Chapter IV: Part 4

Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage; If I have freedom in my love And in my soul am free, Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty.

Richard Lovelace [1618-1658]

WHY I LOVE HER

'Tis not her birth, her friends, nor yet her treasure, Nor do I covet her for sensual pleasure, Nor for that old morality Do I love her, 'cause she loves me.

Sure he that loves his lady 'cause she's fair, Delights his eye, so loves himself, not her. Something there is moves me to love, and I Do know I love, but know not how, nor why.

Alexander Brome [1620-1666]

TO HIS COY MISTRESS

Had we but world enough, and time, This coyness, Lady, were no crime. We would sit down and think which way To walk and pass our long love's day. Thou by the Indian Ganges' side Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide Of Humber would complain. I would Love you ten years before the Flood, And you should, if you please, refuse Till the conversion of the Jews. My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires, and more slow; An hundred years should go to praise Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze; Two hundred to adore each breast, But thirty thousand to the rest; An age at least to every part, And the last age should show your heart. For, Lady, you deserve this state, Nor would I love at lower rate. But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity. Thy beauty shall no more be found, Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound My echoing song: then worms shall try That long preserved virginity, And your quaint honor turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust: The grave's a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace. Now therefore, while the youthful hue Sits on thy skin like morning dew, And while thy willing soul transpires At every pore with instant fires, Now let us sport us while we may, And now, like amorous birds of prey, Rather at once our time devour Than languish in his slow-chapt power. Let us roll all our strength and all Our sweetness up into one ball, And tear our pleasures with rough strife Through the iron gates of life: Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run.

Andrew Marvell [1621-1678]

A DEPOSITION FROM BEAUTY

Though when I loved thee thou wert fair, Thou art no longer so; These glories all the pride they wear Unto opinion owe. Beauties, like stars, in borrowed luster shine; And 'twas my love that gave thee thine.

The flames that dwelt within thine eye Do now with mine expire; Thy brightest graces fade and die At once with my desire. Love's fires thus mutual influence return; Thine cease to shine, when mine to burn.

Then, proud Celinda, hope no more To be implored or wooed, Since by thy scorn thou dost restore Thy wealth my love bestowed: And thy despised disdain too late shall find That none are fair but who are kind.

Thomas Stanley [1625-1678]

"LOVE IN THY YOUTH, FAIR MAID"

Love in thy youth, fair maid, be wise, Old Time will make thee colder, And though each morning new arise, Yet we each day grow older.

Thou as heaven art fair and young, Thine eyes like twin stars shining; But ere another day be sprung, All these will be declining;

Then winter comes with all his fears, And all thy sweets shall borrow; Too late then wilt thou shower thy tears, And I, too late, shall sorrow.

Unknown

TO CELIA

When, Celia, must my old day set, And my young morning rise In beams of joy so bright as yet Ne'er blessed a lover's eyes? My state is more advanced than when I first attempted thee: I sued to be a servant then, But now to be made free.

I've served my time faithful and true, Expecting to be placed In happy freedom, as my due, To all the joys thou hast: Ill husbandry in love is such A scandal to love's power, We ought not to misspend so much As one poor short-lived hour.

Yet think not, sweet, I'm weary grown, That I pretend such haste; Since none to surfeit e'er was known Before he had a taste: My infant love could humbly wait When, young, it scarce knew how To plead; but grown to man's estate, He is impatient now.

Charles Cotton [1630-1687]

TO CELIA

Not, Celia, that I juster am Or better than the rest! For I would change each hour, like them, Were not my heart at rest.

But I am tied to very thee By every thought I have; Thy face I only care to see, Thy heart I only crave.

All that in woman is adored In thy dear self I find - For the whole sex can but afford The handsome and the kind.

Why then should I seek further store, And still make love anew? When change itself can give no more, 'Tis easy to be true!

Charles Sedley [1639-1701]

A SONG

My dear mistress has a heart Soft as those kind looks she gave me; When with love's restless 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 arm 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 [1647-1680]

LOVE AND LIFE

All my past life is mine no more; The flying hours are gone, Like transitory dreams given o'er, Whose images are kept in store By memory alone.

The time that is to come is not; How can it then be mine? The present moment's all my lot; And that, as fast as it is got, Phillis, is only thine.

Then talk not of inconstancy, False hearts, and broken vows; If I by miracle can be This live-long minute true to thee, 'Tis all that Heaven allows.

