your lips ! " — He could, if he chose ! 
 
 He will not be stupid, I pray, 
 And misunderstand the poor rose! 
 
 Harold MacGrath. 
 
34 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 CONTENT. 
 
 I am so happy, dear, when I am near you; 
 
 That when the mad, sad world your course 
 pursue, 
 But leave for me a corner to revere you; 
 
 I am so happy just with love and you. 
 
 When that great life that would be earth's 
 defender 
 Receives a thrust from them it would have 
 spared, 
 Come, then, and learn, oh ! bruised heart, strong 
 and tender, 
 No lonely joy can equal sorrow shared. 
 
 I am not wise, except that I adore you; 
 Nor strong, except that love its strength hath 
 lent; 
 But, dear, if all my life up flung before you 
 Can soften one hard step, I am content. 
 
 Anna Poole Beardsley. 
 
HOW DO I LOVE THEE? 35 
 
 FOR LOVE'S SAKE. 
 
 Aye, love me, sweet, with all thy heart, 
 Thy mind, thy soul, and all thou art 
 And hop'st to be, — love me with love 
 That naught beneath the heavens may move; 
 Yet say not wherefore; say not why 
 Thou lovest, — since in these do lie 
 The seeds of death to Love, but say 
 Thou lovest, and must love alway! 
 
 For shouldst thou love some witching grace 
 Of word or manner, form or face, — 
 Should thy heart's worship thus be bought 
 By any gift that Time hath wrought, 
 So art thou false to Love's pure creed, 
 And like to fail in sorest need; 
 But love for Love's dear sake, I pray. 
 Then shalt thou love me, sweet, alway! 
 
 Zitella Cook. 
 
 HOW DO I LOVE THEE ? 
 
 " How do I love thee ? " Let me count the ways. 
 
 I love thee to the depth and breadth and 
 height 
 
 My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight 
 For the ends of Being, and ideal grace. 
 
36 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 I love thee to the level of every day's 
 Most quick need, by sun and candle-light. 
 I love thee freely as men strive for Right; 
 
 I love thee purely as they turn from Praise. 
 
 I love thee with the passion put to use 
 
 In my old griefs, and with thy childhood's faith. 
 
 I love thee with a love I seemed to lose 
 
 With my lost saints, — I love thee with the 
 breath, 
 Smiles, tears, of all my life! and if God choose 
 I shall but love thee better after death. 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 AN INCIDENT. 
 
 I kissed her there, 
 
 Beneath the apple tree — 
 I did not love the maid — 
 
 She loved not me; 
 
 But she was sweet and young, 
 
 And oh, so fair! 
 The chance was good, and so, 
 
 I kissed her there. 
 
 Unknown. 
 
THE ENCHANTMENT. 37 
 
 MY DEAR MISTRESS. 
 
 My dear mistress has a heart 
 
 Soft as those kind looks she gave me, 
 When, with love's resistless art, 
 
 And her eyes, she did enslave me: 
 But her constancy's so weak, 
 
 She's so wild and apt to wander, 
 That my jealous heart would break 
 
 Should we live one day asunder. 
 
 Melting joys about her move, 
 
 Killing pleasures, wounding blisses; 
 She can dress her eyes in love, 
 
 And her lips can warm with kisses. 
 Angels listen when she speaks; 
 
 She's my delight, all mankind's wonder, 
 But my jealous heart would break, 
 
 Should we live one day asunder. 
 
 John Wilmot. 
 
 THE ENCHANTMENT. 
 
 I did but look and love awhile, 
 'Twas but for one half-hour; 
 
 Then to resist I had no will. 
 And now I have no power. 
 
38 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 To sigh and wish is all my ease; 
 
 Sighs, which do best impart, 
 Enough to melt the coldest ice, 
 
 Yet cannot warm my heart. 
 
 O would your pity give my heart 
 
 One corner of your breast, 
 'Twould learn of yours the winning art 
 
 And quickly steal the rest. 
 
 Thomas Otway. 
 
 LOVE'S VOYAGE. 
 
 We are going with the wind, Love, 
 
 Blowing fair and free. 
 Somehow the breeze is always good 
 
 That blows for you and me. 
 
 Behind us lies the dear old land, 
 Before us dreams the new, 
 
 Beneath us swells the joyous sea, 
 Above us bends the blue. 
 
 What is there that can hinder love, 
 Or make our hearts afraid? 
 
 The ocean deep can never fail, 
 The sky can never fade. 
 
SHE IS COMING. 
 
 You are my universe, and I, 
 Oh, I am yours, my sweet; 
 
 Then how can any cloud arise, 
 Or any tempest beat? 
 
 We are going with the wind, Love, 
 
 Blowing fair and free, 
 Somehow the breeze is always good 
 
 That blows for you and me. 
 
 If we go down, the sea is love, 
 
 And holds us evermore; 
 Our tide, whatever way it move, 
 
 Will reach the golden shore. 
 
 Maurice Thompson. 
 
 SHE IS COMING. 
 
 There has fallen a splendid tear 
 
 From the passion-flower at the gate, 
 She is coming, my dove, my dear, 
 
 She is coming, my life, my fate. 
 The red rose cries, " She is near, She is near ; 
 
 And the white rose weeps, " She is late ; " 
 The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear; " 
 
 And the lily whispers, " I wait." 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
40 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 TWO ROSES. 
 
 The red rose whispers of passion, 
 And the white one breathes of love; 
 
 Oh, the red rose is a falcon, 
 And the white rose is a dove. 
 
 But I send you a cream-white rosebud 
 With a flush on its petal tips; 
 
 For the love that is purest and sweetest 
 Has a kiss of desire on the lips. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 HER LIPS. 
 
 Often I have heard it said 
 That her lips are ruby-red. 
 Little heed I what they say, 
 I have seen as red as they. 
 Ere she smiled on other men 
 Real rubies were they then. 
 When she kiss'd me once in play 
 Rubies were less bright than they, 
 And less bright were those that shone 
 In the palace of the Sun. 
 
LOVING AT FIRST SIGHT 41 
 
 Will they be as bright again? 
 Not if kiss'd by other men. 
 
 Walter Savage Landor. 
 
 LOVING AT FIRST SIGHT. 
 
 No warning of the approaching flame, 
 Swiftly, like sudden death, it came; 
 Like travellers, by lightning killed, 
 I burnt the moment I beheld. 
 
 In whom so many charms are placed 
 Is with a mind as nobly graced; 
 The case, so shining to behold, 
 Is filled with richest gems, and gold. 
 
 To what my eyes admired before 
 
 I add a thousand graces more; 
 
 And fancy blows into a flame 
 
 The spark that from her beauty came. 
 
 The object thus improved by thought, 
 By my own image I am caught; 
 Pygmalion so, with fatal art, 
 Polished the form that stung his heart. 
 George Granville. 
 
42 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 LOVE'S A RIDDLE. 
 
 The flame of love assuages, 
 When once it is reveal'd; 
 
 But fiercer still it rages, 
 The more it is conceal'd. 
 
 Consenting makes it colder; 
 
 When met it will retreat: 
 Repulses make it bolder, 
 
 And dangers make it sweet. 
 
 Henry Carey. 
 
 THE PARTING KISS. 
 
 One kind kiss before we part, 
 Drop a tear, and bid adieu: 
 
 Though we sever, my fond heart 
 Till we meet shall pant for you. 
 
 Yet, yet, weep not so, my love, 
 Let me kiss that falling tear. 
 
 Though my body must remove, 
 All my soul will still be here. 
 
CUPID RELIEVED. 43 
 
 All my soul and all my heart, 
 And every wish shall pant for you; 
 
 One kind kiss then, ere we part, 
 Drop a tear and bid adieu. 
 
 Robert Dodsley. 
 
 CUPID RELIEVED. 
 
 As once young Cupid went astray, 
 
 The little god I found; 
 I took his bow and shafts away 
 
 And fast his pinions bound. 
 
 At Chloe's feet my spoils I cast, 
 My conquest proud to show; 
 
 She saw his godship fetter'd fast, 
 And smil'd to see him so. 
 
 But ah ! that smile such fresh supplies 
 
 Of arms resistless gave ! 
 I'm forc'd again to yield my prize, 
 
 And fall again his slave. 
 
 Soame Jenyns. 
 
44 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 IF 'TIS LOVE TO WISH YOU NEAR. 
 
 If 'tis love to wish you near, 
 To tremble when the wind I hear, 
 
 Because at sea you floating rove; 
 If of you to dream at night, 
 To languish when you're out of sight, — 
 
 If, when you're gone, to count each hour, 
 To ask of every tender power 
 
 That you may kind and faithful prove, 
 If, void of falsehood and deceit, 
 I feel a pleasure when we meet, — 
 
 If this be loving, then I love. 
 
 To wish your fortune to partake, 
 Determined never to forsake, 
 
 Though low in poverty we strove; 
 If so that me your wife you'd call, 
 I offer you my little all, — 
 
 If this be loving, then I love. 
 
 Charles Dlbdin. 
 
MINE AND THINE. 45 
 
 CUPID. 
 
 Why was Cupid a boy, 
 
 And why a boy was he? 
 He should have been a girl, 
 
 For aught that I can see. 
 
 For he shoots with his bow, 
 
 And the girl shoots with her eye; 
 
 And they both are merry and glad, 
 And laugh when we do cry. 
 
 Then to make Cupid a boy 
 Was surely a woman's plan, 
 
 For a boy never learns so much 
 Till he becomes a man. 
 
 And then he's so pierced with cares, 
 And wounded with arrowy smarts, 
 
 That the whole business of his life 
 Is to pick out the heads of the darts. 
 William Blake. 
 
 MINE AND THINE. 
 
 The maiden said : " Oh, lover mine, 
 Tell me what is mine and thine." 
 
46 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 The youth made answer : " Sweetheart mine, 
 Thine azure eyes, sure they are thine; 
 But in their depths to gaze is mine. 
 Thy lips so rosy red are thine; 
 But then to kiss them, that is mine. 
 Now fold me in those arms of thine — 
 They join in wedlock thine and mine." 
 
 From the German of Fischer. 
 
 MY LADY KNOWS. 
 
 My lady is sweet and tender, and the charm of 
 her presence lingers 
 In the sun-warmed air of the room where she 
 kisses my lips and goes; 
 And my cheeks are all aglow with the touch of 
 her dainty fingers, 
 And my lips are sealed for love of her; but 
 she knows, my lady knows. 
 
 My lady is true and tender. Ah, my heart, so 
 stanch and tender! 
 And I am weak and truthless as the wildest 
 wind that blows. 
 But I love to watch my lady as I love to watch 
 the splendor 
 That burns in regal glory in the exquisite 
 heart of the rose. 
 
WHY? 47 
 
 She knows my faults and follies, and the love 
 that grows and folds them, 
 And she gathers the careless words I speak, 
 and the pain that with them goes, 
 And close to her dainty bosom my dainty lady 
 holds them, 
 As she might the thorns and fragrance of a 
 passionate summer rose. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 WHY ? 
 
 We were in a hammock sitting, 
 
 Nestingly, lovingly together. 
 Evening after evening flitting 
 
 Found us thus in Summer weather. 
 But this night an inspiration, 
 
 Or the moon's infection, led me — 
 Seeking joy's perpetuation — 
 
 To beseech the maid to wed me. 
 
 Breathless was the hush that followed, 
 
 Deeper then I felt the pressing 
 In the nest her head had hollowed; 
 
 And, this speech her lips caressing, 
 Rolled out glibly as 'twere reason 
 
 With some lubricant did oil it — 
 "Courtship's a delicious season; 
 
 Why get married, dear, and spoil it? " 
 Unknown. 
 
48 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 TO-DAY. 
 
 To-day he loves me! — Time, stand still! 
 Haste not, sun, behind the hill! 
 To-day he loves me: no to-morrow 
 Can touch this one to-day with sorrow. 
 
 As a crystal well o'erspills 
 With sweet water from the hills, 
 So my heart o'erbrims with blisses, 
 Of looks, of love-words, and of kisses. 
 
 And through many a day of drought 
 Love shall come to draw thereout, 
 Singing low — though this to-day 
 Be then a year old yesterday — 
 " To-day he loves me! " ('Tis Love's way.) 
 
 Unknown. 
 
 LOVE ME. 
 
 Love me if I live; 
 
 Love me if I die; 
 What to me is life or death, 
 
 So that thou be nigh? 
 
LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY. 49 
 
 Once I loved thee rich, 
 
 Now I love thee poor; 
 Ah ! what is there I could not 
 
 For thy sake endure? 
 
 Kiss me for my love! 
 
 Pay me for my pain ! 
 Come ! and murmur in my ear 
 
 How thou lov'st again. 
 
 Barry Cornwall. 
 
 LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 The fountains mingle with the river, 
 
 And the river with the ocean, 
 The winds of heaven mix forever 
 
 With a sweet emotion. 
 Nothing in the world is single ! 
 
 All things, by a law divine, 
 In another's being mingle — 
 
 Why not I with thine? 
 
 See the mountains kiss high heaven, 
 And the waves clasp one another; 
 
 No sister flower would be forgiven 
 If it disdained its brother : 
 
50 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 And the sunlight clasps the earth, 
 And the moonbeams kiss the sea; 
 
 What are all those kissings worth, 
 If thou kiss not me? 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley. 
 
 HAD I A THOUSAND SOULS. 
 
 Had I a thousand souls with which to love thee, 
 
 I'd throw them all, delighted, at thy feet; 
 Had I uncounted gold, wherewith to move thee, 
 
 'Twould seem unworthy all, and incomplete: 
 I fain would be an Argus but to view thee, 
 
 And a Briareus round thy charms to cling; 
 Another Orpheus to play music to thee, 
 
 A Homer thy perfections all to sing. 
 I would be May to clothe thee with its splendor, 
 
 And Love itself adoring to caress thee; 
 I'd call on fame, to speak my passion tender; 
 
 I'd fain be the world's king, to serve and bless 
 thee; 
 A sun to be thy light and thy defender, 
 
 And heaven itself for ever to possess thee. 
 John Bowring. 
 {From the Spanish.) 
 
IN CUPID'S COURT. 51 
 
 TRIOLET. 
 
 He stole just one kiss, 
 
 Ah! why did he do if? 
 I own it was bliss, 
 
 Why, then, do I rue it 
 He stole just one kiss? 
 
 The reason is this, — 
 I fancied you knew it, — 
 
 He stole just one kiss! 
 
 Annie V. Culbertson. 
 
 IN CUPID'S COURT. 
 
 " He who hesitates is lost," 
 
 Thus the ancient saying ran. 
 
 Wandering far or tempest tossed, 
 
 Men have learned it to their cost 
 
 Ever since the world began. 
 
 In the Court of Cupid, though, 
 
 Be it light of moon or sun, 
 Be the future weal or woe, 
 While Sir Plume is bending low, 
 " She who hesitates is won." 
 
 Unknown. 
 
52 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 LINES. 
 
 Kiss me, love, and let me live, 
 
 Live and draw from love's full store; 
 
 Kiss me, love — and let me die, 
 Praying, craving, nothing more. 
 
 Kiss me, love, thy kiss encloses 
 
 All sweet things and makes them mine — 
 Dews of heaven, and scent of roses, 
 
 Song of birds, and rich sunshine. 
 
 Auberon Herbert. 
 
 VALENTINE TO A FLIRT. 
 
 You who capture hearts in plenty, 
 
 Golden-haired and gay, 
 You will get some ten or twenty 
 
 Valentines to-day. 
 Each one with its message tender 
 Owning absolute surrender, 
 Of the true heart of the sender: — 
 
 Such is Cupid's way. 
 
 You will find my own confession 
 
 In among the rest. 
 It is every man's impression 
 
 That you love him the best. 
 
LOVE. 
 
 So, like nine or nineteen others 
 Of my sentimental brothers, 
 I am one who vainly smothers 
 Love within his breast. 
 
 But I knew you, little flirt you : 
 
 Hope? Indeed, I've none! 
 That's the very vine of virtue 
 
 Frozen by your fun. 
 Every line of love you'll parry, 
 Of these twenty men who tarry, 
 Then, at last, go off and marry 
 
 Number twenty-one! 
 
 Felix Carmen. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 Unless you can think, when the song is done, 
 
 No other is sweet in the rhythm; 
 Unless you can feel, when left by one, 
 
 That all men else go with him; 
 Unless you can feel, when unpraised by his 
 breath, 
 
 That your beauty itself wants proving; 
 Unless you can swear — "For life, for death" — 
 
 Oh, fear to call it loving ! 
 
54 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Unless you can muse in a crowd all day, 
 
 On the absent face that fixed you; 
 Unless you can love as the angels may, 
 
 With the breadth of heaven betwixt you; 
 Unless you can dream that his faith is fast 
 
 Through behooving and unbehooving; 
 Unless you can die when the dream is past — 
 
 Oh, never call it loving. 
 
 Mrs. Browning. 
 
 ADIEU. 
 
 With what sad heart, love, I say 
 The words that cause me bitter pain, 
 
 With what sad heart I go away — 
 Who knows, shall I return again? 
 
 And yet, O love, they must be spoken, 
 
 Tho' lives are wrecked and hearts be broken. 
 
 And so, adieu, my love, adieu, 
 Believe me, I can say no more; 
 
 My life is full of love for you — 
 It holds within no other lore. 
 
 And yet, love, I say adieu 
 
 To keep the world and give up you. 
 
ON BIS MISTRESS'S EYEBROW. 55 
 
 And many a day and many a night, 
 The heart will ache and tears will blind, 
 
 For all my life and its delight 
 Are in the world I leave behind; 
 
 And so, adieu, my love, my own — 
 
 I face the bitter world alone! 
 
 But you will miss me, will you not? 
 
 Mayhap as much as I will you; 
 Tis not so easy as you thought 
 
 To say, " Adieu, my love, adieu ! " 
 For if we stop to count the cost — 
 Without the one the other's lost. 
 
 George Wilmot Harris. 
 
 ON HIS MISTRESS'S EYEBROW. 
 
 When Love made Letty's face, his mother said, 
 " Too pale, the hair lacks gold, the cheeks lack 
 
 red," 
 Yet smiled upon his work, and touched the 
 
 brow, 
 And drew it lovelier than Love knew how. 
 
 J. B, Nichols. 
 
56 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 I. 
 
 And on her lover's arm she leant, 
 
 And round her waist she felt it fold, 
 And far across the hills they went 
 
 In that new world which is the old: 
 Across the hills and far away 
 
 Beyond their utmost purple rim, 
 And deep into the dying day 
 
 The happy princess followed him. 
 
 II. 
 "I'd sleep another hundred years, 
 
 O love, for such another kiss; " 
 " O wake for ever, love," she hears, 
 
 " O love, 'twas such as this and this." 
 And o'er them many a sliding star, 
 
 And many a merry wind was born, 
 And, stream'd thro' many a golden bar, 
 
 The twilight melted into morn. 
 
 III. 
 " O eyes long laid in happy sleep ! " 
 
 " O happy sleep that lightly fled! " 
 " O happy kiss, that woke thy sleep ! " 
 
 " love, thy kiss would wake the dead ! 
 
OF LOVE. 57 
 
 And o'er them many a flowing range 
 Of vapor buoy'd the crescent bark, 
 
 And, rapt thro' many a rosy change, 
 The twilight died into the dark. 
 
 IV. 
 
 "A hundred summers! Can it be? 
 
 And whither goest thou, tell me where ? " 
 " O seek my father's court with me, 
 
 For there are greater wonders there." 
 And o'er the hills and far away 
 
 Beyond their utmost purple rim, 
 Beyond the night, across the day, 
 
 Thro' all the world she followed him. 
 Tennyson. 
 
 OF LOVE. 
 
 She spoke of Love — she, pale, serene and gray, 
 The open volume on her silken knee; 
 
 There played around her lips a flickering, dream- 
 like ray, 
 Her pure, sad eyes looked out and saw not me. 
 
58 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Her pure, sad eyes, so clear, so soft, so bright, 
 As in a spell! Methought, could I behold 
 Within their solemn veils, I would know Love 
 aright, 
 And that Divineness which no years make old. 
 