John Wilmot [1647-1680]

CONSTANCY

I cannot change as others do, Though you unjustly scorn; Since that poor swain that sighs for you For you alone was born. No, Phillis, no; your heart to move A surer way I'll try; And, to revenge my slighted love, Will still live on, will still live on and die.

When, killed with grief, Amyntas lies, And you to mind shall call The sighs that now unpitied rise, The tears that vainly fall - That welcome hour that ends this smart, Will then begin your pain; For such a faithful tender heart Can never break, can never break in vain.

John Wilmot [1647-1680]

SONG

Too late, alas! I must confess, You need not arts to move me; Such charms by nature you possess, 'Twere madness not to love ye.

Then spare a heart you may surprise, And give my tongue the glory To boast, though my unfaithful eyes Betray a tender story.

John Wilmot [1647-1680]

SONG

Come, Celia, let's agree at last To love and live in quiet; Let's tie the knot so very fast That time shall ne'er untie it. Love's dearest joys they never prove, Who free from quarrels live; 'Tis sure a god like part of love Each other to forgive.

When least I seemed concerned I took No pleasure, nor had rest; And when I feigned an angry look, Alas! I loved you best. Say but the same to me, you'll find How blest will be our fate; Sure to be grateful, to be kind, Can never be too late.

John Sheffield [1648-1721]

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.

To sigh and wish is all my ease; Sighs which do heat impart Enough to melt the coldest ice, Yet cannot warm your 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 [1652-1685]

SONG

Only tell her that I love: Leave the rest to her and Fate: Some kind planet from above May perhaps her pity move: Lovers on their stars must wait. - Only tell her that I love!

Why, O why should I despair! Mercy's pictured in her eye: If she once vouchsafe to hear, Welcome Hope and farewell Fear! She's too good to let me die. - Why, O why should I despair?

John Cutts [1661-1707]

"FALSE THOUGH SHE BE"

False though she be to me and love, I'll ne'er pursue revenge; For still the charmer I approve, Though I deplore her change.

In hours of bliss we oft have met: They could not always last; And though the present I regret, I'm grateful for the past.

William Congreve [1670-1729]

TO SILVIA From "The Cautious Lovers"

Silvia, let us from the crowd retire, For what to you and me (Who but each other do desire) Is all that here we see?

Apart we'll live, though not alone; For who alone can call Those who in deserts live with one If in that one they've all?

The world a vast meander is, Where hearts confusedly stray; Where few do hit, whilst thousands miss, The happy mutual way.

Anne Finch [? -1720]

"WHY, LOVELY CHARMER"

Why, lovely charmer, tell me why, So very kind, and yet so shy? Why does that cold, forbidding air Give damps of sorrow and despair? Or why that smile my soul subdue, And kindle up my flames anew?

In vain you strive with all your art, By turns to fire and freeze my heart; When I behold a face so fair, So sweet a look, so soft an air, My ravished soul is charmed all o'er, I cannot love thee less or more.

Unknown

AGAINST INDIFFERENCE

More love or more disdain I crave; Sweet, be not still indifferent: O send me quickly to my grave, Or else afford me more content! Or love or hate me more or less, For love abhors all lukewarmness.

Give me a tempest if 'twill drive Me to the place where I would be; Or if you'll have me still alive, Confess you will be kind to me. Give hopes of bliss or dig my grave: More love or more disdain I crave.

Charles Webbe [c. 1678]

A SONG TO AMORET

If I were dead, and, in my place, Some fresher youth designed To warm thee, with new fires; and grace Those arms I left behind:

Were he as faithful as the Sun, That's wedded to the Sphere; His blood as chaste and temperate run, As April's mildest tear;

Or were he rich; and, with his heap And spacious share of earth, Could make divine affection cheap, And court his golden birth;

For all these arts, I'd not believe (No! though he should be thine!), The mighty Amorist could give So rich a heart as mine!

Fortune and beauty thou might'st find, And greater men than I; But my true resolved mind They never shall come nigh.

For I not for an hour did love, Or for a day desire, But with my soul had from above This endless holy fire.

Henry Vaughan [1622-1695]

THE LASS OF RICHMOND HILL

On Richmond Hill there lives a lass More bright than May-day morn, Whose charms all other maids surpass, - A rose without a thorn.

This lass so neat, with smiles so sweet, Has won my right good-will; I'd crowns resign to call her mine, Sweet lass of Richmond Hill.

Ye zephyrs gay, that fan the air, And wanton through the grove, O, whisper to my charming fair, I die for her I love.

How happy will the shepherd be Who calls this nymph his own! O, may her choice be fixed on me! Mine's fixed on her alone.

James Upton [1670-1749]

SONG From "Sunday Up the River"

Let my voice ring out and over the earth, Through all the grief and strife, With a golden joy in a silver mirth: Thank God for life!

Let my voice swell out through the great abyss To the azure dome above, With a chord of faith in the harp of bliss: Thank God for Love!

Let my voice thrill out beneath and above, The whole world through: O my Love and Life, O my Life and Love, Thank God for you!

James Thomson [1834-1882]

GIFTS From "Sunday Up the River"

Give a man a horse he can ride, Give a man a boat he can sail; And his rank and wealth, his strength and health, On sea nor shore shall fail.

Give a man a pipe he can smoke, Give a man a book he can read: And his home is bright with a calm delight, Though the room be poor indeed.

Give a man a girl he can love, As I, O my love, love thee; And his heart is great with the pulse of Fate, At home, on land, on sea.

James Thomson [1834-1882]

AMYNTA

My sheep I neglected, I broke my sheep-crook, And all the gay haunts of my youth I forsook; No more for Amynta fresh garlands I wove; For ambition, I said would soon cure me of love.

Oh, what had my youth with ambition to do? Why left I Amynta? Why broke I my vow? Oh, give me my sheep, and my sheep-hook restore, And I'll wander from love and Amynta no more.

Through regions remote in vain do I rove, And bid the wide ocean secure me from love! O fool! to imagine that aught could subdue A love so well founded, a passion so true!

Alas! 'tis too late at thy fate to repine; Poor shepherd, Amynta can never be thine: Thy tears are all fruitless, thy wishes are vain, The moments neglected return not again.

Gilbert Elliot [1722-1777]

"O NANCY! WILT THOU GO WITH ME"

O Nancy, wilt thou go with me, Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town: Can silent glens have charms for thee, The lowly cot, the russet gown? No longer dressed in silken sheen, No longer decked with jewels rare, Say, canst thou quit each courtly scene Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

O Nancy! when thou'rt far away, Wilt thou not cast a wish behind? Say, canst thou face the parching ray, Nor shrink before the wintry wind? O! can that soft and gentle mien Extremes of hardship learn to bear, Nor, sad, regret each courtly scene Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

O Nancy! canst thou love so true, Through perils keen with me to go, Or when thy swain mishap shall rue, To share with him the pang of woe? Say, should disease or pain befall, Wilt thou assume the nurse's care; Nor wistful those gay scenes recall Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

And when at last thy love shall die, Wilt thou receive his parting breath? Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh, And cheer with smiles the bed of death? And wilt thou o'er his breathless clay Strew flowers and drop the tender tear? Nor then regret those scenes so gay Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

Thomas Percy [1729-1811]

CAVALIER'S SONG

If doughty deeds my lady please, Right soon I'll mount my steed; And strong his arm and fast his seat, That bears frae me the meed. I'll wear thy colors in my cap, Thy picture in my heart; And he that bends not to thine eye Shall rue it to his smart! Then tell me how to woo thee, Love; O tell me how to woo thee! For thy dear sake nae care I'll take, Though ne'er another trow me.

If gay attire delight thine eye I'll dight me in array; I'll tend thy chamber door all night, And squire thee all the day. If sweetest sounds can win thine ear, These sounds I'll strive to catch; Thy voice I'll steal to woo thysel', That voice that nane can match. Then tell me how to woo thee, Love; O tell me how to woo thee! For thy dear sake nae care I'll take Though ne'er another trow me.

But if fond love thy heart can gain, I never broke a vow; Nae maiden lays her skaith to me, I never loved but you. For you alone I ride the ring, For you I wear the blue; For you alone I strive to sing, O tell me how to woo! Then tell me how to woo thee, Love; O tell me how to woo thee! For thy dear sake nae care I'll take Though ne'er another trow me.

Robert Cunninghame-Graham [? -1797?]

"MY HEART IS A LUTE"

Alas, that my heart is a lute, Whereon you have learned to play! For a many years it was mute, Until one summer's day You took it, and touched it, and made it thrill, And it thrills and throbs, and quivers still!