 Unknown. 
 
 A SONG OF BLESSING. 
 
 God's blessing, gentle eyes, 
 
 Upon you for the glance you gave to-day; 
 Low 'neath your light my heart your debtor , 
 lies, 
 
 Striving to find some thankful words to say. 
 
 God's blessing, gentle lips, 
 
 Upon you for a tender smile — like this! 
 His reddest rose with loveliest crimson tips 
 
 Your parted petals, quivering with a kiss! 
 
 God's blessing, gentle hand, 
 
 Upon your downy whiteness, and the touch 
 That thrills me so! I cannot understand — 
 
 Hands, lips and eyes, I love you all so much ! 
 
A LOVE SONG. 59 
 
 God's blessing for you, dear; 
 
 For all you are, and all that you may be; 
 Your glance, your kiss, your smile, your touch, 
 — the mere 
 Thought of you ! Ah, how dear you are to me. 
 Frank L. Stanton. 
 
 LINES TO MY VALENTINE. 
 
 " I only beg that not too glad 
 Nor bright your dreams may be, 
 
 For then — the chance were very bad 
 That you should dream of me." 
 
 Unknown. 
 
 A LOVE SONG. 
 
 Kiss me, darling. Let your lips 
 
 Be a rose that breaks apart, 
 And I'll be the bee that sips 
 
 Honey from the rose's heart. 
 Ah! the scarlet leaves unclose 
 
 Of this blossom blown for me. 
 Happy fate to be a rose! 
 
 Happy fate to be a bee! 
 
FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Kiss me, darling. Let your eyes 
 
 Be the violets on the hill; 
 I will be the wind that flies 
 
 Hither, thither at its will. 
 When my kiss upon them lies, 
 
 Then the blossoms sweet and shy 
 Must look up in swift surprise 
 
 While the laughing wind goes by. 
 
 Kiss me, darling. Let my heart 
 
 Be a warm and pleasant nest; 
 Come and swing its doors apart, 
 
 Enter in and be my guest. 
 Love stands just within the door — 
 
 Tender shall his welcome be; 
 There, my darling, evermore 
 
 Sing your song for him and me. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 PHILLIS IS MY ONLY JOY. 
 
 Phillis is my only joy, 
 
 Faithless as the winds or seas; 
 Sometimes coming, sometimes coy, 
 
 Yet she never fails to please; 
 
MY LADY'S GOWNS. 61 
 
 If with a frown 
 I am cast down, 
 Phillis smiling, 
 And beguiling, 
 Makes me happier than before. 
 
 Tho' alas! too late I find 
 
 Nothing can her fancy fix, 
 Yet the moment she is kind 
 I forgive her all her tricks; 
 Which tho' I see, 
 I can't get free; 
 She deceiving, 
 I believing: 
 What need lovers wish for more? 
 
 Sm Charles Sedley. 
 
 MY LADY'S GOWNS. 
 
 My lady is clad in blue, 
 
 From her hat to her little shoe, 
 
 A bit of sky is in each eye, 
 
 And she caught my heart as it wandered by, 
 
 When my lady was clad in blue. 
 
02 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 My lady is clad in pink, 
 Ah! then she's a dream, I think, 
 A vision fair, with her golden hair, 
 The rose in her cheek beyond compare, 
 When my lady is clad in pink. 
 
 My lady is clad in white, 
 
 O, she is my heart's delight, 
 
 My pure, pale dove, my own dear love, 
 
 My treasure from the bright heaven above, 
 
 When my lady is clad in white. 
 
 Lulu Wintzer. 
 
 THE EEFLECTIONS OF A MIRROR. 
 
 I know my owner loves me well, 
 
 Or why such time should she spend o'er me ! 
 I seem to have for her a spell 
 
 That makes her sit for hours before me! 
 
 She smiles upon me day by day, 
 
 While silently I do my duty, 
 And in her generous-hearted way 
 
 She gives me all her wealth and beauty. 
 
TO EER TEATS FAR AWA\ 63 
 
 She gives me dimples, brow and cheek, 
 And, though the most demure of misses, 
 
 She says " I love you," when she speaks, 
 And from her lips she throws me kisses. 
 
 She's constant to me. Yet I pine— 
 
 I'm not successful as a wooer, 
 The love she gives me is not mine; 
 
 Alas ! I must return it to her. 
 
 Unknown. 
 
 TO HER THAT'S FAR AW A'. 
 
 Oh ! think na, lassie, I forget 
 
 Sae though it seems : 
 Ae face is aye before me yet — 
 
 I hope, a dream. 
 
 For every thocht that comes o' hame 
 
 Brings twa o' thee; 
 And in my ear is aye her name 
 
 I canna see. 
 
 O fortune, blin' ! could you but see 
 
 Oor love's pure flame, 
 You'd send my lassie here to me, 
 
 Or send me hame. 
 
 Unknown. 
 
64 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 IF WE SHOULD MEET. 
 
 If we should meet — God grant we may! — 
 
 If we should meet again, 
 As flowerets kissed by summer ray 
 
 Are sweeter after rain, 
 Absence shall make our joys more sweet, 
 If we should meet — when we shall meet. 
 
 The wind blows chill, and time flies fast, 
 
 As in the days of yore; 
 0! would the weary hours were past, 
 
 That we could meet once more! 
 O time ! haste on with swift- winged feet, 
 Till we shall meet, till we shall meet. 
 
 But should bygone weeks have made 
 Your heart or mine more cold, 
 
 If from our memory e'er could fade 
 The years of bliss untold, 
 
 Should love's young pulse e'er cease to beat 
 
 God grant that we may never meet! 
 
 Rather be it our last embrace 
 
 Better for e'er to part, 
 Than meet together face to face; 
 
 And not meet heart to heart. 
 
OH, DARLING, WHEN YOU LOVE ME. 65 
 
 Nay, rather die than think, my sweet, 
 That thus we two could ever meet. 
 
 Arthur J. Baker. 
 
 QUIS SEPARABIT? 
 
 Heart clings to heart! Let the strange years 
 sever 
 The fates of two who have met to part — 
 Love's strength survives, and the harsh world 
 never 
 Shall crush the passion of heart for heart! 
 For I know my life, though it droop and 
 dwindle, 
 Shall leave me love, till I fade and die; 
 And when hereafter our souls rekindle, 
 Who shall be fonder, You or I? 
 
 Philip J. Holds worth. 
 
 OH, DARLING, WHEN YOU LOVE ME. 
 
 Oh, darling, when you love me 
 The sky is soft and bright; 
 
 Life asks no troubled question, 
 The world is safe and right: 
 
 5 
 
66 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 I whisper happy secrets 
 With every flower and tree, 
 
 And lark and thrush and linnet 
 Sing all their songs for me. 
 
 Oh, darling, when you chide me 
 
 The world is numb and cold; 
 The mists creep up the valley, 
 
 And all the year is old. 
 The fields are black and sodden, 
 
 The shivering woods are sere; 
 I see no Face in heaven, 
 
 And death is very near. 
 
 Oh, darling, always love me! 
 
 The song birds look to you; 
 The skies await your bidding 
 
 To dome the world with blue. 
 Then keep the rose in glory, 
 
 And make the swallow stay, 
 And hold the year forever 
 
 At summer's crowning day. 
 
 Frederick Langbridge. 
 
AFTER THE BALL. 67 
 
 LINES. 
 
 The branches cross above our eyes, 
 
 The skies are in a net; 
 And what's the thing beneath the skies 
 
 We two would most forget? 
 Not birth, my love, no, no, — 
 Not death, my love, no, no, — 
 The love once ours, but ours long hours ago. 
 
 Unknown. 
 
 AFTER THE BALL. 
 
 I sit beside the midnight fire, 
 
 The ball-room roses in my hair; 
 Without the snow is falling fast, 
 
 And strange storm-voices fill the air, 
 My feet are weary of the dance; 
 
 The revel whirls within my brain; 
 And something deep within my breast 
 
 Throbs with a ceaseless pulse of pain. 
 
 Yes, I have plucked the Dead Sea fruit, 
 And savored long its rind of gold; 
 
 Its ashy core now frets my lip, 
 Its dust is falling from my hold. 
 
FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 And though I struggle to forget, 
 
 And though my heart be triply steeled, 
 
 I cannot vanish from my brain 
 A vision of a battle-field. 
 
 A vision of the solemn hour 
 
 When won and ended is the fight, 
 And when upon the awful scene 
 
 Look down the tender eyes of night: 
 While pillowed on his prostrate horse, 
 
 And pale beneath his raven hair, 
 The old smile new upon his lips, 
 
 The man I love lies lifeless there. 
 
 He loved me as such men can love, 
 
 The brave, the noble, and the true; 
 He wooed me as a gallant heart 
 
 And poet soul alone can woo. 
 He told in burning words his love — 
 
 I listened with a startled smile — 
 And spoke of " friendship " and " regret," 
 
 And yet I loved him all the while. 
 
 I loved him, but I loved still more 
 Gay balls, flirtation, stylish dress. 
 
 To hold these fast I spurned away 
 That true heart's wealth of tenderness. 
 
AFTER THE BALL. 
 
 He left me with a calm farewell — 
 Too fond to frown, too proud to sigh. 
 
 I danced and flirted as of old, 
 And he went forth to fight and die. 
 
 And still I tread the self-same round 
 
 Of balls and operas and dress; 
 But o'er my life is creeping slow 
 
 A mist like pall of weariness. 
 The gayest galop fails to stir 
 
 To bounding life my languid feet; 
 I listless drop my rich bouquet, 
 
 My senses sickened by its sweet. 
 
 Cold lie the embers on the hearth, 
 
 The dark without is growing gray, 
 And I must woo reluctant sleep 
 
 Before the dawning of the day. 
 Back, ghostly Past, into your tomb! 
 
 Close, eyes, upon th' unwelcome light! 
 I am engaged for every dance 
 
 At the grand ball to-morrow night. 
 
 Mrs. Lucy H. Hooper. 
 
70 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 ONLY. 
 
 Only a lover's meeting 
 
 Under the chestnut- trees, 
 Yet two fond hearts are beating 
 
 With passionate sympathies. 
 Only a whispered word, 
 
 Breathed low in the summer-time, 
 Yet a woman's heart is stirred 
 
 To its depths by the passionate rhyme. 
 
 Only a tiny ring 
 
 Clasped on a finger fair, 
 Yet her heart has passed forever 
 
 Into another's care. 
 Only a single kiss 
 
 Pressed on her pure white brow, 
 Yet a maiden's heart is happy 
 
 In the knowledge of Love's vow. 
 
 Only a letter from India 
 
 Calling him to its shore; 
 Only a moonlight parting, 
 
 Yet, " Love's young dream " is o'er. 
 Only a year since sailing 
 
 When a lapse in his letters came; 
 Only a sweet face paling, 
 
 Whenever they mention his name. 
 
ONLY. 71 
 
 Only a letter at last — 
 
 Cold and haughtily stern — 
 Will she try to forget the past, 
 
 And all his letters burn? 
 He feels that they would not be happy, 
 
 So he frees her from her troth; 
 He hopes she will not mourn him, 
 
 "'Twill be better for them both." 
 
 Only a silent grief 
 
 When in her room alone; 
 But tears bring no relief 
 
 When every hope is flown. 
 Only the constant memory 
 
 Of their meetings 'neath the trees, 
 Yet a girl's true heart is breaking 
 
 Over trifles such as these. 
 
 Only a silent drooping 
 
 Surely day by day, 
 Only a young life ebbing 
 
 Swift to its close away. 
 
 Only a letter sent 
 
 To him when life had flown: 
 " She had loved him, she forgave him, 
 
 But she could not live alone. 
 
72 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 She did not blame him now, 
 She freed him from his troth; 
 
 Though it broke her heart to do it, 
 It was better for them both." 
 
 Only a luckless marriage 
 On India's coral shore; 
 
 Only two hearts unsuited, 
 And quarrels — nothing more. 
 
 Only a little grave, 
 
 Where the grass is scarcely green, 
 Only a man beside it 
 
 With sad and thoughtful mien; 
 Only a bitter moan 
 
 Rising up from a quivering heart, 
 As he kneels beside that mound, 
 
 Where the violets freshly start. 
 
 Only a knowledge he loved her 
 
 Far better than his life, 
 Only the knowledge he hated 
 
 The Circe he called his wife; 
 
 Only the knowledge he'd wrecked 
 Both her life and his own; 
 
THE OLD LOVE SONG. 73 
 
 Only a bitter regret 
 
 As he kneels beside the stone; 
 Only the constant memory 
 
 Of their meetings 'neath the trees, 
 Yet a man's proud heart is breaking 
 
 Over trifles such as these. 
 
 Fiiances Sescadarowna Lewin. 
 
 THE OLD LOVE SONG. 
 
 Play it slowly, sing it lowly, 
 
 Old, familiar tune! 
 Once it ran in dance and dimple, 
 
 Like a brook in June; 
 Now it sobs along the measures 
 
 With a sound of tears; 
 Dear old voices echo through it, 
 
 Vanished with the years. 
 
 Ripple, ripple, goes the love song 
 
 Till, in slowing time, 
 Early sweetness grows completeness, 
 
 Floods its every rhyme; 
 Who together learn the music 
 
 Life and death unfold, 
 Know that love is but beginning 
 
 Until love is old. 
 
74 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Play it slowly, it is holy 
 
 As an evening hymn; 
 Morning gladness hushed to sadness 
 
 Fills it to the brim. 
 Memories borne within the music, 
 
 Stealing through the bars; 
 Thoughts within its quiet spaces 
 
 Rise and set like stars. 
 
 Unknown. 
 
 RE-MEETINGS. 
 
 When first I saw thee, something in thine eyes 
 Thrilled me with rapture never felt before; 
 My soul seemed suddenly to recognize 
 A beauty known in lonely days long o'er. 
 And in thine eyes was recognition too, 
 And a mute troubled wonder in thy glance, 
 And a vain backward sweep through memory. 
 We met as travellers who have wandered 
 
 through 
 Some dim-lit land, the home of dream and 
 
 trance, 
 And can recall not its deep mystery. 
 
 yet, my love, though at that moment alone 
 The currents of our lives seemed to unite, 
 
 1 know that in some time and clime unknown, 
 In days that lie beyond faint memory's flight, 
 
THE SERENADE. 75 
 
 Our souls together winged their airy way 
 And knew the rich joy that in communion lies, 
 Roaming the vistas of the Infinite. 
 The flower of our love that blooms to-day 
 Hath a deep root that strikes beyond the skies, 
 And Death is impotent to wither it. 
 Meseems I see two spirits hand in hand 
 Down-gazing on the star-enstudded vault, 
 Watching the wondrous worlds at God's com- 
 mand 
 Fulfil their orbits without stay or fault. 
 Though the empyrean holds brighter spheres, 
 Upon one silver speck their glances rest. 
 Conjure no more; let me be given 
 To love thy beauty peacefully 
 Like sunshine or the silver Seven. 
 
 H. C. Beeching. 
 
 THE SERENADE. 
 
 Under my casement, as I pray, 
 My lover sings my cares away 
 With many a half-forgotten lay. 
 
 He leans against the linden tree 
 And sings old songs of Arcady 
 That he knows well are loved by me. 
 
76 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 All through the eve the sweet strains float 
 Like wind-blown rose leaves, note by note, 
 Over the great wall and the moat, 
 
 Up to my window till they teem 
 Into my soul and almost seem 
 To be there even when I dream. 
 
 And his heart trembling beats with bliss, 
 If I but throw him one small kiss, 
 Just as I now throw this — and this. 
 
 Tom Hall. 
 
 LIFE'S COMPLETENESS. 
 
 If I could have my dearest wish fulfilled, 
 
 And take my choice of all earth's pleasures, 
 too, 
 
 And ask from heaven whatsoe'er I willed, 
 I'd ask for you. 
 
 No man I'd envy, neither low nor high, 
 Nor king in castle old or palace new; 
 
 I'd hold Golconda's mines less rich than I, 
 If I had you. 
 
HER SOUL IS PURE. 77 
 
 Toil and privation, poverty and care, 
 Undaunted I'd defy, nor future woo; 
 
 Having my wife, no jewels else I'd wear, 
 If she were you. 
 
 Little I'd care how lovely she might be, 
 How graced with every charm, how fond, 
 how true; 
 
 E'en though perfection, she'd be naught to me 
 Were she not you. 
 
 There is more charm for my true, loving heart 
 In every thing you think, or say, or do, 
 
 Than all the joys of heaven could e'er impart, 
 Because it's you. 
 
 Unknown. 
 
 HER SOUL IS PURE. 
 
 Her soul is pure and sweet and white, 
 
 All good is garnered there, 
 If I might once peep in and write, 
 
 What poem half so fair? 
 
 When next across my path she trips, 
 This woman, wondrous wise, 
 
 I'll kiss a lyric from her lips, 
 An epic from her eyes. 
 
 Robert Loneman. 
 
78 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 Be still, my heart, be still, 
 I only heard his name, 
 
 And through my cheeks I felt 
 The colour rush like flame; 
 
 Although he loves me not, 
 I love him still the same — 
 
 Him I should scorn and hate — 
 
 He treated me so ill. 
 O! surely this is Fate, 
 
 To love against my will! 
 Because I heard his name 
 
 My heart is beating still. 
 
 Be still, my heart, be still; 
 
 O! could he only know 
 The height of woman's love, 
 
 The depth of woman's woe, 
 He surely could not dare 
 
 To love — and leave me so. 
 
 Be still, my heart, be still, 
 I must forget the past, 
 
 It was an idle dream — 
 A dream too sweet to last; 
 
 And I through life must feel 
 Love's blighting, lightning blast. 
 Ebenezer Storey Hay. 
 
J. 
 
 GOOD NIGHT. 79 
 
 GOOD NIGHT. 
 
 "Goodnight," the trembling lashes fell 
 And softly kissed her satin cheek; 
 
 He felt the beauty's magic spell: 
 " Good night," was all he dared to speak. 
 
 And yet her manner had been kind, 
 Her eyes had beamed with friendly light; 
 
 But he no further speech could find 
 
 Than those two simple words, " Good night." 
 
 But he had softly pressed her hand, 
 And met with his, her glance, half shy, 
 
 And thought, " She'll surely understand 
 The language of the hand and eye." 
 
 And as he homeward took his way 
 
 With this bright hope, his heart was light; 
 
 " I may not always need to say 
 The parting words to her — ' Good night.' " 
 
 Unknown. 
 
80 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 THY VOICE IS ON THE ROLLING AIR. 
 
 Thy voice is on the rolling air; 
 
 I hear thee where the waters run; 
 
 Thou standest in the rising sun, 
 And in the setting thou art fair. 
 
 What art thou then? I cannot guess; 
 But tho' I seem in star and flower 
 To feel thee some diffusive power, 
 
 I do not therefore love thee less* 
 
 My love involves the love before; 
 
 My love is vaster passion now; 
 
 Tho' mix'd with God and Nature thou, 
 I seem to love thee more and more. 
 
 Far off thou art, but ever nigh; 
 
 I have thee still, and I rejoice; 
 
 I prosper, circled with thy voice; 
 I shall not lose thee tho' I die. 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
SOLITARY. 81 
 
 SOLITARY. 
 
 My thoughts have been with you the whole 
 night long; 
 
 I wonder did you know, my dear? 
 My heart went flying to you in song: 
 
 I wonder, sweetheart, did you hear? 
 
 Here, where I kissed your hands and lips and 
 hair — 
 
 Here, where I held you to my heart, 
 While passion thrilled and kindled all the air — 
 
 Till hands and lips and lives must part, 
 
 I have lain weary at sleep's shadowy gate, 
 Which would not ope to let me in 
 
 Where happy dreams of you I knew must wait, 
 So that I might some rapture win. 
 
 I have been weary for your voice, your touch, 
 The desperate sweetness of your kiss — 
 
 The joy which almost thrills me overmuch; 
 O, sweet, my sweet, so sweet it is. 
 