I had known you, dear, so long! Yet my heart did not tell me why It should burst one morn into song, And wake to new life with a cry, Like a babe that sees the light of the sun, And for whom this great world has just begun.

Your lute is enshrined, cased in, Kept close with love's magic key, So no hand but yours can win And wake it to minstrelsy; Yet leave it not silent too long, nor alone, Lest the strings should break, and the music be done.

Anne Barnard [1750-1825]

SONG From "The Duenna"

Had I a heart for falsehood framed, I ne'er could injure you; For though your tongue no promise claimed, Your charms would make me true: Then, lady, dread not here deceit, Nor fear to suffer wrong, For friends in all the aged you'll meet, And lovers in the young.

But when they find that you have blessed Another with your heart, They'll bid aspiring passion rest, And act a brother's part: Then, lady, dread not here deceit Nor fear to suffer wrong; For friends in all the aged you'll meet, And brothers in the young.

Richard Brinsley Sheridan [1751-1816]

MEETING

My Damon was the first to wake The gentle flame that cannot die; My Damon is the last to take The faithful bosom's softest sigh: The life between is nothing worth, O cast it from thy thought away! Think of the day that gave it birth, And this its sweet returning day.

Buried be all that has been done, Or say that naught is done amiss; For who the dangerous path can shun In such bewildering world as this? But love can every fault forgive, Or with a tender look reprove; And now let naught in memory live But that we meet, and that we love.

George Crabbe [1754-1832]

"O WERE MY LOVE YON LILAC FAIR"

O were my Love yon lilac fair, Wi' purple blossoms to the spring, And I a bird to shelter there, When wearied on my little wing; How I wad mourn when it was torn By autumn wild and winter rude! But I wad sing on wanton wing When youthfu' May its bloom renewed.

O gin my Love were yon red rose That grows upon the castle wa', And I mysel a drap o' dew, Into her bonnie breast to fa'; O there, beyond expression blest, I'd feast on beauty a' the night; Sealed on her silk-saft faulds to rest, Till fleyed awa' by Phoebus' light.

Robert Burns [1759-1796]

"BONNIE WEE THING"

Bonnie wee thing! cannie wee thing! Lovely wee thing! wert thou mine, I wad wear thee in my bosom, Lest my jewel I should tine. Wishfully I look, and languish In that bonnie face o' thine; And my heart it stounds wi' anguish, Lest my wee thing be na mine.

Wit and grace, and love and beauty, In ae constellation shine; To adore thee is my duty, Goddess o' this soul o' mine! Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing, Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine, I wad wear thee in my bosom, Lest my jewel I should tine.

Robert Burns [1759-1796]

ROSE AYLMER

Ah, what avails the sceptered race! Ah, what the form divine! What every virtue, every grace! Rose Aylmer, all were thine.

Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes May weep, but never see, A night of memories and sighs I consecrate to thee.

Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864]

"TAKE BACK THE VIRGIN PAGE" Written On Returning A Blank Book

Take back the Virgin Page White and unwritten still; Some hand more calm and sage The leaf must fill. Thoughts came as pure as light - Pure as even you require: But oh! each word I write Love turns to fire.

Yet let me keep the book: Oft shall my heart renew, When on its leaves I look, Dear thoughts of you. Like you, 'tis fair and bright; Like you, too bright and fair To let wild passion write One wrong wish there.

Haply, when from those eyes Far, far away I roam, Should calmer thoughts arise Towards you and home; Fancy may trace some line Worthy those eyes to meet, Thoughts that not burn, but shine. Pure, calm, and sweet.

And as o'er ocean far Seamen their records keep, Led by some hidden star Through the cold deep; So may the words I write Tell through what storms I stray, You still the unseen light Guiding my way.

Thomas Moore [1779-1852]

"BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEARING YOUNG CHARMS"

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms, Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms, Like fairy-gifts fading away, Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art, Let thy loveliness fade as it will, And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart Would entwine itself verdantly still.

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear, That the fervor and faith of a soul may be known, To which time will but make thee more dear! No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close, As the sunflower turns to her god when he sets The same look which she turned when he rose!

Thomas Moore [1779-1852]

THE NUN

If you become a nun, dear, A friar I will be; In any cell you run, dear, Pray look behind for me. The roses all turn pale, too; The doves all take the veil, too; The blind will see the show; What! you become a nun, my dear, I'll not believe it, no!