 I strove to think you leaned above me here — 
 Laid lips to mine, then found to say 
 
 The dearest words — as dear as love is dear; 
 But, O, love, you were far away. 
 
82 FA VORITE POEMS. 
 
 Only for me, this drear, ghost-haunted room 
 And noises in the street outside: 
 
 Only for me to go from gloom to gloom; 
 And at the end, dark death for bride. 
 
 Unknown. 
 
 AN OLD ROMANCE. 
 
 A bar of an old-fashioned waltz! 
 
 A glance at a faded dress! 
 What is it that wakes in my heart 
 
 These echoes of tenderness? 
 
 When that was the waltz of the hour, 
 That dress in its pride and glow 
 
 Of shimmering azure and pearl 
 A seven of summers ago. 
 
 Sweet eyes used to gaze in my eyes, 
 Light fingers to clasp my own, 
 
 And a soft voice fell on my ears 
 In a tremulous undertone. 
 
 The face and the fingers I touch; 
 
 The voice in its music is here; 
 But Romance is a delicate moth 
 
 That lives — just the sweet of a year. 
 
 Douglas Brooke Wheelton Sladen. 
 
THE SPIRIT OF LOVE. 81 
 
 THE SPI11IT OF LOVE. 
 
 The spirit of love 
 
 Went wandering 
 Over the desert's burning sand; 
 She tapped a tiny silver spring, 
 Unfolded her wings and was off again. 
 But, oh! the loving deep remains, 
 A living spring o'er the parched sod, 
 
 The burning sand 
 
 And desert land 
 Smile with the rippling rills of God. 
 
 The spirit of love 
 
 Went wandering 
 Over the city's darkest lair; 
 She bent her low where a child of woe 
 Drank in the deadly atmosphere. 
 She fanned him gently with her wings, 
 Cooled his brow with her loved breath ; 
 
 Like winnowing wings 
 
 Of the seraphim, 
 She snatched him from the grasp of death. 
 
 O spirit of love! 
 
 Sweet child of heaven, 
 Where sorrow dwells outspread thy wings: 
 Give the parched gems of the desert wild 
 The early dew and the silver springs; 
 
84 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 And stand thou by when death is nigh, 
 And hearts are faint and eyes grow dim; 
 
 Give the weary love, 
 
 And sing, sweet dove, 
 Of the glory-realms of the cherubim. 
 
 W. R. Wills. 
 
 IN LOVE'S ATTIC. 
 
 The attic of young Cupid's house 
 
 I visited one day; 
 To see the tattered bits of love 
 
 That there were stored away. 
 
 For cast-off odds-and-ends of hearts 
 About the place were strewn, 
 
 Like baubles of some other days 
 That long ago had flown. 
 
 But yet the withered roses there — 
 Frail wreaths from Love's own tomb — 
 
 Upon the dusty, mellow air 
 Still shed a faint perfume. 
 
 E. R White. 
 
THE SEA-SHELL. 85 
 
 THE SEA-SHELL. 
 
 "Listen, Darling, and tell to me 
 What the murmurer says to thee, 
 Murmuring 'twixt a song and a moan, 
 Changing neither tune nor tone." 
 
 "Yes, I hear it, — far and faint, 
 Like thin-drawn prayer of drowsy saint; 
 Like the falling of sleep on a weary brain, 
 When the fevered heart is quiet again." 
 
 "By smiling lip and fixed eye, 
 You are hearing more than song or sigh; 
 The wrinkled thing has curious ways, — 
 I want to know what words it says." 
 
 " I hear a wind on a boatless main 
 Sigh like the last of a vanishing pain; 
 On the dreamy waters dreams the moon, 
 But I hear no words in their murmured tune." 
 
 " If it does not say that I love thee well, 
 'Tis a senseless, ill-curved, worn-out shell. 
 If it is not of Love, why sigh or sing? 
 'Tis a common, mechanical, useless thing." 
 
86 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 " It whispers of Love, — 'tis a prophet shell, 
 Of a peace that comes, and all shall be well; 
 It speaks not a word of your love to me, 
 But it tells me to love you eternally." 
 
 George MacDonald. 
 
 LOVE IS NOT BLIND. 
 
 Love is not blind. Ah, no ! Ah, no ! 
 
 He only hides his eyes to show 
 
 A sweet unguarded mouth left free 
 
 To tempt his victims, while with glee 
 
 He works them thus confusion — woe. 
 
 For, sure as fate, rash youth will go 
 
 Too near that lovely Cupid's bow, 
 
 And none dare warn him, " Love can see." 
 
 Love is not blind ! 
 
 Then peeping stealthily below 
 His bandage, with sure aim and slow, 
 Love points his darts, and one ! two ! three ! 
 Straight to the heart of youth they flee, 
 And never miss their mark. Ah, no! 
 Love is not blind. 
 
 Rosalie M. Jones. 
 
LOVE THE PURSUER. 87 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Nay! if thou must depart, thou shalt depart; 
 But why so soon — oh, heart-blood of my heart? 
 Go then! Yet — going — turn and stay thy feet, 
 That I may once more see that face so sweet. 
 
 Once more — if never more; for swift days go 
 As hastening waters from their fountains flow; 
 And whether yet again shall meeting be 
 Who knows ? Who knows ? Ah ! turn once more 
 to me. 
 
 Edwin Arnold. 
 
 LOVE THE PURSUER. 
 
 Escape me? 
 Never, — 
 Beloved ! 
 While I am I, and you are you, 
 
 So long as the world contains us both, 
 Me the loving and you the loth, 
 While the one eludes, must the other pursue. 
 My life is at fault at last, I fear: 
 
 It seems too much like a fate indeed! 
 Though I do my best, I shall scarce succeed. 
 
88 FA VORITE POEMS. 
 
 But what if I fail of my purpose here? 
 
 It is but to keep the nerves at strain, 
 To dry one's eyes and laugh at a fall, 
 
 And, baffled, get up and begin again, — 
 So the chase takes up one's life, that's all. 
 
 While, look but once from your farthest bound 
 At me so deep in the dust and dark, 
 
 No sooner the old hope goes to ground 
 Than a new one, straight to the self-same mark, 
 I shape me, — 
 Ever 
 Removed ! 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 "MY GIRL." 
 
 I've known " my girl " for many a year, 
 For many a year of weal and woe, 
 
 The darkest day has yet some cheer 
 While we together onward go. 
 
 She yet appears to me the same, 
 Only perhaps still dearer grown, 
 
 As on that day she took my name, 
 And laid aside for aye her own. 
 
CAELI. 89 
 
 Her step is light as 'twas of yore, 
 Her laugh the merriest I know, 
 
 I miss no charm she had before, 
 She is "my girl" as long ago. 
 
 Yet children's children hold us dear, 
 And years are creeping on apace, 
 
 Some time a shadow may draw near, 
 And one alone life's trials face. 
 
 But separation cannot last, 
 
 Hearts grown so dear will soon draw nigh, 
 And all Life's storms and struggles past, 
 
 A Heaven we'll find, " my girl " and I. 
 L. F. S. Barnard. 
 
 CAELI. 
 
 If stars were really watching eyes 
 Of angel armies in the skies, 
 I should forget all watchers there, 
 And only for your glances care. 
 
 And if your eyes were really stars, 
 With leagues that none can mete for bars 
 To keep me from their longed-for day, 
 I could not feel more far away. 
 
 Francis W. Bourdillon. 
 
90 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 The moth's kiss first! 
 
 Kiss ine as if you made believe 
 
 You were not sure this eve, 
 How my face, your flower, had pursed 
 
 Its petals up; so, here and there 
 
 You brush it, till I grow aware 
 Who wants me, and wide ope I burst. 
 
 The bee's kiss, now! 
 
 Kiss me as if you entered gay 
 
 My heart at some noonday, 
 A bud that dare not disallow 
 
 The claim, so allis rendered up, 
 
 And passively its shattered cup 
 Over your head to sleep I bow. 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 ONE TOUCH OF THE HAND. 
 
 Thine eyes, like the stars that are gleaming, 
 
 Have entered the depths of my soul, 
 And my heart has grown wild with its beating, 
 
 And my feelings I cannot control. 
 Still, still do I love, do I fear thee, 
 
 Would keep thee, yet beg thee to go, 
 One touch of the hand makes me tremble 
 
 And recalls all the sorrows of yore. 
 
ONE TOUCH OF THE HAND. P. 90 
 
LINES. 91 
 
 Why once again have I met thee? 
 
 Why is this sorrow now mine ? 
 In vain do I strive to forget thee, 
 
 But my soul is enslaved into thine. 
 Still, still do I love, do I fear thee, 
 
 Would keep thee, yet beg thee to go, 
 One touch of the hand makes me tremble 
 
 And recalls all the sorrows of yore. 
 
 Unknown. 
 
 LINES. 
 
 Her eyes are bright as bright can be, 
 Like sun rays on a summer sea. 
 
 Her hair is like a sunset crown 
 
 O'er fields of wheat just turning brown. 
 
 And in her lips the mantling blood 
 Is like a pomegranate bud. 
 
 Her heart is true as true can be, 
 Like some staunch oak beside the sea. 
 
 And her small hands are pearl and pink, 
 Like peach blooms by a river's brink. 
 
92 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Her voice is like a gentle breeze 
 Borne through the languid laurel trees. 
 
 But oh ! her soul, that few may know, 
 Is strong as fire, and pure as snow. 
 
 Unknown. 
 
 DESTINY. 
 
 Somewhere there waiteth in this world of ours 
 For one lone soul another lonely soul, 
 
 Each choosing each through all the weary hours, 
 And meeting strangely at one sudden goal. 
 
 Then blend they, like green leaves with golden 
 flowers, 
 Into one beautiful and perfect whole; 
 
 And life's long night is ended, and the way 
 
 Lies open onward to eternal day. 
 
 Edwin Arnold. 
 
 A VALENTINE. 
 
 I love my love with an A, 
 The beginning of all it is. 
 
 I love my love with an L, 
 For the first of love is this. 
 
PLIGHTED. « 93 
 
 I love my love with an I, 
 
 For it is I that love her. 
 I love my love with a C, 
 
 For it stretches the whole world over. 
 I love my love with an E, 
 
 It shall stand for Eternity. 
 I love my love with the wild, wild beat 
 
 Of a heart that I lay at her feet. 
 
 R. A. B. 
 
 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 chamber 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 aisle may watch the door, 
 
 The high-priest only enters in. 
 
94 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Mine, my own, without doubt or terrors, 
 With all thy goodness, 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 Mulock Craik. 
 
 OH ! LEAVE ME NOT, DEAR HEART. 
 
 So long the day, so dark the way, 
 Dear heart, before you came; 
 
 It seems to me it cannot be, 
 This world is still the same. 
 
HEART SONG. 95 
 
 For then I stood as in some wood, 
 
 And vainly sought for light; 
 But now day dawns on sunlit lawns, 
 
 And life is glad and bright. 
 
 With you away, the brightest day, 
 
 Dear heart, goes by in vain, 
 I dare not dream what life would seem 
 
 If you ne'er came again. 
 
 Dark ways before would darken more, 
 The world would change to me, 
 
 Each sun would set in vain regret, 
 That morning brought not thee. 
 
 Oh! leave me not, dear heart, 
 I did not dream that we should part; 
 
 I love but thee, oh love thou me, 
 And leave me not, dear heart. 
 
 Unknown. 
 
 HEART SONG. 
 
 In my heart there's singing, 
 But words will not come; 
 
 Hear my music ringing, 
 Though my lips are dumb I 
 
96 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 The songster you have heard 
 
 Carol in the wood 
 Uttered not a word 
 
 Yet you understood. 
 
 In my heart there's singing 
 
 Sweet as birds in June, 
 You'll hear my music ringing, 
 
 If your heart's in tune. 
 
 Alva Deane. 
 
 HE DANCED AT HER WEDDING. 
 
 I danced at her wedding last night, 
 
 And none could have guessed my emotion 
 As I saw her a bride — her on whom 
 
 I had lavished a lifetime's devotion. 
 I danced at her wedding. Why not? 
 
 Having lived through the scene at the altar, 
 When the knot was tied fast for all time, 
 
 Do you think that my courage would falter? 
 
 I danced with as lightsome a step, 
 With a face as unmoved as the next one; 
 
 He must be a fatuous fool 
 Who in crisis like this could expect one, 
 
LINES. 97 
 
 Though a tumult were raging within, 
 To betray to onlookers his passion. 
 
 I don't wear my heart on my sleeve — 
 That sort of thing isn't my fashion. 
 
 I danced — so did she. Though I'll swear, 
 
 For a fact, that I hardly know whether 
 I stood on my heels or my head 
 
 When we went wildly whirling together, 
 When her breath was as sweet on my cheek 
 
 As the blossoms of orange she carried. 
 We danced till folks said 'twas bad taste, 
 
 Since I was the fellow she married. 
 
 Unknown. 
 
 LINES. 
 
 Kiss, sunbeams, kiss 
 
 The dear old face of earth, 
 And bring the sap to the bursting bud, 
 
 And bring the flowers to birth! 
 Kiss, kiss, and kiss. 
 
 From the Greek. 
 
98 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 A PROTEST. 
 
 Because you see me light and gay, 
 Playing with that man and with this, 
 
 You turn from me, and coldly say — 
 " How frivolous she is ! " 
 
 Because you hear my laugh ring out 
 Careless amid the ball-room's glare, 
 
 You think that all I care about 
 In life is only there. 
 
 Because, to your disdainful look 
 I answer with as cold a gaze, 
 
 You sneer : " My lady ill can brook 
 That one no homage pays." 
 
 Because you note my blush and smile, 
 When others bow before my throne, 
 
 You do not know that all the while 
 Your mastery I own. 
 
 You will not guess — I cannot tell — 
 That though their praises flatter me, 
 
 And though my kingdom please me well, 
 I'd leave it willingly 
 
LIFE'S SWEETEST THINGS. 99 
 
 To reign as queen beside your hearth, 
 To call my own your love, your life; 
 
 Would give up all I prize on earth 
 To be your wife. 
 
 C. G. D. 
 
 LINES. 
 
 I have watched and fasted, early and late, 
 
 I have prayed to all above, 
 But I find no cure save churchyard mould, 
 
 For the pain which men call love. 
 
 Chakles Kingsley. 
 
 LIFE'S SWEETEST THINGS. 
 
 There's beauty in the dawning light, 
 And twilight fair or starlight night 
 
 Has each its charm and grace; 
 But lovelier still on earth to me, 
 The fairest thing my eye can see, 
 
 The beauty of thy face. 
 
100 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 There's calmness on the ocean's breast, 
 As deep and blue it seems to rest 
 
 'Neath bluer heavens above; 
 But deeper, calmer, still to me 
 Than ever sea or sky can be, 
 
 Thine azure eyes, my love. 
 
 There's music in the running stream, 
 And music when the woodlands seem 
 
 Awake with songs of birds; 
 But sweeter, dearer, still to me 
 Than nature's voice can ever be, 
 
 The music of thy words. 
 
 G. Roxby. 
 
 AT YOUE GATE. 
 
 My darling! my darling! my darling! 
 
 Do you know how I want you to-night? 
 The wind passes, moaning and snarling 
 
 Like some evil ghost in its flight. 
 On the wet street your lamp's gleam shines 
 redly, 
 
 You are sitting alone — did you start 
 As I spoke? did you guess at this deadly 
 
 Chill pain at my heart? 
 
AT YOUR GATE. 101 
 
 Out here where the dull rain is falling, 
 
 Just once— just a moment — I wait; 
 Did you hear the sad voice that was calling 
 
 Your name as I passed by the gate? 
 It was just a mere breath— Ah ! I know, dear, 
 
 Not even Love's ears could have heard, 
 But, oh ! I was hungering so, dear, 
 
 Tor one little word. 
 
 Do you think I am ever without you? 
 
 Ever lose an instant your face, 
 Or the spell that breathes alway about you, 
 
 Or your subtle, ineffable grace? 
 Why, even to-night, put away, dear, 
 
 From the light of your eyes though I stand, 
 I feel as I linger and pray, dear, 
 
 The touch of your hand. 
 
 Once again with its wonted caressing, 
 
 It soothes my deep wound like a balm; 
 Once again with an exquisite blessing 
 
 It hushes my grief into calm; 
 And all the dear charm of your presence, 
 
 My darling, is with me again, 
 And takes, like some mystical essence, 
 
 The sting from my pain. 
 
102 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Ah me! for a word that could move you 
 
 Like a whisper of magical art ! 
 I love you! I love you! I love you! 
 
 There is no other word in my heart. 
 Will your eyes that were loving still love me? 
 
 Will your heart, once so tender, forgive? 
 Ah! darling, stoop down from above me, 
 
 And tell me to live. 
 
 Barton Grey. 
 
 THE VOWS OF MEN. 
 
 Write on the sand when the tide is low, 
 Seek the spot when the waters flow; 
 Whisper a name when the storm is heard, 
 Pause, that echo may breathe the word: 
 If that you wrote on the sand should last, 
 And echo is heard 'mid the tempest blast, 
 Then believe, and not till then, 
 That there's truth in the vows of men. 
 
 Throw a rose on the stream at morn, 
 Watch at eve for the flower's return; 
 Drop in the ocean a golden grain: 
 Hope 'twill shine on the shore again! 
 
SEE THY LOVER HUMBLED. 103 
 
 If the rose you again behold, 
 If you gaze upon your grain of gold, 
 Then believe, and not till then, 
 That there's truth in the vows of men. 
 
 Thomas Haynes Bayly. 
 
 SEE THY LOVER HUMBLED AT THY 
 FEET. 
 
 Love, see thy lover humbled at thy feet, 
 Not in servility, but homage sweet, 
 Gladly inclined: — and with my bended knee 
 Think that my inward spirit bows to thee — 
 More proud indeed than when I stand or climb 
 Elsewhere: — there is no statue so sublime 
 As Love's in all the world, and e'en to kiss 
 The pedestal is still a better bliss 
 Than all ambitions. 0! Love's lowest base 
 Is far above the reaching of disgrace 
 To share this posture. Let me then draw nigh 
 Feet that have fared so nearly to the sky, 
 And when this duteous homage has been given 
 I will rise up and clasp the heart in Heaven. 
 
 Thomas Hood. 
 
101 /•'.! VORITM POEMS. 
 
 A BALLAD 01 COLORS, 
 
 She went with morning down the wood, 
 Between the green ami blue; 
 
 The sunlight on the grass was good, 
 
 And all (ho year was new. 
 
 There love came o'er Hie dowers to her, 
 
 A gOOdl? sight to see 
 
 From erowiu'd hair to wing-feather j 
 
 'Arise and come with me.' 
 
 She walked with him in Paradise 
 
 Between the white and red. 
 With Love's own kisses bet wren her eyes. 
 Love's crown upon her head. 
 
 Why two in heaven should not be thus 
 
 For ever, who may know? 
 Love spread his wings most glorious; 
 
 * Arise,' he said, ' I go.' 
 
 She came and sat down silently 
 Between the grey and grey; 
 
 The wet wind beat the lea tless tree, 
 And Love was gone away. 
 
HALF- WA Y IN LO VE. log 
 
 The woodland breaks to flower anew, 
 The days bring back the year; 
 
 But how am I to comfort you, 
 My dear, my dear, my dear? 
 
 J. W. Mackail. 
 
 HALF-WAY IN LOVE. 
 
 You have come, then; how very clever! 
 
 I thought you would scarcely try; 
 I was doubtful myself— however 
 
 You have come, and so have I. 
 
 How cool it is here, and pretty! 
 
 You are vexed. I'm afraid I'm late; 
 You've been waiting— oh, what a pity ! 
 
 And it's almost half-past eight. 
 
 So it is; I can hear it striking 
 Out there in the grey church-tower. 
 
 Why, I wonder at your liking 
 To wait for me half an hour! 
 
 I am sorry; what have you been doing 
 All the while down here by the pool? 
 
 Do you hear that wild-dove cooing? 
 How nice it is here and cool! 
 
106 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 How that elder piles and masses 
 Her great blooms snowy-sweet; 
 
 Do you see through the serried grasses 
 The forget-me-nots at your feet ? 
 