If you become a nun, dear, The bishop Love will be: The Cupids every one, dear, Will chant, "We trust in thee!" The incense will go sighing, The candles fall a-dying, The water turn to wine: What! you go take the vows, my dear? You may - but they'll be mine.

Leigh Hunt [1784-1859]

ONLY OF THEE AND ME

Only of thee and me the night wind sings, Only of us the sailors speak at sea, The earth is filled with wondered whisperings Only of thee and me.

Only of thee and me the breakers chant, Only of us the stir in bush and tree; The rain and sunshine tell the eager plant Only of thee and me.

Only of thee and me, till all shall fade; Only of us the whole world's thoughts can be - For we are Love, and God Himself is made Only of thee and me.

Louis Untermeyer [1885-

TO ---

One word is too often profaned For me to profane it, One feeling too falsely disdained For thee to disdain it. One hope is too like despair For prudence to smother, And Pity from thee more dear Than that from another.

I can give not what men call love; But wilt thou accept not The worship the heart lifts above And the Heavens reject not: The desire of the moth for the star, Of the night for the morrow, The devotion to something afar From the sphere of our sorrow?

Percy Bysshe Shelley [1792-1822]

FROM THE ARABIC

My faint spirit was sitting in the light Of thy looks, my love; It panted for thee like the hind at noon For the brooks, my love. Thy barb, whose hoofs outspeed the tempest's flight, Bore thee far from me; My heart, for my weak feet were weary soon, Did companion thee.

Ah! fleeter far than fleetest storm or steed, Or the death they bear, The heart which tender thought clothes like a dove With the wings of care; In the battle, in the darkness, in the need, Shall mine cling to thee, Nor claim one smile for all the comfort, love, It may bring to thee.

Percy Bysshe Shelley [1792-1822]

THE WANDERING KNIGHT'S SONG

My ornaments are arms, My pastime is in war, My bed is cold upon the wold, My lamp yon star.

My journeyings are long, My slumbers short and broken; From hill to hill I wander still, Kissing thy token.

I ride from land to land, I sail from sea to sea; Some day more kind I fate may find, Some night, kiss thee.

John Gibson Lockhart [1794-1854]

SONG

Love's on the highroad, Love's in the byroad - Love's on the meadow, and Love's in the mart! And down every byway Where I've taken my way I've met Love a-smiling - for Love's in my heart!

Dana Burnet [1888-

THE SECRET LOVE

You and I have found the secret way, None can bar our love or say us nay: All the world may stare and never know You and I are twined together so.

You and I for all his vaunted width Know the giant Space is but a myth; Over miles and miles of pure deceit You and I have found our lips can meet.

You and I have laughed the leagues apart In the soft delight of heart to heart. If there's a gulf to meet or limit set, You and I have never found it yet.

You and I have trod the backward way To the happy heart of yesterday, To the love we felt in ages past. You and I have found it still to last.

You and I have found the joy had birth In the angel childhood of the earth, Hid within the heart of man and maid. You and I of Time are not afraid.

You and I can mock his fabled wing, For a kiss is an immortal thing. And the throb wherein those old lips met Is a living music in us yet.

A. E. (George William Russell) [1867-1935]

THE FLOWER OF BEAUTY

Sweet in her green dell the flower of beauty slumbers, Lulled by the faint breezes sighing through her hair; Sleeps she, and hears not the melancholy numbers Breathed to my sad lute amid the lonely air?

Down from the high cliffs the rivulet is teeming To wind round the willow-banks that lure him from above: Oh that, in tears from my rocky prison streaming, I too could glide to the bower of my love!

Ah, where the woodbines with sleepy arms have wound her, Opes she her eyelids at the dream of my lay, Listening like the dove, while the fountains echo round her, To her lost mate's call in the forest far away?

Come, then, my bird! for the peace thou ever bearest, Still Heaven's messenger of comfort be to me; Come! this fond bosom, my faithfulest, my fairest, Bleeds with its death-wound, - but deeper yet for thee.

George Darley [1795-1846]

MY SHARE OF THE WORLD

I am jealous: I am true: Sick at heart for love of you, O my share of the world! I am cold, O, cold as stone To all men save you alone.

Seven times slower creeps the day When your face is far away, O my share of the world! Seven times darker falls the night. When you gladden not my sight.

Measureless my joy and pride Would you choose me for your bride, O my share of the world! For your face is my delight, Morn and even, noon and night.