 And the fringe of flags that encloses 
 The water; and how the place 
 
 Is alive with pink dog-roses 
 Soft-colored like your face! 
 
 You like them? shall I pick one 
 For a badge and coin of June? 
 
 They are lovely, but they prick one, 
 And they always fade so soon. 
 
 Here's your rose. I think love like this is, 
 That buds between two sighs, 
 
 And flowers between two kisses, 
 And when it's gathered dies. 
 
 It were surely a grievous thing, love, 
 That love should fade in one's sight; 
 
 It were better surely to fling love 
 Off while its bloom is bright. 
 
 J. B. B. Nichols. 
 
DRIFTING DOWN. 107 
 
 DRIFTING DOWN. 
 
 Drifting down in the grey-green twilight, 
 
 O, the scent of the new-mown hay! 
 The oars drip in the mystic shy light, 
 
 the charm of the dying day! 
 While fading flecks of bright opalescence 
 
 But faintly dapple a saffron sky, 
 The stream flows on with superb quiescence, 
 
 The breeze is hushed to the softest sigh. 
 Drifting down in the sweet still weather, 
 
 0, the fragrance of fair July! 
 Love, my Love, when we drift together, 
 
 O, how fleetly the moments fly! 
 
 Drifting down on the dear old River, 
 
 O, the music that interweaves! 
 The ripples run and the sedges shiver, 
 
 O, the song of the lazy leaves ! 
 And far-off sounds — for the night so clear is — 
 
 Awake the echoes of bygone times; 
 The muffled roar of the distant weir is 
 
 Cheered by the clang of the Marlow chimes. 
 Drifting down in the cloudless weather, 
 
 O, how short is the summer day! 
 Love, my Love, when we drift together, 
 
 O, how quickly we drift away! 
 
108 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Drifting down as the night advances, 
 
 0, the calm of the starlit skies! 
 Eyelids droop o'er the half-shy glances, 
 
 O, the light in those blue-grey eyes! 
 A winsome maiden is sweetly singing 
 
 A dreamy song in a minor key; 
 Her clear low voice and its tones are bringing 
 
 A mingled melody back to me. 
 Drifting down in the clear calm weather, 
 
 O, how sweet is the maiden's song! 
 Love, my Love, when we drift together, 
 
 O, how quickly we drift along. 
 
 J. Ashby-Sterry. 
 
 LOVE AND I. 
 
 Love came to me in the morning — 
 
 A merry young imp was he; 
 I knew when I saw him alighting, 
 
 He wanted to stay with me. 
 He folded his tiny wings and smiled, 
 
 And then to my side drew nigh; 
 But I wanted him not, so I told him to go, 
 
 And Love flew away with a sigh. 
 
 Love came to me in the noon-tide — 
 Once more he was bright and gay; 
 
 But I pushed him rudely from me, 
 And told him to keep away. 
 
A SONG OF HEARTS. 109 
 
 A shadow came over Ms sunny face, 
 
 As lie lingered a moment near — 
 Not a pang of regret or remorse felt I 
 
 As Love flew off with a tear. 
 
 Love came to me in the evening — 
 
 He came in the twilight grey; 
 And, oh! I was glad to see him, 
 
 I wanted him then to stay. 
 I poured out a goblet of sparkling wine, 
 
 That we together might quaff. 
 " Oh, stay with me now, sweet Love ! " I cried, 
 
 But Love flew off with a laugh. 
 
 W. J. Crosbie. 
 
 A SONG OF HEARTS. 
 
 When stars come forth in darkening skies, 
 Love dreameth in thy wistful eyes — 
 Oh! would I could young Love surprise 
 When in those limpid orbs he sleeps, 
 And modesty such close watch keeps 
 Lest he should sudden wake and rise ! 
 
 Then would I bid the rogue confess 
 That he has made thee long to bless 
 
110 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Some heart that could thine own address 
 In language only known to hearts — 
 Or, better, through their subtle arts — 
 
 And of him claim for thee redress. 
 
 Because that when he knows full well 
 
 My passion for thee, he'll not tell; 
 
 But lets thee yearn and still rebel 
 
 Against grim fate — what sayest thou, 
 That " men are dull, or that ere now 
 
 For thee had pealed a marriage bell " ? 
 
 That " Cupid laid his spell on me 
 And through it drew my soul to thee, 
 Then fled into thine eyes to see 
 If he could not, perchance, reveal 
 What maiden shyness would conceal " ? 
 In sooth, how stupid men can be ! 
 
 Unknown. 
 
 ALONE. 
 
 I think that I am quite alone 
 
 Since that strange night, the mystic night 
 that hung 
 Tranced 'mid her stars to listen, when, mine own, 
 Those few short words arose from heart to 
 tongue, 
 
ALONE. Ill 
 
 And as you whispered them life changed to be 
 Something rapt, glorified, sublime, to me. 
 
 The soft gloom hung about us like a veil, 
 Only the glimmer in the western skies 
 
 Crept in, to show your lips were passion pale, 
 To read the rapture in your half-closed eyes ; 
 
 And then those words were spoken, and the rest 
 
 Was hushed in happy silence on your breast. 
 
 Morning and daylight swept away the dream, 
 Life clasped her fetters and resumed her sway, 
 
 Only a soft sweet knowledge, like a gleam, 
 Lingered around each hour of all the day; 
 
 And even the bitter ring of the farewell 
 
 With gentler note upon the spirit fell. 
 
 And since, my darling, though broad leagues of 
 space 
 Are spread between us, though dim, dull, and 
 mute 
 Is life without the sunshine of thy face, 
 Is life without the echo of your foot, 
 So all encompassed by your love am I 
 That my blank ways are trod contentedly. 
 
112 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Since in all evil things I think how you 
 Would soothe them — in all happy things I 
 think 
 How you would prize them — set to measure 
 true, 
 There is no discord in our perfect link; 
 With thought, faith, hope, with life and love 
 
 your own, 
 How can your chosen ever feel " alone " ? 
 
 Unknown. 
 
 WITHIN HER BOOK. 
 
 Within the book are some clover leaves, 
 
 And a sweet wild rose that you pressed, my 
 dear, 
 
 And sad with longing my poor heart grieves 
 For want of joy that was mine last year. 
 
 And I lift the flowers with a reverent hand, 
 And tenderly kiss them one by one, 
 
 And my spirit goes forth to the viewless land 
 For guidance till suffering is done! 
 
 And over these treasures my tears are shed, 
 For tender companionship passed away; 
 
 And I know in my life forever more 
 The stress of a loss shall stay. 
 
THE SECOND WIFE. 113 
 
 And close and still closer the fadeless rose — 
 
 Made holy by love to my lips is prest, 
 Till the thought of her greeting— (earth's sor- 
 rows past), 
 O'ernows my soul with rest. 
 
 H. G. P. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Was my song so slight a thing, 
 
 Only a pebble at your feet, 
 Or a faded rose we fling 
 
 To the river or the street? 
 
 Nought but peace I wish you, though 
 For my wearier heart I pray 
 
 You may some day learn to know 
 What it was you cast away. 
 
 T. Wratislaw. 
 
 THE SECOND WIFE. 
 
 Whenever you muse apart, 
 
 Methinks that your pulses spring 
 
 To another hour and another heart, 
 And another troth-touched ring. 
 8 
 
114 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Whenever you take my hand, 
 Whenever you meet my eyes, 
 
 It seems to me that I understand 
 Love's tortuous mysteries. 
 
 Hers were the lips that you kissed — 
 
 Kissed to a passionate red; 
 How is it now? Does she wist — 
 
 She of the silent dead — 
 
 Wist that I give you all 
 
 Gladly, as once she gave, 
 Heedless of what befall, 
 
 Forgetful of the grave? 
 
 Does she know your heart on my heart, 
 Your kisses of love on my brow; 
 
 Do they make her tremble and start 
 Even as I tremble now? 
 
 Hers were your vows before God; 
 
 Hers was your bond before men; 
 Are they done with because the sod 
 
 Lies between the now and the then f 
 
 Whenever you move in your sleep 
 And murmur an indistinct phrase, 
 
 All quiet in anguish I weep, 
 
 In dread that you dream of her praise. 
 
THE SECOND WIFE, 115 
 
 Whenever I call you " dear " 
 
 Or lay my hand light on your hair, 
 
 Just so, comes the thought— stood she near, 
 And pulsed with love's soul-fulfilled prayer? 
 
 Whenever you call me "wife," 
 Or low of your love's longing tell, 
 
 My mind with swift torment is rife— 
 Did you love her — the other— as well? 
 
 Came a whisper the hour I was drest 
 For my bridal, in simplest white— 
 
 The way that you love me the best — 
 And said, "Do you think it is right;— 
 
 " She in her white shroud there 
 
 In the shadow under the hill, 
 You in your white dress here 
 
 Eager her place to fill ? " 
 
 Tis the world of the living, they say, 
 But who can dare rival the dead? 
 
 It can kill the delight of a day— 
 The dream of a death-covered bed! 
 
 You are mine, you whisper me low, 
 With your cheek pressed close on my cheek, 
 
 Mine, and you love me so — 
 Yet I gain not peace that I seek. 
 
 May Austin. 
 
116 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 WE MUST NOT DOUBT. 
 
 We must not doubt or fear or dread that love 
 
 for life is only given, 
 And that the calm and sainted dead will meet 
 
 estranged and cold in heaven — 
 Oh, Love were poor and vain indeed, based on 
 
 so harsh and stern a creed. 
 Earth's lower things — her pride, her fame, her 
 
 science, learning, wealth and power — 
 Slow growths that through long ages came, or 
 
 fruits of some convulsive hour, 
 Whose every memory must decay — Heaven is 
 
 too pure for such as they. 
 They are complete; their work is done. So let 
 
 them sleep in endless rest, 
 Love's life is only here begun, nor is nor can 
 
 be fully blest; 
 It has no room to spread its wings amid this 
 
 crowd of meaner things. 
 
 Adelaide A. Proctor. 
 
DEAD LEAVES: A SONG. 117 
 
 LOVE'S LAMENTATION. 
 
 steadfast Love! — more strong than sea-girt 
 rocks, 
 
 Round which the rough surge raves, — 
 That stand, triumphant 'mid the mightiest 
 shocks 
 
 Of waning winds or waves, — 
 O powerful Love!— majestic as the star 
 
 That governs Day's bright skies, 
 And showers God's boon of prodigal light afar 
 
 On hungering eyes! 
 
 Thou art not symbolized by any flower 
 
 Or gem that man has prized: — 
 Thine own perennial splendors make thy power, 
 
 O Love, immortalized ! 
 Thou art not emblemed by the wide wild sea 
 
 That belts rich earth around! 
 What deeps or gulfs, O Love, can image thee? 
 
 What shores can bound? 
 
 Philip J. Holdsworth. 
 
 DEAD LEAVES : A SONG. 
 
 When these dead leaves were green, love, 
 
 November's skies were blue, 
 And summer came with lips aflame 
 
 The gentle spring to woo; 
 
118 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 And to us wandering hand in hand, 
 
 Life was a fairy scene, 
 That golden morning in the woods 
 
 When these dead leaves were green. 
 
 How dream-like now that dewy morn, 
 
 Sweet with the wattle's flowers, 
 When love, love, love was all our theme, 
 
 And youth and hope were ours! 
 Two happier hearts in all the land 
 
 There were not then, I ween, 
 Than those young lovers' — yours and mine — 
 
 When these dead leaves were green. 
 
 How gaily did you pluck these leaves 
 
 From the acacia bough, 
 To mark the lyric we had read — 
 
 I can repeat it now! 
 While came the words, like music sweet, 
 
 Your smiling lips between — 
 " So fold my love within your heart " — 
 
 When these dead leaves were green ! 
 
 How many springs have passed since then, 
 Ah, wherefore should we count? 
 
 The years have sped, like waters fled, 
 From Time's unceasing fount. 
 
CHANSONNETTE. 119 
 
 We've had our share of happiness, 
 
 Our share of care have seen; 
 But love alone has never flown 
 
 Since these dead leaves were green. 
 
 Your heart is kind and loving still, 
 
 Your face to nie as fair 
 As when, that morn, the sunshine played 
 
 Amid your golden hair. 
 So, dearest, sweethearts still we'll be, 
 
 As we have ever been, 
 And keep our love as fresh and true 
 
 As when these leaves were green. 
 
 E. B. Loughran. 
 
 CHANSONNETTE. 
 
 Could a flower replace 
 
 Every kiss of ours 
 Then the world and space 
 
 Were a bed of flowers. 
 
 Foolish flowers and vain, 
 
 Bruised by many fears ! 
 They would have for rain 
 
 My unnumbered tears. 
 
 T. Wratislaw. 
 
120 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 SWEETHEART. 
 
 The sun fades out of the purple West, 
 The sleepy songsters have gone to rest, 
 The dew is over the rose's breast, 
 Dear love — good-by! 
 
 The shadows lengthen down the lane, 
 The crickets whistle a shrill refrain, 
 Sad night approaches with starry train, 
 Dear love — good-by! 
 
 The cold stars twinkle in yon blue sky, 
 So clear and silent, so vast and high, 
 The moon's cloud chariot rolleth by, 
 Sweetheart — farewell ! 
 
 Day will dawn chill in the pallid morn, 
 No roseate flushes the East adorn, 
 So my days without thee will be all forlorn, 
 Sweetheart — farewell ! 
 
 O blue eyes, weave ye no sorrowful spell; 
 O red lips, frame ye no sad farewell ; 
 O true heart, love's sweet story tell, 
 Sweetheart — good-by. 
 
 Unknown. 
 
HER EYES ARE BLUE. 121 
 
 HER EYES ARE BLUE. 
 
 A little hand lay softly on my arm, 
 
 And all the world seemed full of hushf ul bliss ; 
 
 We heard no boding whispering of harm, 
 Felt only joy that thrills a lover's kiss. 
 
 But suddenly — I never could tell how, 
 
 Or why, or what — a blighting something 
 came — 
 
 A sigh, a word too much, a frowning brow — 
 Between our hearts, a thing without a name. 
 
 And when she plucked a purple violet 
 
 And touched it to my lips, then to her own — 
 Her eyes with tears, the flower with dew-drop 
 wet 
 Were like. But numbers in my soul had 
 grown. 
 
 " Your fav'rite color, dear," she says, and sighs. 
 
 " The color of my eyes — you loved the hue 
 So well, an hour ago." " I thought your eyes 
 
 Were brown," I said. (I knew that they were 
 blue.) 
 
122 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 And now how oft it all comes back to me, 
 Where'er I see a tint of that loved hue, 
 
 Or if in land, or sea, or sky, it be, 
 
 I love it. Yes, I knew her eyes were blue. 
 
 Ah me! I lived but in one pulseless day, 
 A day that has no end, that knows no rest, 
 
 When pale and still, with eyelids closed, she lay, 
 A blue forget-me-not upon her breast. 
 
 In that far land where loving spirits meet, 
 Where life is love, and love is ever true, 
 Ah! could I see, and say one fond word, Sweet, 
 I'd say but this, "I knew your eyes were 
 blue." 
 
 Unknown. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 Yes, Love indeed is light from Heaven, 
 A spark of that immortal fire 
 
 With angels shared, by Allah given, 
 To lift from earth our low desire. 
 
 Devotion wafts the soul above, 
 
 But Heaven itself descends to Love. 
 
 A feeling from the Godhead caught, 
 
 To wean from self each sordid thought! 
 
 A ray of Him who formed the whole; 
 
 A glory circling round the soul! 
 
 Lord Byron. 
 
THE MAID'S LAMENT. 123 
 
 THE MAID'S LAMENT. 
 
 I loved him not; and yet, now he is gone, 
 
 I feel I am alone. 
 I check'd him while he spoke; yet could he speak, 
 
 Alas! I would not check. 
 For reasons not to love him once I sought, 
 
 And wearied all my thought 
 To vex myself and him; I now would give 
 
 My love, could he but live 
 Who lately lived for me, and, when he found 
 
 'Twas vain, in holy ground 
 He hid his face amid the shades of death. 
 
 I waste for him my breath 
 Who wasted his for me; but mine returns, 
 
 And this lorn bosom burns 
 With stifling heat, heaving it up in sleep, 
 
 And waking me to weep 
 Tears that had melted his soft heart; for years 
 
 Wept he as bitter tears. 
 " Merciful God ! " — such was his latest prayer— 
 
 " These may she never share ! " 
 Quieter is his breath, his breast more cold 
 
 Than daisies in the mould, 
 Where children spell athwart the church-yard gate 
 
 His name and life's brief date. 
 Pray for him, gentle souls! whoe'er you be; 
 And O, pray too for me. 
 
 Walter Savage Landor. 
 
124 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 THE SONG OF LOVE AND DEATH. 
 
 Sweet is true love, tho' given in vain, in vain; 
 And sweet is death who puts an end to pain: 
 I know not which is sweeter, no, not I. 
 
 Love, art thou sweet ? then bitter death must be : 
 Love, thou art bitter; sweet is death to me. 
 
 Love, if death be sweeter, let me die. 
 
 Sweet Love, that seems not made to fade away, 
 Sweet death, that seems to make us loveless 
 clay, 
 
 1 know not which is sweeter, no, not I. 
 
 I fain would follow Love, if that could be; 
 I needs must follow death, who calls for me; 
 Call and I follow, I follow! let me die. 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 DOROTHY. 
 
 Round cheek and rosy, in the sun 
 
 Ripened through many a summer day, 
 
 With that soft hue from summer won 
 That tints the peach the self-same way, 
 
DOROTHY. 125 
 
 And where through crimson blushes play 
 Like sunlight through a morning mist — 
 
 Swift-reddening every golden ray — 
 Soft cheeks that cry out to be kissed, 
 His Dorothy. 
 
 Plump are her arms and white her throat, 
 
 And satin-smooth her hands — and hark! 
 Her laughter trills a sweeter note 
 
 Than thrills the lilting of the lark; 
 Brown eyes that in the day-time dark 
 
 In midnight moonlight flash so bright, 
 That even the electric spark 
 
 Seems dull beside their living light, 
 Are Dorothy's. 
 
 Downward along her night-black braids 
 
 My eyes fall from where crisps her hair 
 Above her forehead. Slenderer maids 
 
 I sure may find, but none so fair! 
 Below the scarlet flounces, where 
 
 Peep out the short and dainty shoes, 
 My roving glance becomes a stare — 
 
 To gaze, I cannot help but choose, 
 At Dorothy. 
 
 The town may boast its darling dame 
 Who fears the rain and shuns the sun, 
 
 Of golden purse and ancient name, 
 I do not care for such a one: 
 
126 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 For mine since love for us begun, 
 With all her fresh and tender charms — 
 
 All mine to kiss till life is done — 
 And mine to fold within mine arms, 
 Is Dorothy. 
 
 Unknown. 
 
 O LOVE, COME BACK. 
 
 Love, come back the weary way thou wentest 
 
 yesterday, 
 Dear Love, come back. 
 
 1 am too far upon my way to turn; be silent, 
 
 hearts that yearn 
 Upon my track. 
 O Love, Love, Love, sweet Love, we are undone 
 if thou indeed be gone 
 Where lost things are. 
 Beyond the extremest sea's waste light and 
 noise, as from ghostland my voice 
 Is borne afar. 
 Oh, Love, what was our sin that we should be 
 forsaken thus by thee? 
 So hard a lot! 
 Upon your heart my hands and lips were set — 
 my lips of fire, and yet 
 Ye knew it not. 
 
LYING. 127 
 
 Nay, surely, Love, we knew thee well, sweet 
 
 Love. 
 Did we not breathe and move 
 
 Within thy light? 
 Ye did reject my thorns who wore my roses: 
 now darkness closes 
 Upon your sight. 
 
 Philip Bourke Marston. 
 
 LYING. 
 
 I do confess, with many a sigh, 
 My lips have breathed you many a lie; 
 But who, with such delights in view, 
 Would lose them for a lie or two? 
 Nay, look not thus with brow reproving. 
 Lies are, my dear, the soul of loving ! 
 If half we tell the girls were true, 
 If half we swear to think or do, 
 Were aught but lying's bright illusion, 
 The world would be in strange confusion ! 
 If ladies' eyes were, every one, 
 As lovers swear, a radiant sun, 
 Astronomy should leave the skies, 
 ♦To learn her lore in ladies' eyes! 
 Ah, no! believe me, lovely girl, 
 When Nature turns your teeth to pearl, 
 
128 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Your neck to snow, your eyes to fire, 
 Your yellow locks to golden wire, 
 Then, only then, can Heaven decree 
 That you should live for only me, 
 Or I for you, as night and morn 
 We've swearing kissed, and kissing sworn! 
 And now, my gentle hints, to clear, 
 For once, I'll tell you truth, my dear! 
 Whenever you may chance to meet 
 A loving youth whose love is sweet, 
 Long as you're false and he believes you, 
 Long as you trust and he deceives you, 
 So long the blissful bond endures, 
 And while he lies his heart is yours, 
 But oh, you've wholly lost the youth 
 TJie instant that he tells you truth. 
 
 Unknown. 
 
 WORLD WOUNDED. 
 
 She shall never know 
 I loved her so, 
 
 Or she would mourn for me. 
 I'd have her say, 
 When I am gone away; 
 
 "We were happy, I and he! 
 
AMORET. 129 
 
 So I forever 
 Shall be to her 
 
 A sweet, bright memory, 
 And she shall know 
 I loved her so — 
 
 And she too shall love me ! 
 
 Francis W. L. Adams. 
 
 AMORET. 
 
 Love found you still a child, 
 Who looked on him and smiled, 
 Scornful with laughter mild, 
 
 And knew him not: 
 Love turned and looked on you, 
 Love looked and he smiled too, 
 And all at once you knew, 
 
 You knew not what. 
 
 II. 
 
 Love laughed again, and said, 
 Smiling, "Be not afraid: 
 Though lord of all things made, 
 9 
 
130 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 I do no wrong: 
 Like you I love all flowers, 
 All dusky twilight hours, 
 Spring sunshine and spring showers, 
 
 Like you am young." 
 
 III. 
 
 Love looked into your eyes, 
 Your clear, cold idle eyes, 
 Said, "These shall be my prize, 
 
 Their light my light: 
 These tender lips that move 
 With laughter soft as love 
 Shall tremble still and prove 
 
 Love's very might." 
 
 IV. 
 
 Love took you by the hand 
 At eve, and bade you stand 
 At edge of woodland, 
 
 Where I should pass; 
 Love sent me thither, sweet, 
 And brought me to your feet; 
 He willed that we should meet, 
 
 And so it was. 
 
 J. B. Nichols. 
 
LOVE WALKED UPON THE SEA. 131 
 
 LOVE WALKED UPON THE SEA. 
 
 Love walked upon the sea this tranced night, I 
 know, 
 For the waves beneath his feet ran pale with 
 
 silver light, 
 But he brought me no message as on a 
 summer night, 
 A golden summer night, long ago. 
 
 Love walked among the fields of yellow waving 
 corn, 
 For the poppy blossomed red where his weary 
 
 feet had pressed, 
 And my door stood ready open for a long ex- 
 pected guest, 
 But he never came night nor morn. 
 
 Perhaps if I wait till the summer swallows flee, 
 He will wander down the valley and meet me 
 
 as before, 
 Or perhaps he will find me alone upon the 
 shore 
 When he comes with the swallows over sea. 
 H. C. Beeching. 
 
132 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 THE LOVER'S REQUEST. 
 
 Send back my long-stray'd eyes to me, 
 Which, ! 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 heart could stain; 
 But if it has been taught by thine 
 
 To forfeit both 
 
 Its word and oath, 
 Keep it, for then 'tis none of mine. 
 
 Yet send me back my heart and eyes, 
 
 For I'll know all thy falsities; 
 
 That I one day may laugh, when thou 
 
 Shalt grieve and mourn — 
 
 Of one the scorn, 
 Who proves as false as thou art now. 
 
 John Donne. 
 
LOVE'S LIGHT AND TUNE. 133 
 LOVE'S LIGHT AND TUNE. 
 
 I will not light the candle yet and draw the 
 
 blinds, 
 But lean my flushed face and the brow that 
 
 aches, 
 Out into the cool air, where these tired eyes 
 
 look, 
 (Below is heard the murmuring, murmuring 
 
 brook, 
 And in the early twilight trees and brake, all of 
 
 the small birds are set 
 Crooning and piping tunes to suit their minds,) — 
 Look in the sweet soft mingling of the sky and 
 
 the sea, 
 Where is no tune to change unceasingly, 
 It is so long since any tune hath come to me. 
 
 Nay, close the window up, and draw the blinds 
 
 that cry, 
 And light the candle, and with smiling face 
 Tell thyself of this tune God gives, this tune 
 That shineth in thy soul palely, as yonder 
 
 moon 
 Shineth there by the hills with unfelt pace, 
 
134 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Till the darkness deepens and, more 
 And more, her glory fills the courts of the sky, 
 And all the sea and the earth, and is enough 
 To gladden every heart with joy thereof; 
 God, I thank thee for this tune that tells of 
 Love. 
 
 Francis W. L. Adams. 
 
 THE SKIPPER'S BRIDE. 
 
 ! fair was the face of his promised bride, 
 As she stood on the deck by the skipper's side; 
 But the bloom on her cheek decayed and died 
 When the mariners, lifting the anchor, cried, 
 " Heave, ho ! though the winds blow, 
 The sailor must labor aloft and alow." 
 
 Then her lover, the skipper, so brave and bold, 
 Smoothed back her beautiful tresses of gold, 
 And he kissed her lips, that were wan and cold, 
 While the song of the mariners loudly rolled: 
 " Heave, ho ! though the winds blow, 
 The sailor must labor aloft and alow." 
 
 And he took one tress of her golden hair, 
 And he gave her a golden ring to wear, 
 
THE SKIPPERS BRIDE. 135 
 
 And her young head fell on his bosom, where 
 It lay in sorrow and beauty rare. 
 " Heave, ho ! though the winds blow, 
 The sailor must labor aloft and alow." 
 
 And again he kissed her and said farewell, 
 And the words from the lips of the skipper fell 
 On the ear of the girl like the sadding knell, 
 As it drops at eve from the passing bell. 
 " Heave, ho ! though the winds blow, 
 The sailor must labor aloft and alow." 
 
 Then she went ashore at the lighthouse pier, 
 And parted from him whom her soul held dear; 
 And she watched the ship o'er the waves career, 
 Till it faded away in the twilight drear. 
 " Heave, ho ! though the winds blow, 
 The sailor must labor aloft and alow." 
 
 And months went past, and then news of grief 
 Was brought to shore that the " Royal Chief " 
 And all had perished without relief. 
 "Heave, ho! though the winds blow, 
 The sailor must labor aloft and alow." 
 
136 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 And we stood on the lighthouse pier that night, 
 And the skipper's maiden was there as white 
 As the crest of the wave in the moonbeams 
 
 bright, 
 And her eyes were lit with a strange wild light. 
 "Heave, ho! though the winds blow, 
 The sailor must labor aloft and alow." 
 
 And while we stood on the lighthouse pier 
 
 We saw the lights of a ship draw near, 
 
 And her hull was holed and her sails hung sear, 
 
 And we heard a moan like a ghostly cheer. 
 
 " Heave, ho ! though the winds blow, 
 
 The sailor must labor aloft and alow." 
 
 A ghostly cheer, and it rose again 
 Like the bubbling crying of drowning men, 
 And we saw a shadowy crew, and then 
 We knew that they were not living men. 
 " Heave, ho ! though the winds blow, 
 The sailor must labor aloft and alow." 
 
 And the ship moved on till she touched the pier, 
 And her hull was holed and her sails hung sear; 
 'Twas the " Royal Chief," and a mighty fear 
 Whitened the face of each person near. 
 " Heave, ho ! though the winds blow, 
 The sailor must labor aloft and alow." 
 
THE SKIPPERS BRIDE. 137 
 
 And when we looked on that ghostly crew, 
 We saw those there whom we all well knew, 
 And white were their faces and wet with dew, 
 And the light of their eyes seemed cold and blue. 
 " Heave, ho ! though the winds blow, 
 The sailor must labor aloft and alow." 
 
 And father and mother and sister fair 
 
 Beheld their relatives standing there, 
 
 And saw them beckon; but none would dare 
 
 To enter the spectral vessel there. 
 
 " Heave, ho ! though the winds blow, 
 
 The sailor must labor aloft and alow." 
 
 Then the skipper moved through the shadowy 
 
 troop, 
 And he took his place on the vessel's poop, 
 And he spake aloud to the startled group, 
 And the tones that he uttered made all heads 
 
 droop. 
 " Heave, ho ! though the winds blow, 
 The sailor must labor aloft and alow." 
 
 Quoth he, " I have sailed o'er a deep dark sea, 
 Where danger and death sweep wild and free; 
 Through a fog and a mist that you cannot see, 
 I have come to my bride — will she come to me ? " 
 
138 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 " Heave, ho ! though the winds blow, 
 The sailor must labor aloft and alow." 
 
 Then spake the maid: " O'er the deep dark sea, 
 Where danger and death sweep wild and free, 
 I will sail with my love, and its waves shall be 
 A pillow of rest for him and for me." 
 " Heave, ho ! though the winds blow, 
 The sailor must labor aloft and alow." 
 
 Then the skipper's maiden, so fair and white, 
 Flew to his spirit with wild delight; 
 And the ship moved off and faded from sight, 
 While we heard these words o'er the breeze of 
 
 night : 
 " Heave, ho ! though the winds blow, 
 The sailor must labor aloft and alow." 
 
 William Carlton, Jr. 
 
 GOOD-NIGHT. 
 
 Thou say'st "Good-night?" My heart replies 
 Good-night, good-night! and once again, 
 
 Good-night to lips — good-night to eyes; 
 God keep thee, love, from all love's pain; 
 
 God keep thee, love, since we must part — 
 
 Good-night, sweetheart ! 
 
WHISPERS. 139 
 
 And still I say to lips and eyes, 
 
 " Good-night, good-night " — 'tis sweetest pain; 
 My very soul within me dies, 
 
 I strive to let thee go in vain; 
 God help us, loA r e, if we must part — 
 Good-night, sweetheart ! 
 
 And will God help? My weakness flies, 
 I feel all strength to bear love's pain; 
 
 I pray that He will keep those eyes, 
 And bring them back to me again; 
 
 So joined in Him we cannot part — 
 
 Good-night, sweetheart ! 
 
 Unknown. 
 
 WHISPERS. 
 
 Beneath a gray old gum-tree 
 A lover was wont to lie, 
 
 And whisper of love, 
 
 As he gazed above 
 At its boughs against the sky. 
 
 " Old tree," he would softly whisper, 
 " My love is the proudest maid 
 
 That in all thy day, 
 
 Though thou'rt old and gray, 
 Ever sought thy welcome shade! 
 
140 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 " Old tree, she is far above me ! 
 
 My love sits throned in pride, 
 To be worshipped afar 
 Like some pure bright star, 
 
 Not won as a mortal bride! 
 
 " Old tree, she is cold and stately, 
 
 She dwells from my love apart — 
 
 Though my soul may yearn, 
 
 Though my bosom may burn, 
 
 No passion can reach her heart! 
 
 " Old tree, of my life I am weary ! 
 O would I had never met 
 
 With her fatal face, 
 
 And her cruel grace — 
 Or would that I might forget ! " 
 
 Then the tree would whisper of comfort, 
 In the stir of its myriad leaves — 
 
 " No soul so sad 
 
 But may yet be glad, 
 For there's balm for the heart that 
 grieves." 
 
 Beneath the gnarled old gum-tree 
 A lady was wont to stand, 
 
 And in sweet caress 
 
 Its rough rind press 
 With the palm of her dainty hand. 
 
WHISPERS. 141 
 
 E'en her lips would gently touch it — 
 One might deem such a kiss misplaced, 
 
 But it always fell, 
 
 As the tree knew well, 
 On the letters his hand had traced. 
 
 For, like those in the forest of Arden, 
 The tree bore a lady's name, 
 
 And she'd daily read 
 
 This woodland screed 
 With blushes of pride and shame. 
 
 " Old tree," she would softly whisper, 
 "Does he love me — yes, or no? 
 
 He has grown so dear, 
 
 That I hourly fear 
 Lest, unwitting, my love I show! 
 
 " Old tree, with my secret I tremble 
 Whenever my love draws nigh, 
 
 For I know in my heart 
 
 Were we kept apart 
 There were nothing left but to die ! 
 
 " And I dread lest he read my secret 
 Of love that is given unsought, 
 
 For my heart shall break, 
 
 If he fail to speak, 
 With the sorrow that he hath wrought. 
 
142 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 " But never, though life be dreary, 
 Will I suffer that he should see, 
 That though no word 
 From his lips I'ye heard, 
 He is more than the world to me! 
 
 Then the tree would whisper of comfort 
 In the stir of its myriad leaves — 
 
 " No soul so sad 
 
 But may yet be glad, 
 For there's balm for the heart that 
 grieves." 
 
 But all the time it was wond'ring, 
 Deep down in its ancient breast, 
 
 Why the power of pride 
 
 Two souls should divide, 
 And true love be unconfest. 
 
 Perchance the old tree gave wise counsel — 
 Perchance it their whispers betrayed; 
 
 But be that as it may, 
 
 At last came a day 
 When the twain stood hand-clasped in its 
 shade. 
 
FROM MIDAS. 143 
 
 But no more to the tree they whispered ! 
 Their whispers were each to each, 
 
 For the veil of pride 
 
 Had been torn aside, 
 And love had found bliss in speech. 
 
 While the gray old tree was whisp'ring 
 In the stir of its myriad leaves — 
 " No soul so sad 
 But may yet be glad, 
 For there's balm for the heart that 
 grieves." 
 
 Lindsay Duncan. 
 
 FROM MIDAS. 
 
 The love in her eyes lay sleeping, 
 As stars that unconscious shine, 
 Till, under the pink lids peeping, 
 I wakened it up with mine; 
 And we pledged our troth with a brimming oath, 
 In a bumper of blood-red wine. 
 Alas! too well I know 
 That it happened long ago; 
 Those memories yet remain, 
 And sting, like throbs of pain, 
 And I'm alone below, 
 But still the red-wine warms, and the rosy 
 goblets glow; 
 
144 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 If love be the heart's enslaver, 
 
 "lis wine that subdues the head. 
 But which has the fairest flavor, 
 And whose is the soonest shed? 
 Wine waxes in power in that desolate hour 
 When the glory of love is dead. 
 Love lives on beauty's ray, 
 But night comes after day, 
 And when the exhausted sun 
 His high career has run, 
 The stars behind him stay, 
 And then the light that lasts consoles our 
 darkening way. 
 
 When beauty and love are over, 
 And passion has spent its rage, 
 And the spectres of memory hover, 
 And glare on life's lonely stage, 
 Tis wine that remains to kindle the veins 
 And strengthen the steps of age. 
 Love takes the taint of years, 
 And beauty disappears, 
 But wine in worth matures 
 The longer it endures, 
 And more divinely cheers, 
 And ripens with the suns and mellows with the 
 spheres. 
 
 The Hon. William Foster. 
 
LOVERS QUARRELS. 145 
 
 LOVER'S QUARRELS. 
 
 Since there is no help, let us kiss and part. 
 
 Nay, I have done; you get no more of me; 
 And I am glad — yea, glad with all my heart — 
 
 That thus so clearly I myself can free. 
 Shake hands forever, cancel all our vows, 
 
 And, when we meet at any time again, 
 Be it not seen in either of our brows 
 
 That we one jot of former love retain. 
 Now, at the last gasp of Love's latest breath, 
 
 When, his pulse failing, Passion sleepless lies, 
 When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death 
 
 And Innocence is closing up his eyes — 
 
 Now, if thou wouldst, when all have given him 
 
 over, 
 
 From death to life thou might'st him yet 
 
 recover. 
 
 Michael Dayton. 
 10 
 
146 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 ISABEL. 
 
 I. 
 
 She will not wake whate'er I call, 
 She will not stir as there she lies; 
 
 The color from her lips has fled, 
 And gone the glory from her eyes — 
 
 O, what is life if she be dead? — 
 A world with only sunless skies. 
 
 II. 
 
 I knew her young and fair and strong, 
 And loved her then, ah! who so well? 
 
 But wisdom bade me (monstrous lie!) 
 Resign my darling Isabel — 
 
 I strove with love, repressed the sigh, 
 And bade my Isabel farewell. 
 
 III. 
 
 I rose in place, in power, in wealth, 
 I gained esteem and great applause, 
 
 My name became a household word, 
 I ruled the State, I made the laws, 
 
 My voice throughout the land was heard, 
 Triumphant in the people's cause. 
 
ISABEL. 147 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Now, I will let me love," I said, 
 "And I am worthier far than then; 
 
 My wisdom has been dearly bought 
 In conflict with the wisest men; 
 
 Come then, sweet love — so long unsought — 
 And fold me in your wings again." 
 
 V. 
 
 I thought me wise, but soon was stunned, 
 
 To find no love in all I met, 
 But worldly wisdom and a smile, 
 
 That made me mad with wild regret — 
 I thought of Isabel the while, 
 
 And found my burning cheeks were wet. 
 
 VI. 
 
 She will not wake whate'er I call, 
 She will not stir as there she lies; 
 
 The color from her lips has fled, 
 
 And gone the light from her sweet eyes; 
 
 My darling Isabel is dead, 
 And love, too late, has made me wise. 
 Ebenezer Storey Hay. 
 
148 FAYORITE POEMS. 
 
 START AND GOAL. 
 
 What is the beginning? Love. What the 
 
 course? Love still. 
 What the goal ? The goal is Love on the happy 
 
 hill. 
 Is there nothing then but Love, search we sky 
 
 or earth? 
 There is nothing out of Love hath perpetual 
 
 worth : 
 All things flag but only Love, all things fail 
 
 or flee; 
 There is nothing left but Love worthy you and 
 
 me. 
 
 ROSE LORRAINE. 
 
 Sweet water-moons, blown into lights 
 
 Of flying gold on pool and creek, 
 And many sounds and many sights 
 
 Of younger days are back this week. 
 I cannot say I sought to face, 
 
 Or greatly cared to cross again 
 The subtle spirit of the place 
 
 Whose life is mixed with Rose Lorraine. 
 
ROSE LORRAINE. 149 
 
 What though her voice rings clearly through 
 
 A nightly dream I gladly keep, 
 No wish have I to start anew 
 
 Heart-fountains that have ceased to leap. 
 Here, face to face with different days, 
 
 And later things that plead for love, 
 It would be worse than wrong to raise 
 
 A phantom far too fair to move. 
 
 But, Rose Lorraine — ah! Rose Lorraine, 
 
 I'll whisper now, where no one hears — 
 If you should chance to meet again 
 
 The man you kissed in soft, dead years, 
 Just say for once, " He suffered much," 
 
 And add to this, " His fate was worst 
 Because of me, my voice, my touch " — 
 
 There is no passion like the first! 
 
 If I, that breathe your slow sweet name 
 
 As one breathes low notes on a flute, 
 Have vext your peace with word of blame, 
 
 The phrase is dead— the lips are mute; 
 Yet when I turn towards the wall, 
 
 In stormy nights, in times of rain, 
 I often wish you could recall 
 
 Your tender speeches, Rose Lorraine. 
 
150 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Because, you see, I thought them true, 
 
 I did not count you self-deceived, 
 And gave myself in all to you, 
 
 And looked on Love as Life achieved. 
 Then came the bitter, sudden change, 
 
 The fastened lips, the dumb despair; 
 The first few weeks were very strange, 
 
 And long, and sad, and hard to bear. 
 
 No woman lives with power to burst 
 
 My passion's bonds, and set me free; 
 For Rose is last where Rose was first, 
 
 And only Rose is fair to me. 
 The faintest memory of her face, 
 
 The wilful face that hurt me so, 
 Is followed by a fiery trace 
 
 That Rose Lorraine must never know. 
 