To the dance and to the wake Still I go but for your sake, O my share of the world! Just to see your face awhile Meet your eyes and win your smile.

And the gay word on my lip Never lets my secret slip To my share of the world! Light my feet trip over the green - But my heart cries in the keen!

My poor mother sighs anew When my looks go after you, O my share of the world! And my father's brow grows black When you smile and turn your back.

I would part with wealth and ease, I would go beyond the seas, For my share of the world! I would leave my hearth and home If he only whispered "Come!"

Houseless under sun and dew, I would beg my bread with you, O my share of the world! Houseless in the snow and storm, Your heart's love would keep me warm.

I would pray and I would crave To be with you in the grave, O my share of the world! I would go through fire and flood, I would give up all but God For my share of the world!

Alice Furlong [1875-

SONG

A lake and a fairy boat To sail in the moonlight clear, - And merrily we would float From the dragons that watch us here!

Thy gown should be snow-white silk, And strings of orient pearls, Like gossamers dipped in milk, Should twine with thy raven curls.

Red rubies should deck thy hands, And diamonds be thy dower - But fairies have broke their wands, And wishing has lost its power!

Thomas Hood [1799-1845]

"SMILE AND NEVER HEED ME"

Though, when other maids stand by, I may deign thee no reply, Turn not then away, and sigh, - Smile, and never heed me!

If our love, indeed, be such As must thrill at every touch, Why should others learn as much? - Smile, and never heed me!

Even if, with maiden pride, I should bid thee quit my side, Take this lesson for thy guide, - Smile, and never heed me!

But when stars and twilight meet, And the dew is falling sweet, And thou hear'st my coming feet, - Then - thou then - mayst heed me!

Charles Swain [1801-1874]

ARE THEY NOT ALL MINISTERING SPIRITS?

We see them not - we cannot hear The music of their wing - Yet know we that they sojourn near, The Angels of the spring!

They glide along this lovely ground When the first violet grows; Their graceful hands have just unbound The zone of yonder rose.

I gather it for thy dear breast, From stain and shadow free: That which an Angel's touch hath blest Is meet, my love, for thee!

Robert Stephen Hawker [1803-1875]

MAIDEN EYES

You never bade me hope, 'tis true; I asked you not to swear: But I looked in those eyes of blue, And read a promise there.

The vow should bind, with maiden sighs That maiden lips have spoken: But that which looks from maiden eyes Should last of all be broken.

Gerald Griffin [1803-1840]

HALLOWED PLACES

I pass my days among the quiet places Made sacred by your feet. The air is cool in the fresh woodland spaces, The meadows very sweet.

The sunset fills the wide sky with its splendor, The glad birds greet the night; I stop and listen for a voice strong, tender, I wait those dear eyes' light.

You are the heart of every gleam of glory, Your presence fills the air, About you gathers all the fair year's story; I read you everywhere.

Alice Freeman Palmer [1855-1902]

THE LADY'S "YES"

"Yes," I answered you last night; "No," this morning, sir, I say: Colors seen by candle-light Will not look the same by day.

When the viols played their best, Lamps above, and laughs below, Love me sounded like a jest, Fit for yes or fit for no.

Call me false or call me free, Vow, whatever light may shine, - No man on your face shall see Any grief for change on mine.

Yet the sin is on us both; Time to dance is not to woo; Wooing light makes fickle troth, Scorn of me recoils on you.

Learn to win a lady's faith Nobly, as the thing is high, Bravely, as for life and death, With a loyal gravity.

Lead her from the festive boards, Point her to the starry skies, Guard her, by your truthful words, Pure from courtship's flatteries.

By your truth she shall be true, Ever true, as wives of yore; And her yes, once said to you, SHALL be Yes for evermore.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning [1806-1861]

SONG From "The Miller's Daughter"

It is the miller's daughter, And she is grown so dear, so dear, That I would be the jewel That trembles in her ear; For hid in ringlets day and night, I'd touch her neck so warm and white.

And I would be the girdle About her dainty, dainty waist, And her heart would beat against me, In sorrow and in rest; And I should know if it beat right, I'd clasp it round so close and tight.

And I would be the necklace, And all day long to fall and rise Upon her balmy bosom With her laughter or her sighs; And I would lie so light, so light, I scarce should be unclasped at night.

Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892]

LILIAN

Airy, fairy Lilian, Flitting, fairy Lilian, When I ask her if she love me, Clasps her tiny hand above me, Laughing all she can; She'll not tell me if she love me, Cruel little Lilian.