 I keep a faded ribbon-string 
 
 You used to wear about your throat; 
 And of this pale, this perished thing, 
 
 I think I know the threads by rote. 
 God help such love! To touch your hand, 
 
 To loiter where your feet might fall, 
 You marvellous girl, my soul would stand 
 
 The worst of hell — its fires and all. 
 
 Henry Clarence Kendall. 
 
unblessed:' 151 
 
 UNBLESSED/ 
 
 You'll say good-bye to me, that one cold word, 
 
 For we shall never, never meet again; 
 I must no more gaze on your sweet fair face, 
 
 That were for me too great, too keen a pain. 
 A year ago I hoped to call you " wife," 
 
 I dreamt of bliss that might not ever be; 
 And yet I dared not ask you for your love — 
 
 It was a blessing far too great for me. 
 
 You would have been my wife if I had asked; 
 
 You thought you loved me then. Ah! yes, I 
 know, 
 You pitied me, and called your pity " love." 
 
 Thank God, I never spoke! 'Tis better so. 
 But do not weep, dear child; you did no wrong; 
 
 I could but hope to worship from afar; 
 For what was I that I should dare to love, 
 
 And dream to win a bright— the brightest 
 star? 
 
 'Tis winter now, and when the spring-time 
 comes, 
 
 In all the gladness of its waking life, 
 You will have left the dear Australian home — 
 
 Ah me ! have left it as a happy wife. 
 
152 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Last night I lingered on the theatre steps, 
 To take, in one brief look, my last farewell; 
 
 child! what dead hours rose as you swept by 
 With the glad wooer, who had wooed so well ! 
 
 The gaslight lit your glorious face, and shone 
 In the dark eyes that upward smiled on him, 
 
 As he bent down to hear your soft, low voice, — 
 I turned away; my eyes with tears were dim. 
 
 What if his love were more to you than mine ! 
 I could not look on him and burn with hate; 
 
 1 knew that he was worthier far than I, 
 And yet, perhaps, I cursed my cruel fate. 
 
 'Twas hard to see the gem I longed so for 
 
 Worn with such grace upon another brow; 
 To know that he had won it with a word, 
 
 And all my service was as nothing now; 
 I turned aside, how bitterly God knows ! 
 
 And went my way amid the busy throng; 
 And in the crowd the vision would still rise 
 
 Of your sweet face, and his so proud and 
 strong. 
 
 And then there came a wild, a mad desire, 
 To tell the love I never dared before. 
 
 I know 'tis vain — it always was, but yet 
 I love you, and shall love you evermore. 
 
LOVE'S DREAM AND AWAKENING. 153 
 
 So we must part! Then let me take your hand; 
 
 Tis the last time that it in mine may lie ! 
 Only a hand-clasp and a word I ask — 
 
 That word so sad and cold at best — "Good- 
 bye." 
 
 Jane De Winton Knox. 
 
 LOVE'S DREAM AND AWAKENING. 
 
 In life's fervid June-time I courted a maiden, 
 No muse, grace, or goddess more witchingly 
 fair; 
 I turned to "her glances, like buds to the sunshine, 
 
 Her soft-spoken speeches enraptured the air. 
 I dreamed we should live in a cottage em- 
 bowered, 
 Where redolent gardens made fragrant the wind; 
 Where birds sang love ditties on blossoming 
 branches, 
 And sinuous tendrils luxuriantly twined. 
 
 The angel consented to crown my affections — 
 We've passed that event now a twelvemonth 
 or so — 
 My lady now walks on the earth, just like 
 others, 
 A very fine woman — as women now go. 
 
154 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 I've quit my fool dreams of a flower-spangled 
 cottage, 
 With gardens, and bowers, and vines and all 
 that! 
 We go now and then to a roof-garden concert, 
 And live pretty happily here in our flat. 
 
 Unknown. 
 
 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. 
 
 AT CUPID'S SHRINE. 
 
 Come, my children, let your feet 
 In an even measure meet, 
 And your cheerful voices rise, 
 To present this sacrifice 
 

 LOVE IN SUMMER. P. 155 
 
LOVE IN SUMMER. 155 
 
 To great Cupid, in whose name, 
 
 I, his priest, begin the same. 
 
 Young men, take your loves and kiss; 
 
 Thus our Cupid honored is; 
 
 Kiss again, and in your kissing 
 
 Let no promises be missing; 
 
 Nor let any maiden here 
 
 Dare to turn away her ear 
 
 Unto the whisper of her love, 
 
 But give bracelet, ring, or glove, 
 
 As a token to her sweeting, 
 
 Of an after secret meeting. 
 
 Now, boy, sing, to stick our hearts 
 
 Fuller of great Cupid's darts. 
 
 Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 LOVE IN SUMMER. 
 
 The clock ticks loud at the foot of the stair. 
 
 The house is perfectly still; 
 I am half asleep in the summer air, 
 
 With my head on the window-sill. 
 
 The lawn is bathed in the warm, bright sun, 
 
 And Phyllis with tresses black, 
 Whose heart I thought I had surely won, 
 
 Is playing tennis with Jack. 
 
156 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 " My turn to serve," I can hear her call; 
 
 She knows I love her, and yet 
 She treats my heart like the tennis ball 
 
 She is sending across the net. 
 
 The distant waters gleam in the sun, 
 The breeze blows cool from the bay; 
 
 They drop their rackets, the set is done, 
 They are coming, I think, this way. 
 
 She sits her down on the rustic seat 
 Which under the maple stands. 
 
 It's well enough to sprawl at her feet, 
 But he needn't take both her hands! 
 
 He speaks, but I cannot hear a word; 
 
 Her cheeks are red as a rose. 
 The maple leaves by the wind are stirred, 
 
 Can it be he means to propose? 
 
 Her sweet lips move; is it No or Yes? 
 
 The faint, soft sound I miss; 
 But what he means isn't hard to guess: 
 
 There's no mistaking a kiss. 
 
 Phyllis, Phyllis, my faithless love! 
 I believe she's kissing him back! 
 
 1 can't stand this any more, by Jove ! 
 
 I'm going up-stairs to pack. 
 
 Unknown. 
 
ITALIAN LOVE SONG. 157 
 
 LOVE AND HATE. 
 
 I am strong 
 
 In faith and hope and charity; . . 
 Conscious of right, nor fearing wrong, 
 Because I am in love with Love, 
 And the sole thing I hate is Hate; 
 For Hate is death; and Love is life, 
 A peace, a splendor from above; 
 And Hate, a never-ending strife, 
 A smoke, a blackness from the abyss 
 Where unclean spirits coil and hiss! 
 Love is the Holy Ghost within, 
 And Hate the unpardonable sin! 
 Who preaches otherwise than this 
 Betrays his Master with a kiss! 
 
 ITALIAN LOVE SONG. 
 
 Angry and sad from hence I go, 
 
 Unless I see my love afar; 
 When we may meet I do not know, 
 
 Our lands are placed so far apart, so far. 
 God who has made all things that grow, 
 
 And framed for me this love afar, 
 Give strength unto my heart that so 
 
 Still hopes to see my love afar. 
 
158 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Ah, Lord! believe 'tis truth I show 
 
 In loving her who dwells afar, 
 Seeing that for one joy, of woe 
 
 A thousand-fold I reap afar! 
 All other loves I here forego 
 
 Except the love of her afar; 
 For none more beautiful I know 
 
 In any land, or near or far. 
 
 Rudel. 
 
 AFTER THE WEDDING. 
 
 All alone, in my room, at last! 
 
 I wonder how far they have travelled now? 
 They'll be far away when the night is past; 
 
 And so would I, if I knew but how. 
 How lovely she looked in her wreath and dress ! 
 
 She is queenlier far than the village girls; 
 Those were roses, too, in the wreath, I guess — 
 
 They made the crimson among the curls. 
 
 She's good as beautiful, too, they say; 
 
 Her heart is gentle as any dove's; 
 She'll be all that she can to him alway — 
 
 Dear! I am tearing my new white gloves. 
 How calm she is, with her saint-like face! 
 
 Her eyes are violet — mine are blue; 
 How careless I am with my mother's lace ! 
 
 Her hands are whiter, and softer, too. 
 
AFTER THE WEDDING. 159 
 
 They've gone to the city beyond the hill, 
 
 They must never come back to this place 
 again ! 
 I'm almost afraid to be here so still, 
 
 I wish it would thunder, and lighten, and 
 rain! 
 O, no ! for some may not be abed, 
 
 Some few, perhaps, may be out to-night; 
 I hope that the moon will come instead, 
 
 And heaven be starry, and earth all light. 
 
 'Tis only a summer that she's been here, 
 
 It's been my home for seventeen years! 
 But her name is a testament far and near, 
 
 And the poor have embalmed it in priceless 
 tears. 
 I remember the day when another came — 
 
 There, at last I have tied my hair — 
 Her curls and mine were nearly the same, 
 
 But hers are longer, and mine less fair. 
 
 They're going across the sea, I know. 
 
 Across the ocean — will that be far ? — - 
 Did I have my comb, a moment ago? 
 
 I seem to forget where my things all are. 
 When ships are wrecked do the people drown? 
 
 Is there never a boat to save the crew? 
 Poor ships! If ever my ship goes down, 
 
 I'll want a grave in the ocean, too. 
 
160 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Good-night, good-night — it is striking one! 
 
 Good-night to bride, and good-night to groom. 
 The light of my candle is almost done — 
 
 I wish my bed was in mother's room. 
 How calm it looks in the midnight shade! 
 
 Those curtains were hung there clean to-day; 
 They're all too white for me, I'm afraid, — 
 
 Perhaps I may soon be as white as they. 
 
 Dark — all dark! for the light is dead, — 
 
 Father in heaven, may I have rest! 
 One hour of sleep for my weary head — 
 
 For this breaking heart in my poor, poor 
 breast ! 
 For his sweet sake do I kneel and pray, 
 
 O, God protect him from change and ill; 
 And render her worthier every way, 
 
 The older, the purer, the lovelier still. 
 
 There, I knew I was going to cry! 
 
 I have kept the tears in my soul too long; 
 O, let me say it or I shall die! 
 
 As heaven is witness, I mean no wrong. 
 He never shall hear from this secret room, 
 
 He never shall know in the after years, 
 How seventeen summers of happy bloom 
 
 Fell dead one night in a moment of tears! 
 
AFTER THE WEDDING. 161 
 
 I loved him more than she understands — 
 
 For him I loaded my soul with truth; 
 For him I am kneeling with lifted hands, 
 
 To lay at his feet my shattered youth! 
 I love, I adore him still the same! 
 
 More than father, and mother, and life! 
 My hope of hopes was to bear his name — 
 
 My heaven of heavens to be his wife! 
 
 His wife! — O, name which the angels breathe, 
 
 Let it not crimson my cheek for shame — 
 'Tis her great glory, her word to wreathe 
 
 In the princely heart from whose blood it 
 came. 
 O, hush! again I behold them stand, 
 
 As they stood, to-night, by the chancel wall; 
 I see him holding her white-gloved hand, 
 
 I hear his voice in a whisper fall. 
 
 I see the minister's silver hair, 
 
 I see him kneel at the altar stone, 
 I see him rise when the prayer is o'er — 
 
 He has taken their hands and made them one. 
 The fathers and mothers are standing near, 
 
 The friends are pressing to kiss the bride; 
 One of those kisses had birthplace here — 
 
 The dew of her lips has not yet dried. 
 11 
 
162 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 His lips have touched here before to-night — 
 
 Then I have a grain of his to keep ! 
 This midnight blackness is flecked with light, 
 
 Some angel is singing my soul to sleep. 
 He knows full well why many a knave 
 
 So close to his lady's lips should swim — 
 God only knows that the kiss I gave 
 
 Was set in her mouth to give to him. 
 
 William L. Keese. 
 
 A LAST TALK. 
 
 Come into the garden and walk with me 
 
 While dancers whirl to that dreamy tune; 
 See, the moonlight silvers the sleeping sea, 
 
 And the world is fair as a night in June. 
 Let me hold your hand as I used to do — 
 
 This is the last, last time, you know; 
 For to-morrow a wooer comes to woo, 
 
 And win you, though I love you so. 
 
 Hear the viol's cry, and the deep bassoon 
 Seems sobbing out in its under tone 
 
 Some sorrowful memory — the tune 
 Is the saddest one I have ever known; 
 
A LAST TALK. 163 
 
 Or is it because we must part to-night, 
 That the music seems so sad? Ah, me! 
 
 You are crying, love, and your lips are white. 
 ! the ways of life are a mystery ! 
 
 Do you remember the night we met? 
 
 You wore a rose in your jet-black hair. 
 Looking back, I can see you yet, 
 
 Just as you stood on the topmost stair; 
 A flutter of white from head to foot, 
 
 A cluster of buds at your breast — ah, me! 
 The vision was never half so sweet 
 
 As it is to-night in my memory. 
 
 I love you, love, with a love so true, 
 
 That in coming years I'll not forget 
 The beautiful form and face I knew, 
 
 And memory will always hold regret; 
 I shall stand by the sea, as I stand to-night, 
 
 And think of the vision whose brightness died 
 When the frosts of winter fell chill and white 
 
 On the fairest flower of the summer tide. 
 
 They are calling you. Must I let you go? 
 
 Must I say good-by, and go my way? 
 If you must go, it is better so, 
 
 Good-by's such a sorrowful word to say. 
 
164 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Give me, my darling, one last, sweet kiss, 
 So we kiss our dear ones, and see them die, 
 
 But death holds no parting so sad as this; 
 God bless and keep you, and so — Good-by. 
 
 Unknown. 
 
 TO LAURA. 
 
 Therefore came to me the wish to woo thee, 
 Still, lip to lip, to cling for aye unto thee; 
 This made thy glances to my soul the link, 
 
 My life in thine to sink. 
 This made me burn thy very breath to drink, 
 And therefore, as before the conqueror's glaive 
 Flies, without strife subdued, the ready slave, 
 So, in an instant, when thy looks I see, 
 Out from my life my soul's wild senses flee, 
 
 And yield themselves to thee. 
 Therefore my soul doth from its lord depart, 
 Because, Beloved, its native home thou art; 
 Because the twins recall the links they bore, 
 And soul with soul, in the sweet kiss of yore, 
 
 Meets and unites once more! 
 Forebodingful ; and one, thine is the voice, 
 Says, " Though we separate, yet have no fears, 
 No spirit suffers obeying His behest, 
 And in reunion shall we yet rejoice." 
 
MY VALENTINE, 165 
 
 Have years or ages passed since then? 
 
 We know not, dearest. This alone we know, 
 That, soul to soul, we twain are one again, 
 And shall be, while life's stream for both 
 doth flow; 
 And though once more will severing come with 
 
 death, 
 'Twill be a parting but to reunite 
 Unto the second death; death will be birth, 
 When, once again gazing from Heaven beneath, 
 Two souls will say, " More than the lost delight 
 Is ours, that once we knew on yon dear earth." 
 E. B. Loughkan. 
 
 MY VALENTINE. 
 
 My little valentine is fair, 
 
 Her name — ah, don't you wish you knew ? 
 All curling falls her soft brown hair, 
 
 And her dark eyes flash as the dew 
 On roses sparkles when the sun 
 Kisses the flowers it has won 
 To open by its rays. 
 
 What shall I send my valentine 
 
 Upon this joyous, festive day, 
 While Cupid's arrows flash and shine, 
 
 Piercing my heart, though not to slay ? 
 
166 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 My wounded heart to her I'll send, 
 For she, perhaps, her love will lend 
 To bring me happy days. 
 
 Lorenzo. 
 
 LOVE'S ETERNITY. 
 
 How ill he deserves a Lover's name 
 
 Whose pale weak flame 
 
 Can not retain 
 His heat in spite of absence or disdain, 
 But doth at once, like paper set on fire, 
 
 Burn and expire! 
 True Love can never change his seat; 
 Nor did he ever love that could retreat. 
 That noble flame which my breast keeps alive 
 
 Shall still survive 
 
 When my soul's fled; 
 Nor shall my love die when my body's dead : 
 That shall wait on me to the lower shade, 
 
 And never fade; 
 My very ashes in their urn 
 Shall, like a hallow'd lamp, for ever burn. 
 Thomas Carew. 
 
A RING PRESENTED TO JULIA. 167 
 
 WELCOME, WELCOME ! 
 
 Welcome, welcome, do I sing, 
 Far more welcome than the spring; 
 He that parteth from you never, 
 Shall enjoy a spring for ever. 
 
 Love that to the voice is near, 
 Breaking from your ivory pale, 
 
 Need not walk abroad to hear 
 The delightful nightingale. 
 
 Welcome, welcome, then I sing, 
 Far more welcome than the spring; 
 He that parteth from you never, 
 Shall enjoy a spring for ever. 
 
 William Browne. 
 
 A RING PRESENTED TO JULIA. 
 
 Julia, I bring 
 
 To thee this ring, 
 Made for thy finger fit; 
 
 To show by this 
 
 That our love is 
 (Or should be) like to it. 
 
168 FA VORITE POEMS. 
 
 Close though it be 
 
 The joint is free; 
 So, when love's yoke is on, 
 
 It must not gall, 
 
 Or fret at all 
 With hard oppression. 
 
 But it must play 
 
 Still either way, 
 And be, too, such a yoke 
 
 As not too wide 
 
 To overslide, 
 Or be so strait to choke. 
 
 So we who bear 
 
 This beam must rear 
 Ourselves to such a height 
 
 As that the stay 
 
 Of either may 
 Create the burden light. 
 
 And as this round 
 
 Is nowhere found 
 To flaw, or else to sever: 
 
 So let our love 
 
 As endless prove, 
 And pure as gold for ever. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
DRIFTING. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 All Love, at first, like generous wine, 
 Ferments and frets until 'tis fine; 
 But when 'tis settled on the lee, 
 And from the impurer matter free, 
 Becomes the richer still the older, 
 And proves the pleasanter the colder. 
 
 Love is too great a happiness 
 For wretched mortals to possess; 
 For, could it hold inviolate 
 Against those cruelties of Fate 
 Which all felicities below 
 By rigid laws are subject to, 
 It would become a bliss too high 
 For perishing mortality, 
 Translate to earth the joys above — 
 For nothing goes to heaven but Love. 
 
 Samuel Butler. 
 
 DRIFTING. 
 
 Drifting, drifting, onward drifting! 
 
 Love, upon thy stream we glide, 
 'Midst the roseate glorious shifting 
 
 Of the eventide. 
 
170 FAVORITE POEMS.] 
 
 Balmy zephyrs close pursuing 
 
 Whisper words our hearts translate; 
 
 When the very winds are wooing, 
 Shall we hesitate ? 
 
 Ripples round our galley pressing 
 Coyly kiss, then kiss again; 
 
 If the waves are so caressing, 
 Why should we refrain ? 
 
 Here are none to check or chide us, 
 None to caution or divide; 
 
 Love alone to guard and guide us, 
 Drifting with the tide. 
 
 Drifting, drifting — whither drifting, 
 
 Oh, carissima, with thee! 
 To the radiant skies uplifting, 
 
 Or a storm-swept sea? 
 
 Garret Walch. 
 
 ROSALIND'S MADRIGAL. 
 
 Love in my bosom like a bee 
 
 Doth suck his sweet: 
 Now with his wings he plays with me, 
 
 Now with his feet: 
 
ROSALIND'S MADRIGAL. 171 
 
 Within mine eyes he makes his nest, 
 His bed amidst my tender breast, 
 My kisses are his daily feast: 
 And yet he robs me of my rest. 
 Ah, wanton! will ye? 
 
 And if I sleep, then percheth he 
 
 With pretty flight, 
 And makes his pillow on my knee 
 
 The live-long night: 
 Strike I my lute, he tunes the string, 
 He music plays if so I sing, 
 He lends me every lovely thing, 
 Yet cruel he my heart doth sting. 
 Whist, wanton! still ye! 
 
 Else I with roses every day 
 
 Will whip you hence; 
 And bind you when you long to play, 
 
 For your offence: 
 I'll shut my eyes to keep you in, 
 I'll make you fast it for your sin, 
 I'll count your power not worth a pin: 
 Alas! what hereby shall I win, 
 If he gainsay me? 
 
 What if I beat the wanton boy 
 
 With many a rod? 
 He will repay me with annoy, 
 
 Because a god. 
 
172 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Then sit thou softly on my knee, 
 And let thy bower my bosom be! 
 Look in my eyes! I like of thee, 
 O Cupid! so thou pity me, 
 Spare not, but play thee. 
 
 Thomas Lodge. 
 
 TRANSCENDENTALISM. 
 
 Ah, you above me, not 
 
 Mine, up in air ! 
 Love me or love me not, 
 
 Why should I care? 
 Sweet, while the sight of you 
 Gives me delight of you, 
 Let me be quite forgot, 
 Love me or love me not, 
 Turn snow or stone to me, 
 
 That's your affair; 
 Once you were known to me, 
 
 Why should I care? 
 
 J. W. Mackail. 
 
A W03fAJN'S WAY. 173 
 
 A WOMAN'S WAY. 
 
 I took my worshipped one to see 
 Camille — the play that so attracts — 
 
 Intending, incidentally, 
 To breathe my love between the acts. 
 
 But from the moment Armand stepped 
 Upon the stage, her earnest eyes 
 
 Their yearning gaze upon him kept, 
 With furtive tears and stifled sighs. 
 
 And each time that the drop-scene dropped 
 
 Until it rose again, her talk 
 Was all of him; she never stopped 
 
 About his smile, his voice, his walk. 
 
 Camille, she thought, might prettier be, 
 But he was splendid, noble, great. 
 
 " Oh, I could love him ! " This to me, 
 Who trembled for my own sad fate. 
 
 Strange! that the mimic lover, tried 
 And tortured, thus should give her pain, 
 
 While the real lover, at her side, 
 Ignored and silent, chewed his cane. 
 
 Madeline S. Bridges. 
 
174 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 LIFE AND LOVE. 
 
 Let us live while the heart is lightest, 
 
 Let us love while the heart is strong, 
 And laugh while the day is brightest, 
 
 And quicken the morn with song; 
 Let us mourn for no joy untasted, 
 
 Let us envy no bliss gone by; 
 The pleasure ungrasped is wasted. 
 
 To-morrow we die, we die ! 
 
 Let us quaff from the crystal, showing 
 
 The wine on the beaded rim; 
 Let us gather the fruitage glowing 
 
 Full ripe on the bending limb. 
 To-morrow the bowl is shattered; 
 
 Ere ever the shards be dry 
 The fruit is withered and scattered. 
 
 To-morrow we die, we die! 
 
 To-day is for love and kisses, 
 
 With life at its golden prime; 
 A century's wealth of blisses 
 
 We reap in a moment's time. 
 The heart keeps time to the measure, 
 
 While the harp of love rings high; 
 To-day is for love and pleasure, 
 
 To-morrow we die, we die! 
 
 Robert Clarkson Tongue. 
 
TWO OF AN UNKIND. 175 
 
 TWO ROSES. 
 
 Love, seems it not surpassing meet 
 
 That such a love as ours 
 Should seek expression strangely sweet 
 
 And tell its bliss in flowers? 
 
 Roses we'll choose, a white, a red, 
 
 Our peerless love to plight. 
 Two roses by soft night- dews fed 
 
 To be the morn's delight. 
 
 A further reason I have found, 
 
 As bright and fair to see, 
 Why these two roses dewy crowned 
 
 Should pass 'twixt thee and me. 
 
 The roses' bloom will soon be shed: 
 But dies their fragrance? Nay! 
 
 E'en so, Sweetheart, when we are dead 
 Our love will live for aye. 
 
 Samuel Minturn Peck. 
 
 TWO OF AN UNKIND. 
 
 One year ago we parted, 
 
 One little year ago; 
 She seemed quite broken-hearted, 
 
 And I was somewhat so. 
 
176 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Tears lay upon the lashes 
 
 Of her uplifted eyes, 
 And there were frequent dashes 
 
 Of tears in her replies. 
 
 She never would forget rne. 
 She promised me, and then 
 
 To prove it true she let me 
 Kiss her just once again. 
 
 Some letters sped between us 
 While still the fever raged, 
 
 But Cupid didn't mean us 
 To love and be engaged. 
 
 For in her latest letter 
 You'll find this gentle clause: 
 
 " The reason that we'd better 
 Stop writing is — because ! " 
 
 Think, only just last summer 
 Our parting made her cry, 
 
 And here's a billet from her. 
 She's married — So am I. 
 
 Unknown. 
 
NOW. 177 
 
 UNDER THE ROSE. 
 
 Behind a house on a nearby street 
 
 A rose bush hangs o'er a broken wall, 
 Beneath that bush is a rustic seat. 
 
 Where the soft petals float and fall. 
 And here, when the moon climbs down the west, 
 
 A lover comes and a lover goes: 
 And a maiden thinks stolen bliss the best 
 
 Under the rose. 
 
 And by and by, when the leaves are sere, 
 
 And the snow has covered that rustic seat, 
 Another tale will be told, I hear; 
 
 A tale that young lovers will ever repeat. 
 For some night, between two peeps of the sun, 
 
 The maid will follow wherever he goes, 
 And Love's mathematics will make two of one — 
 
 Under the rose. 
 
 Unknown. 
 
 NOW. 
 
 Out of your whole life give but a moment! 
 All of your life that has gone before, 
 All to come after it, — so you ignore, 
 So you make perfect the present; condense, 
 In a rapture of rage, for perfection's endowment, 
 Thought and feeling and soul and sense, 
 12 
 
178 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Merged in a moment which gives me at last 
 You around me for once, you beneath me, above 
 
 me, — 
 Me, sure that, despite of time future, time past, 
 This tick of life-time's one moment you love me ! 
 How long such suspension may linger? Ah, 
 Sweet, 
 The moment eternal — just that and no more — 
 When ecstasy's utmost we clutch at the core, 
 While cheeks burn, arms open, eyes shut, and 
 lips meet! 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 YEAR AFTER YEAR. 
 
 Year after year the cowslips fill the meadow; 
 
 Year after year the skylarks fill the air; 
 Year after year, in sunshine or in shadow, 
 
 Rolls the world round, Love, and finds us as 
 we were. 
 
 Year after year, as sure as birds returning, 
 Or field-flowers blossoming above the wintry 
 mould, 
 Year after year, in work, or mirth, or mourning, 
 Love we with love's own youth, that never 
 can grow old. 
 
YEAR AFTER YEAR. 179 
 
 Sweetheart and ladye-love, queen of boyish 
 passion. 
 Strong hope of manhood, content of age 
 begun, 
 Loved in a hundred ways, each in a different 
 fashion, 
 Yet loved supremely, solely, as we never love 
 but one! 
 
 Dearest and bonniest! though blanched those 
 curling tresses, 
 Though loose clings the wedding-ring to that 
 thin hand of thine, — 
 Brightest of all eyes the eye that love expresses ! 
 Sweetest of all lips the lips long since kissed 
 mine ! 
 
 So let the world go round with all its sighs and 
 sinning, 
 Its mad shout o'er fancied bliss, its howl o'er 
 pleasures past; 
 That which it calls love's end to us was love's 
 beginning, — 
 I clasp my arms about thy neck and love thee 
 to the last. 
 
 Dinah Maria Mulock-Craik. 
 
180 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 LONGINGS. 
 
 It would have been so easy, O my Own, 
 
 For my life lived beside you to have grown 
 
 All I am fain to make it without you; 
 
 For your sweet womanhood had kept me true 
 
 To its own faith. But, Dearest, since for long 
 
 My youth must mourn you, show your face 
 
 among 
 The sad sights of my life, and let my sleep 
 Keep you as long, Love, as a dream may keep. 
 And so your seen sweet face, your soft voice 
 
 heard, 
 Shall make each loveless look and bitter word 
 Less hard for me to bear. O my own Sweet, 
 Pray you that God will shortly guide my feet 
 Beyond this rough world's desolate waste ways 
 Where death hath peace for all unquiet days. 
 Pakenham Beatty. 
 
 MAN'S LOVE AND WOMAN'S. 
 
 How does a man love? Once for all, 
 The sweetest voices of love may call, 
 Sorrow daunt him or death dismay, 
 Joy's red roses bedeck his way, 
 
MAN'S LOVE AND WOMAN'S. 181 
 
 Fortune smile or jest or frown, 
 
 The cruel thumb of the world turn down, 
 
 Loss betray him or gain delight 
 
 Through storm or sunshine by day or night, 
 
 Wandering, toiling, asleep, awake, 
 
 Though souls may madden or frail hearts break, 
 
 Better than wife or child or pelf, 
 
 Once and forever, he loves himself. 
 
 How does woman love? Once and no more. 
 
 Though life forever its loss deplore; 
 
 Deep in sorrow or want or sin, 
 
 One king reigneth her heart within. 
 
 One alone by night and day 
 
 Moves her spirit to curse or pray: 
 
 One voice only can call her soul 
 
 Back from the grasp of death's control, 
 
 Though love beset her and friends deride, 
 
 Yea, when she smileth another man's bride, 
 
 Still for her master her life makes moan, 
 
 Once is forever, and once alone. 
 
 Rose Terky Cook. 
 
182 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 THE WANDERER. 
 (Rondel.) 
 
 Love comes back to his vacant dwelling, — 
 The old, old Love that we knew of yore! 
 We see him stand by the open door, 
 
 With his great eyes sad, and his bosom swelling. 
 
 He makes as though in our arms repelling, 
 He fain would lie as he lay before; — 
 
 Love comes back to his vacant dwelling, — 
 The old, old Love that we knew of yore ! 
 
 Ah, who shall help us from over-spelling 
 That sweet forgotten, forbidden lore-! 
 E'en as we doubt in our heart once more, 
 With a rush of tears to our eyelids welling, 
 Love comes back to his vacant dwelling. 
 
 Austin Dobson. 
 
 TWO LOVES. 
 
 Two loves came up a long, wide aisle, 
 And knelt at a low, white gate; 
 
 One — tender and true, with the shyest smile, 
 One — strong, true, and elate. 
 
SHOULD FICKLE HANDS. 183 
 
 Two lips spoke in a firm, true way, 
 And two lips answered soft and low, 
 
 In one hand such a little hand lay 
 Fluttering, frail as a flake of snow. 
 
 One stately head bent humbly there, 
 Stilled were the throbbings of human love; 
 
 One head drooped down like a lily fair, 
 Two prayers went, wing to wing, above. 
 
 God blest them both in the holy place, 
 A long, brief moment the rite was done; 
 
 On the human love fell the heavenly grace, 
 Making two hearts forever one. 
 
 Between two lengthening rows of smiles, 
 One sweetly shy, one proud, elate, 
 
 Two loves passed down the long, wide aisles. 
 
 Will they ever forget the low, white gate? 
 
 Father Ryan. 
 
 SHOULD FICKLE HANDS. 
 
 Should fickle hands in far-off days 
 
 No longer stroke thy hair, 
 And lips that once were proud to praise 
 
 No longer call thee fair; 
 
184 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Sigh but my name, and though I be 
 
 Mute in the church-yard mould, 
 I will arise and come to thee, 
 
 And worship as of old. 
 And should I meet the wrinkled brow, 
 
 Or find the silver tress, 
 What were't to me? It would be thou, — 
 
 I could not love thee less. 
 'Gainst love Time wages hostless strife; 
 
 What now is, would be then; 
 The cry that brought me back to life, 
 
 Would make thee young again. 
 
 Alfked Austin. 
 
 DEAR LOVE, THOU ART SO FAR 
 ABOVE. 
 
 Dear Love, thou art so far above my song, 
 It is small wonder that it fears to rise, 
 Knowing it cannot reach my paradise; 
 
 Yet ever to dwell here my thoughts among, 
 
 Nor try its upward flight, would do thee wrong. 
 What time the lark soars singing to the skies, 
 We know he falters, know the sweet song dies, 
 
 That fain would reach Heaven's gate, sustained 
 and strong. 
 
SWEDISH LOVE SONG. 185 
 
 But angels bending from the shining brink 
 Catch the faint note, and know the poor song 
 
 fails, 
 Having no strength to reach their Heavenly 
 
 height; 
 So listen thou, Beloved, and so think,— 
 More for the earth than Heaven his song avails, 
 Yet sweetest heard when nearest to God's light. 
 Philip Bourke Marston. 
 
 SWEDISH LOVE SONG. 
 
 The white gull sweeps on bending wing across 
 the tumbled sea, 
 
 The white dove knows where lies her nest, how- 
 ever far it be; 
 
 And as they both seek home with joy so turns 
 my heart to thee, 
 Dearest ! 
 
 No tide that flows, no rushing wind that spurns 
 
 the golden west, 
 No river bearing laden barks upon its heaving 
 
 breast, 
 Is stronger than the constant love that knows 
 
 no sleep nor rest, 
 Dearest ! 
 
186 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 There is no pearl that lies asleep where deep 
 
 seas thunder low, 
 There is no mountain bloom that nods where 
 
 glaciers shine below, 
 To win for thee, no path too steep or hard for 
 me to go, 
 
 Dearest ! 
 
 Georgia Roberts. 
 
 TRUE WOMAN— HER HEAVEN. 
 
 If to grow old in Heaven is to grow young 
 (As the Seer saw and said), then blessed were 
 
 he 
 With youth for evermore, whose heaven 
 should be 
 True Woman, she whom these weak notes have 
 
 sung 
 Here an hereafter, — choir-strains of her tongue, 
 Sky-spaces of her eyes, sweet signs that flee 
 About her soul's immediate sanctuary, — 
 Were paradise all uttermost worlds among. 
 The sunrise blooms and withers on the hill 
 Like any hill-flower; and the noblest troth 
 Dies here to dust. Yet shall Heaven's promise 
 clothe 
 Even yet those lovers who have cherished still 
 This test for Love: in every kiss sealed fast 
 To feel the first kiss and forebode the last. 
 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. 
 
LOVE IN WINTER. 187 
 
 LOVE IN WINTER. 
 
 Between the berried holly-bush 
 The Blackbird whistled to the Thrush: 
 "Which way did bright-eyed Bella go? 
 Look, Speckle-breast, across the snow, — 
 Are those her dainty tracks I see, 
 That wind beside the shrubbery?" 
 
 The Throstle pecked the berries still, 
 " No need for looking, Yellow-bill ; 
 Young Frank was there an hour ago, 
 Half frozen in the snow; 
 His callow beard was white with rime, 
 'Tchuck, — 'tis a merry pairing time ! " 
 
 " What would you? " twittered in the Wren; 
 " These are the reckless ways of men. 
 I watched them bill and coo as though 
 They thought the sign of Spring was snow; 
 If men had timed their loves as we, 
 'Twould save this inconsistency." 
 
 "Nay, Gossip," chirped the Robin, "nay; 
 
 I like their unreflective way. 
 
 Besides, I heard enough to show 
 
 Their love is proof against the snow; — 
 
 * Why wait,' he said, ' why wait for May, 
 
 When love can warm a winter's day? ' " 
 
 Austin Dobson. 
 
188 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 A NOCTURNE. 
 
 Last night I dreamed that you were dead, 
 And yet that o'er me as I slept, 
 
 You bent your gold-encircled head, 
 Of not one siren charm bereft. 
 
 And when I spoke you made no sign, 
 But with keen, cold, unchanging eyes, 
 
 Gazed pitilessly deep in mine, 
 Brimming with love's glad, sweet surprise. 
 
 And drew my longing soul from me 
 
 With one persuasive cruel kiss, 
 That thrilled me, as the moon-swept sea 
 
 At tide-time in each lone abyss. 
 
 Then, when I woke free from your thrall 
 The wind was sighing o'er the mere, 
 
 Dawn tinged with rose the dusky wall, 
 A missel-thrush sang full and clear. 
 
 The world seemed young and glad and gay, 
 
 And for awhile I could forget 
 Your proud pale face, the fated day 
 
 When, evermore estranged, we met. 
 
 J. B. Nichols. 
 
SCORNED. 189 
 
 SCOKNED. 
 
 Scorned by a man that is weaker than I ! 
 Down at my feet in the dust he shall lie, 
 Down at my feet in the dust he shall pray 
 For the love that he values so lightly to-day. 
 
 He shall turn from the maiden so rosy and fair, 
 He shall tire of the pale golden hue of her hair, 
 He shall turn from the eyes that are sunny and 
 
 blue 
 To the heart that he deems so forgiving and 
 
 true. 
 
 And then he shall learn when he asks for a 
 
 bride 
 That a true woman's love is outweighed by her 
 
 pride, 
 And when pale with anguish he kneels at my 
 
 feet, 
 He shall read in my eyes that revenge is most 
 
 sweet. 
 
 I will teach him to play with a rattlesnake's 
 
 tongue, 
 I will teach him the tiger to rob of its young, 
 I will teach him 'twere better a man were 
 
 unborn 
 If the love of a proud-hearted woman he scorn. 
 
 Unidentified. 
 
190 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 DAISY. 
 
 A berry red, a guileless look, 
 A still word — strings of sand! 
 
 And yet they made my wild, wild heart 
 Fly down to her little hand. 
 
 For, standing artless as the air, 
 
 And candid as the skies, 
 She took the berries with her hand 
 
 And the love with her sweet eyes. 
 
 The fairest things have fleetest end; 
 
 Their scent survives their close, 
 But the rose's scent is bitterness 
 
 To him that loved the rose! 
 
 She looked a little wistfully, 
 Then went her sunshine way — 
 
 The sea's eye had a mist on it, 
 And the leaves fell from the day. 
 
 She went her unremembering way, 
 
 She went and left in me 
 The pang of all the partings gone, 
 
 And partings yet to be. 
 
 Francis Thompson. 
 
CONTEMPT. 191 
 
 CONTEMPT. 
 
 When I pass singing, singing on my way, 
 I think not, dream not of her — not indeed ! 
 
 Burns she with jealousy? Well, well ! she may: 
 I mind my own affairs and give no heed. 
 
 If in my song she fancy that she hears 
 Some note of sadness or some trace of tears, 
 It is my whim — not that my heart is sore ! 
 For as to that, I care for her no more. 
 
 And if they say I drive the cynic's trade, 
 It is Time's fault, not hers who love betrayed; 
 Or that I call on Death where'er I rove; 
 What matters that to her? Am I her love? 
 
 But if I meet her with Luigi, know, 
 She to her grave — I to the gallows go. 
 
 Ersilio Bicchi. 
 
192 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 WHITE VIOLETS. 
 
 I send you violets, violets dim and white; 
 
 Fragrance and brilliant hues they cannot 
 claim, 
 Yet keep they of their scented sisters bright 
 
 The semblance and the name. 
 
 Such is the love that lingers sad and pale 
 Within the heart, though conquered by the 
 will; 
 Love that by kiss and smile tells not its tale, 
 Yet ever love, love still! 
 
 Annie Vivanti. 
 
 IN AN HOUR. 
 
 In an hour I shall see her — 
 In an hour, do you hear, 
 Little watch that ticks so slowly? 
 Do you count the moments holy 
 That you linger so on each? 
 Hasten, hasten till you reach 
 That sweet moment when my dear 
 In the doorway shall appear. 
 
WAS IT WISE ? 193 
 
 Then, my little watch, I pray you, 
 While I clasp her to my heart, 
 Let your hands, so softly creeping, 
 Move as if old Time were sleeping: 
 Let each minute that we spend 
 To an hour, a day extend; 
 Stay the wheels of Phcebus's cart 
 Till the moment we must part. 
 
 Then when she has left me lonely, 
 When I call her back in vain, 
 Let your hands fly round the dial, 
 Of their utmost speed make trial; 
 Let the Hours in headlong flight 
 Speed throughout the day and night; 
 Haste with all thy might and main 
 Till my love be come again. 
 
 Unknown. 
 
 WAS IT WISE ? 
 