When my passion seeks Pleasance in love-sighs, She, looking through and through me, Thoroughly to undo me, Smiling, never speaks: So innocent-arch, so cunning-simple, From beneath her gathered wimple Glancing with black-beaded eyes, Till the lightning laughters dimple The baby-roses in her cheeks; Then away she flies.

Prithee weep, May Lilian! Gaiety without eclipse Wearieth me, May Lilian: Through my very heart it thrilleth, When from crimson-threaded lips Silver-treble laughter thrilleth: Prithee weep, May Lilian!

Praying all I can, If prayers will not hush thee, Airy Lilian, Like a rose-leaf I will crush thee, Fairy Lilian.

Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892]

BUGLE SONG From "The Princess"

The splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going! O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

O love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river: Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow for ever and for ever. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.

Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892]

RONSARD TO HIS MISTRESS

"Quand vous serez bien vieille, le soir a la chandelle Assise aupres du feu devisant et filant, Direz, chantant mes vers en vous esmerveillant, Ronsard m'a celebre du temps que j'etois belle."

Some winter night, shut snugly in Beside the fagot in the hall, I think I see you sit and spin, Surrounded by your maidens all. Old tales are told, old songs are sung, Old days come back to memory; You say, "When I was fair and young, A poet sang of me!"

There's not a maiden in your hall, Though tired and sleepy ever so, But wakes, as you my name recall, And longs the history to know. And, as the piteous tale is said, Of lady cold and lover true, Each, musing, carries it to bed, And sighs and envies you!

"Our lady's old and feeble now," They'll say: "she once was fresh and fair, And yet she spurned her lover's vow, And heartless left him to despair. The lover lies in silent earth, No kindly mate the lady cheers; She sits beside a lonely hearth, With threescore and ten years!"

Ah! dreary thoughts and dreams are those, But wherefore yield me to despair, While yet the poet's bosom glows, While yet the dame is peerless fair! Sweet lady mine! while yet 'tis time Requite my passion and my truth, And gather in their blushing prime The roses of your youth!

William Makepeace Thackeray [1811-1863]

"WHEN YOU ARE OLD" After Pierre de Ronsard

When you are old and gray and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true; But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

And bending down beside the glowing bars Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

William Butler Yeats [1865-

SONG From "Pippa Passes"

You'll love me yet - and I can tarry Your love's protracted growing: June reared that bunch of flowers you carry, From seeds of April's sowing.

I plant a heartfull now: some seed At least is sure to strike, And yield - what you'll not pluck indeed, Not love, but, may be, like.

You'll look at least on love's remains, A grave's one violet: Your look? - that pays a thousand pains. What's death? You'll love me yet!

Robert Browning [1812-1889]

LOVE IN A LIFE

Room after room, I hunt the house through We inhabit together. Heart, fear nothing, for, heart, thou shalt find her - Next time, herself! - not the trouble behind her Left in the curtain, the couch's perfume! As she brushed it, the cornice-wreath blossomed anew: Yon looking-glass gleamed at the wave of her feather.

Yet the day wears, And door succeeds door; I try the fresh fortune - Range the wide house from the wing to the center. Still the same chance! she goes out as I enter. Spend my whole day in the quest, - who cares? But 'tis twilight, you see, - with such suites to explore, Such closets to search, such alcoves to importune!

Robert Browning [1812-1889]

LIFE IN A LOVE

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 a fault at last, I fear: It seems too much like a fate, indeed! Though I do my best I shall scarce succeed. 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 drops to ground Than a new one, straight to the self-same mark, I shape me - Ever Removed!

Robert Browning [1812-1889]

THE WELCOME

Come in the evening, or come in the morning; Come when you're looked for, or come without warning: Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you, And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you! Light is my heart since the day we were plighted; Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted; The green of the trees looks far greener than ever, And the linnets are singing, "True lovers don't sever!"

I'll pull you sweet flowers, to wear if you choose them, - Or, after you've kissed them, they'll lie on my bosom; I'll fetch from the mountain its breeze to inspire you; I'll fetch from my fancy a tale that won't tire you. Oh! your step's like the rain to the summer-vexed farmer, Or saber and shield to a knight without armor; I'll sing you sweet songs till the stars rise above me, Then, wandering, I'll wish you in silence to love me.