 When 'neath the star-light long ago 
 I read, " I love you ! " in your eyes 
 
 Of wondrous blue — you told me, "No, 
 'Twould not be wise ! " 
 13 
 
194 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 The pain I suffered touched you, too; 
 
 I saw your tears and heard your sighs; 
 With bitter jest I went my way — 
 
 I was not wise! 
 
 They told me you had passed to rank 
 And wealth and all that beauty buys; 
 
 I cursed my fate, yet knew full well 
 That you were wise! 
 
 But yestere'en I watched you pass 
 
 (All tired and world-dimmed those blue eyes), 
 And wondered to myself, " Alas ! 
 
 Was it quite wise ? " 
 
 Unknown. 
 
 JACK AND I. 
 
 I was so tired of Jack, poor boy, 
 
 And Jack was tired of me; 
 Most longed for sweets will soonest cloy; 
 
 Fate had been kind, and we, 
 Two foolish spendthrift hearts made waste 
 Of life's best gifts with eager haste. 
 
JACK AND I. 195 
 
 Oh! tired we were. Time seems so long 
 
 When everything goes well! 
 The walls of home rose grim and strong; 
 
 Like prisoners in a cell 
 We clanked our marriage chains, and pined 
 For freedom we had left behind. 
 
 Tired, tired of love and peace were we, 
 
 Of every day's calm bliss ! 
 We had no goal to win, since he 
 
 Was mine and I was his; 
 And so we sighed in mute despair, 
 And wished each other anywhere. 
 
 But sorrow came one day — the pain 
 
 Of death's dark, awful fear; 
 Oh, then our hearts beat warm again; 
 
 Then each to each was dear. 
 It seemed that life could nothing lack, 
 While Jack had me and I had Jack. 
 
 Unidentified. 
 
196 FAVORITE P0E31S. 
 
 WHO SHALL GO FIRST ? 
 
 Who shall go first to the shadowy land. 
 
 My love or I? 
 Whose will it be in grief to stand 
 And press the cold, unanswering hand, 
 Wipe from the brow the dew of death, 
 And catch the softly fluttering breath, 
 Breathe the loved name nor hear reply, 
 In anguish watch the glazing eye — 
 
 His or mine? 
 
 Which shall bend over the wounded sod, 
 
 My love or I ? 
 Commending the precious soul to God, 
 Till the doleful fall of the muffled clod 
 Startles the mind to a consciousness 
 Of its bitter anguish and life-distress, 
 Dropping the pall o'er the love-lit past 
 With a mournful murmur, "The last, the 
 last"— 
 
 My love or I ? 
 
 Which shall return to the desolate home, 
 
 My love or I? 
 And list for a step that shall never come, 
 And hark for a voice that must still be dumb, 
 While the half-stunned senses wander back 
 To the cheerless life and thorny track, 
 
PANSY. 197 
 
 Where the silent room and the vacant chair 
 Have memories sweet and hard to bear — 
 My love or I ? 
 
 Ah, then, perchance, to that mourner there, 
 
 My love or I? 
 Wrestling with anguish and deep despair, 
 An angel shall come through the gates of 
 
 prayer, 
 And the burning eyes shall cease to weep, 
 And the sobs melt down in a sea of sleep, 
 While fancy, freed from the chains of day, 
 Through the shadowy dreamland floats away — 
 My love or I? 
 
 Unidentified. 
 
 PANSY. 
 
 What blossoms have you brought to-day, 
 Beside my pillow, dear, to lay? 
 
 Come, let me see my prize. 
 A velvet pansy, large and fair, 
 With petals yellow as your hair 
 
 And purple as your eyes. 
 
198 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 I think I know the very spot, 
 Where, bordered with forget-me-not, 
 
 This lovely blossom grew; 
 We knew the pansy bed of old, 
 A sweet, swift story there was told, 
 
 Between black eyes and blue. 
 
 It seems but yesterday we stood, 
 Each unto each God's greatest good, 
 
 Beneath the morning sky! 
 We stood as lovers stand, to part, 
 (But hand from hand, not heart from heart) 
 
 With lingering good-bye. 
 
 Upon your snow-white dress you wore 
 One blossom, plucked an hour before, 
 
 While still the dew was wet: 
 A purple pansy, fair as this, 
 I took it, with your first shy kiss; 
 
 I have that blossom yet. 
 
 We thought our fate was hard that day, 
 But, darling, we have learned to say, 
 
 " Whatever is, is best." 
 That far-off parting which is o'er, 
 Foretold one longer, on before, 
 
 Awaiting which we rest. 
 
LOVERS STILL. 199 
 
 We wait as friends and lovers do, 
 
 Each reading true heart through and through, 
 
 Until that parting come. 
 Then if you speak I shall not hear, 
 I shall not feel your presence near, 
 
 Nor answer. Death is dumb. 
 
 You may bring pansies too, that day, 
 To spread above the senseless clay, 
 
 But none so sweet as this; 
 And never one like that dear flower, 
 You gave me in love's dawning hour, 
 
 With your shy clinging kiss. 
 
 I may not give you courage strong, 
 And help and counsel all life long, 
 
 As once I hoped to do. 
 But, love, be fearless, faithful, brave; 
 The pansies on my quiet grave 
 
 May bring heart's-ease for you. 
 
 Unidentified. 
 
 LOVERS STILL. 
 
 His hair as wintry snow is white; 
 
 Her trembling steps are slow; 
 His eyes have lost their merry light; 
 
 Her cheeks, their rosy glow. 
 
200 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Her hair has not its tints of gold; 
 
 His voice no joyous trill; 
 And yet, though feeble, gray, and old, 
 
 They're faithful lovers still. 
 
 Since they were wed, on lawn and lea 
 
 Oft did the daisies blow, 
 And oft across the trackless sea 
 
 Did swallows come and go; 
 Oft were the forest branches bare; 
 
 And oft in gold arrayed, 
 Oft did the lilies scent the air, 
 
 The roses bloom and fade. 
 
 They've had their share of hopes and fears, 
 
 Their share of bliss and bale, 
 Since first he whispered in her ears 
 
 A lover's tender tale; 
 Full many a thorn amid the flowers 
 
 Has lain upon their way; 
 They've had their dull November hours, 
 
 As well as days of May. 
 
 But firm and true through weal and woe, 
 Through change of time and scene, 
 
 Through Winter's gloom, through Summer' 
 glow, 
 Their faith and love have been; 
 
LOVE AND DEATH. 201 
 
 Together hand in hand they pass 
 
 Serenely down life's hill, 
 In hopes one grave in churchyard grass 
 
 May hold them lovers still. 
 
 Magdalen Rock. 
 
 LOVE AND DEATH. 
 
 Life may hold sweetness yet; I would not die; 
 
 For he might come with smiles upon his lip ; 
 
 Then from my heart the weary years would 
 slip, 
 And I should greet him with a joyous cry, 
 
 Forgiving and forgetting all the past, 
 
 Just for the sake of Love come back at last. 
 Oh, life may yet be sweet; I would not die. 
 
 Child, Fate has not been kind to you and me: 
 Your baby kisses could not ease my pain; 
 While in that other face I looked in vain 
 
 For signs of what I knew could never be. 
 Often I drew away your clinging grasp, 
 To seek again that cold and careless clasp. 
 
 No; life has not been kind to you and me. 
 
202 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 And Death is coming. Ah, will Death be kind? 
 
 Will he, some day, bring me my truant love? 
 
 Or shall I float in ether pure above, 
 Passionless, sexless, and not hope to find 
 
 Him who made life a blessing and a curse? 
 
 Will Death bring better, happier times, or 
 worse ? 
 Ah, Death is coming fast; will he be kind? 
 
 Love, have you never known one bitter hour? 
 
 Never looked back with tender, sweet regret 
 
 To that past happy summer when we met, 
 When first I knew my beauty — fatal dower! — 
 
 Had chained your roaming fancy? What a 
 chain, 
 
 Woven in madness from despair and pain, 
 And idly worn to kill an idle hour! 
 
 Child, listen to me; Love is worse than Death; 
 For Death takes all, but Love takes fruit and 
 
 bloom, 
 And leaves the worthless husk to rot in gloom. 
 It takes the crown from life; the weary breath 
 Must labor on until Death brings relief — 
 And blots out all the weariness and grief. 
 Ah! Love is cruel; merciful is Death. 
 
 Unidentified. 
 
DEAR BETTY. 
 
 DEAR BETTY. 
 
 Dear Betty, come give ine sweet kisses, 
 
 For sweeter no girl ever gave; 
 But why, in the midst of our blisses, 
 
 Do you ask me how many I'd have? 
 I'm not to be stinted in pleasure; 
 
 Then prithee, dear Betty, be kind; 
 For as I love thee beyond measure, 
 
 To numbers I'll not be confined. 
 
 Count the bees that on Hybla are straying, 
 
 Count the flowers that enamel the fields, 
 Count the flocks that on Tempd are playing, 
 
 Or the grain that each Sicily yields; 
 Count how many stars are in heaven, 
 
 Go reckon the sands on the shore; 
 And when so many kisses you've given, 
 
 I still will be asking for more. 
 
 To a heart full of love let me hold thee, 
 
 A. heart that, dear Betty, is thine; 
 In my arms I'll forever enfold thee, 
 
 And curl round thy neck like a vine. 
 What joy can be greater than this is? 
 
 My life on thy lips shall be spent; 
 But those who can number their kisses, 
 
 Will always with few be content. 
 
 Sib Charles Hanbury Williams. 
 
204 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 AN OLD SONG RESUNG. 
 
 Down by the sally gardens my love and I did 
 meet; 
 
 She passed 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 bid me take life easy as the grass grows on 
 the weirs; 
 
 But I was young and foolish, and now am full 
 of tears. 
 
 W. B. Yeats. 
 
 DIAPHENIA. 
 
 Diaphenia, like the daffadoundilly, 
 White as the sun, fair as the lily! 
 
 Heigh-ho! how I do love thee: 
 I do love thee as my lambs 
 Are beloved of their dams. 
 
 How bless'd were I if thou wouldst prove me. 
 
AFTER-SONG. 205 
 
 Diaphenia, like the spreading roses, 
 That in thy sweet all sweet encloses, 
 
 Fair Sweet! how I do love thee: 
 I do love thee as each flower 
 Loves the sun's life-giving power: 
 
 For dead, thy breath to life might move me. 
 
 Diaphenia, like all things blessed 
 When all thy praises are expressed, 
 
 Dear Joy! how I do love thee: 
 As the birds do love the Spring, 
 Or the bees their careful king: 
 
 Then in requite, sweet Virgin! love me! 
 
 Henry Constable. 
 
 AFTER-SONG. 
 
 Through love to light ! Oh, wonderful the way 
 That leads from darkness to the perfect day! 
 
 From darkness and from sorrow of the night 
 To morning that comes singing o'er the sea! 
 Through love to light! through light, God, 
 to Thee, 
 Who art the love of love, the eternal light of 
 light! 
 
206 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 I HAVE BEEN TAUGHT. 
 
 I have been taught that I should love, 
 
 My father and my friends, 
 And all the tiny stars above 
 
 The tree that o'er us bends. 
 Each creature that around doth move, 
 
 The flowers, the grass, the dew, 
 I love them all; but if that's love — 
 
 Why, then, I don't love you. 
 
 My father's voice to me is dear, 
 
 But does not thrill me through; 
 My uncle brings no fluttering here, 
 
 Whatever he may do; 
 Round Auntie's neck my arm I steal, 
 
 While she will sit and hem; 
 If this is love for you I feel — 
 
 Why, then, I don't love them. 
 
 I long to look into your eyes, 
 
 Then fain must turn away; 
 'Tis not so when I con the skies, 
 
 Or watch the leverets play; 
 I do not tremble at a flower, 
 
 But kiss it on the bough; 
 If what I feel is love's sweet power, 
 
 I never loved till now. 
 
 Unknown. 
 
GO, LOVELY ROSE! 207 
 
 LINES. 
 
 Between the hands, between the brows, 
 
 Between the lips of Love-Lily, 
 A spirit is born whose breath endows 
 
 My blood with fire to burn through me, 
 Who breathes upon my gazing eyes, 
 
 Who laughs and murmurs in mine ear, 
 At whose least touch my color flies, 
 
 And whom my life grows faint to hear. 
 Dante Gabriel Rossetti. 
 
 GO, LOVELY ROSE ! 
 
 Go, lovely rose! 
 
 Tell her that wastes her time and me, 
 
 That now she knows, 
 
 When I resemble her to thee, 
 
 How sweet and fair she seems to be. 
 
 Tell her that's young, 
 
 And shuns to have her graces spied, 
 
 That hadst thou sprung 
 
 In deserts where no men abide, 
 
 Thou must have uncommended died. 
 
208 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Small is the worth 
 
 Of beauty from the light retired; 
 
 Bid her come forth, 
 
 Suffer herself to be desired, 
 
 And not blush so to be admired. 
 
 Then die ! that she 
 The common fate of all things rare 
 May read in thee, 
 
 How small a part of time they share, 
 That are so wondrous sweet and fair. 
 
 Waller. 
 
 A VILANELLE. 
 
 Love in the dawn is honey-sweet — 
 
 Sweet to the taste and fair to the sight; 
 Kisses are balm when young lips meet. 
 
 The heart in the throes of its first white heat 
 
 Burns, a meteor shining bright; 
 Love in the dawn is honey- sweet. 
 
 Enjoy while you can such moments fleet — 
 
 Those transient spells of fond delight; 
 Kisses are balm when young lips meet. 
 
I NEVER COULD LOVE TILL NOW. 209 
 
 Glad as the morning, Marguerite, 
 
 Are your girlish face and bosom white; 
 Love in the dawn is honey-sweet. 
 
 The lilies smile at our very feet, 
 
 The roses blush to our left and right; 
 Kisses are balm when young lips meet. 
 
 Wedded — to-day in this bower discreet 
 
 Our lives shall fall upon lines of light; 
 Love in the dawn is honey-sweet — 
 Kisses are balm when young lips meet. 
 
 Eugene Davis. 
 
 I NEVER COULD LOVE TILL NOW. 
 
 When I gazed on a beautiful face, 
 
 Or a form which my fancy approved, 
 I was pleased with its sweetness and grace, 
 
 And falsely believed that I loved. 
 But my heart, though I strove to deceive, 
 
 The imposture it would not allow; 
 I could look, I could like, I could leave, 
 
 But I never could love — till now. 
 14 
 
210 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 Yet though I from others could rove, 
 
 Now harbor no doubt of my truth, 
 Those flames were not lighted by love, 
 
 They were kindled by folly and youth. 
 But no longer of reason bereft, 
 
 On your hand, that pure altar, I vow, 
 Though I've looked, and I've liked, and have 
 left— 
 
 That I never have loved — till now. 
 
 Matthew Gregory Lewis. 
 
 LOVE'S IMMORTALITY. 
 
 They sin who tell us Love can die! 
 With life all other passions fly; 
 
 All others are but vanity. 
 In heaven ambition cannot dwell, 
 Nor avarice in the vaults of hell; 
 Earthly these passions, as of earth, 
 They perish where they have their birth; 
 
 But Love is indestructible. 
 Its holy flame forever burnetii, 
 From heaven it came, to heaven returneth; 
 For oft on earth a troubled guest, 
 At times deceived, at times oppressed, 
 It here is tried and purified, 
 And hath in heaven its perfect rest. 
 
 Robert Southey. 
 
SILENT KISSES. 211 
 
 SILENT KISSES. 
 
 We'll not breathe a kiss to the tell-tale air, 
 Nor proclaim the fond triumph for others to 
 
 share, 
 For the rose never speaks while it opes to the 
 
 dew, 
 And lovers say little whose feelings are true; 
 The soul-speaking eyes are the language of 
 
 blisses, 
 And we'll talk with our eyes amidst silent 
 
 kisses. 
 
 'Tis silence gives soul to the beauty of night; 
 'Tis silence keeps secrets, the lover's delight: 
 The stream moves in stillness, when soft on its 
 
 breast 
 The willow's fond leaves lie in kisses at rest : 
 The heart throbs in stillness, and we in our 
 
 blisses 
 Will honor its feeling by sweet silent kisses. 
 
 Yes; when our lips move, yet have nothing to 
 
 say, 
 x\nd our eyes in each other's warm beam fade 
 
 away, 
 
212 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 'Tis then my heart springs up and trembles to 
 
 thee, 
 As the arrow still trembles when fix'd in the 
 
 tree; 
 Oh, never let ear rob a part of our blisses ! 
 Oh, all for the heart be our sweet silent kisses. 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 SWEETHEART. 
 
 Sweetheart I ne'er may know, 
 
 Never may see; 
 White is the blossom snow, 
 
 Green is the lea; 
 Still the stream sings of you, 
 All the wood rings of you — 
 Sweetheart, O sweetheart mine, 
 
 Where can you be? 
 
 True-love I ne'er may meet 
 
 All the world through, 
 Dim is the dawn, and sweet, 
 
 Deep is the dew. 
 Listen — O lost and dear! 
 Come — for your love is here, 
 Here in the hazel-wood, 
 
 Waiting for you. 
 
 Rosamund Makkiott Watson. 
 
QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS. 213 
 
 QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS. 
 
 If ripe red lips were tempting, 
 And you and she — just two — 
 
 Were one arm-chair pre-empting, 
 Pray tell me what you'd do? 
 
 Your arm would steal around her, 
 You'd whisper, " This is bliss," 
 
 And you would not astound her 
 If you should steal a kiss. 
 
 If she were at the portal 
 And you were passing through, 
 
 Pray tell me, if you're mortal, 
 How you would say " Adieu " ? 
 
 If she were in the shadow 
 And you were at the door, 
 
 You'd be a timid lad, O, 
 If you'd not take one more. 
 
 T. WlNTHROP. 
 
214 FA VORITE POEMS. 
 
 IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN. 
 
 A withered leaf, a silken thread, 
 
 Some grasses frail and sere, 
 Are lying desolate and dead 
 
 On Love's fantastic bier. 
 But yet a ceaseless song they sing 
 
 Of cruel, hopeless pain; 
 For, in the sweetest thought they bring, 
 
 I hear the sad refrain — 
 
 " It might have been ! " 
 
 A glove that dropped from fingers fair, 
 
 A ring with rubies set, 
 A little tress of golden hair 
 
 With tears of sorrow wet. 
 Her heart was light; so mine alone 
 
 Hath learned to love and grieve; 
 And so, through life's dull monotone, 
 
 The golden tress doth weave — 
 " It might have been ! " 
 
 The boat lies idly at my feet, 
 
 The sky is blue above, 
 The sunlit waves make music sweet, 
 
 And all is fair but Love: 
 
THEN AND NOW. 215 
 
 For in the cup that memory takes 
 
 I taste again the lees, 
 And one long silent chord awakes 
 
 And whispers to the breeze — 
 " It might have been ! " 
 
 The fondest love the heart has missed 
 
 May come again some day, 
 Though eyes that wept and lips we've kissed 
 
 Have coldly turned away; 
 But in the love that lives apart 
 
 Through waste of weary years, 
 A voice will haunt the aching heart, 
 
 And murmur in its tears, 
 
 " It might have been ! " 
 
 Unknown. 
 
 THEN AND NOW. 
 
 You loved me once, ... ah, well I knew 
 it then! 
 One night you kissed me, underneath the 
 roses, 
 
 And said that we must never kiss again. 
 
 That was the parting . . . that strange 
 moment, when 
 The heart its weakness and its strength dis- 
 closes . . . 
 
 I knew you loved me then ! 
 
216 FAVORITE POEMS. 
 
 You love me yet ... ah, well I know it 
 now! 
 By these few stolen kisses, sad as tender, 
 That give my spirit strength, I know not how. 
 Falling like benisons on lip and brow, 
 
 To fill my soul with mingled gloom and 
 splendor . . . 
 I know you love me now! 
 
 As then and now, O let it be for aye! 
 
 Let those dear lips still tell the dear old story ; 
 Let those kind kisses still drive grief away, 
 Lighten my heavy cross from day to day, 
 And make my crown of thorns a crown of 
 glory, 
 Forever and for aye! 
 
 George Arnold.