We'll look through the trees at the cliff and the eyrie; We'll tread round the rath on the track of the fairy; We'll look on the stars, and we'll list to the river, Till you ask of your darling what gift you can give her: Oh! she'll whisper you - "Love, as unchangeably beaming, And trust, when in secret, most tunefully streaming; Till the starlight of heaven above us shall quiver, As our souls flow in one down eternity's river."

So come in the evening, or come in the morning; Come when you're looked for, or come without warning: Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you, And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you! Light is my heart since the day we were plighted; Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted; The green of the trees looks far greener than ever, And the linnets are singing, "True lovers don't sever!"

Thomas Osborne Davis [1814-1845]

URANIA

She smiles and smiles, and will not sigh, While we for hopeless passion die; Yet she could love, those eyes declare, Were but men nobler than they are.

Eagerly once her gracious ken Was turned upon the sons of men; But light the serious visage grew - She looked, and smiled, and saw them through.

Our petty souls, cur strutting wits, Our labored, puny passion-fits - Ah, may she scorn them still, till we Scorn them as bitterly as she!

Yet show her once, ye heavenly Powers, One of some worthier race than ours! One for whose sake she once might prove How deeply she who scorns can love.

His eyes be like the starry lights; His voice like sounds of summer nights; In all his lovely mien let pierce The magic of the universe!

And she to him will reach her hand, And gazing in his eyes will stand, And know her friend, and weep for glee, And cry, Long, long I've looked for thee!

Then will she weep - with smiles, till then Coldly she mocks the sons of men. Till then her lovely eyes maintain Their pure, unwavering, deep disdain.

Matthew Arnold [1822-1888]

THREE SHADOWS

I looked and saw your eyes in the shadow of your hair, As a traveler sees the stream in the shadow of the wood; - And I said, "My faint heart sighs, ah me! to linger there, To drink deep and to dream in that sweet solitude."

I looked and saw your heart in the shadow of your eyes, As a seeker sees the gold in the shadow of the stream; And I said, Ah, me! what art should win the immortal prize, Whose want must make life cold and Heaven a hollow dream?"

I looked and saw your love in the shadow of your heart, As a diver sees the pearl in the shadow of the sea; And I murmured, not above my breath, but all apart, - "Ah! you can love, true girl, and is your love for me?"

Dante Gabriel Rossetti [1828-1882]

SINCE WE PARTED

Since we parted yester eve, I do love thee, love, believe, Twelve times dearer, twelve hours longer, - One dream deeper, one night stronger, One sun surer, - thus much more Than I loved thee, love, before.

Edward Robert Bulwer Lytton [1831-1891]

A MATCH

If love were what the rose is, And I were like the leaf, Our lives would grow together In sad or singing weather, Blown fields or flowerful closes, Green pleasure or gray grief; If love were what the rose is, And I were like the leaf.

If I were what the words are, And love were like the tune, With double sound and single Delight our lips would mingle, With kisses glad as birds are That get sweet rain at noon; If I were what the words are, And love were like the tune.

If you were life, my darling, And I your love were death, We'd shine and snow together Ere March made sweet the weather With daffodil and starling And hours of fruitful breath; If you were life, my darling, And I your love were death.

If you were thrall to sorrow, And I were page to joy, We'd play for lives and seasons With loving looks and treasons And tears of night and morrow And laughs of maid and boy; If you were thrall to sorrow, And I were page to joy.

If you were April's lady, And I were lord in May, We'd throw with leaves for hours And draw for days with flowers, Till day like night were shady And night were bright like day; If you were April's lady, And I were lord in May.

If you were queen of pleasure, And I were king of pain, We'd hunt down love together, Pluck out his flying-feather, And teach his feet a measure, And find his mouth a rein; If you were queen of pleasure, And I were king of pain.

Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909]

A BALLAD OF LIFE

I found in dreams a place of wind and flowers, Full of sweet trees and color of glad grass, In midst whereof there was A lady clothed like summer with sweet hours, Her beauty, fervent as a fiery moon Made my blood burn and swoon Like a flame rained upon. Sorrow had filled her shaken eyelids' blue, And her mouth's sad red heavy rose all through Seemed sad with glad things gone.

She held a little cithern by the strings, Shaped heartwise, strung with subtle-colored hair Of some dead lute player That in dead years had done delicious things. The seven strings were named accordingly; The first string charity, The second tenderness, The rest were pleasure, sorrow, sleep, and sin, And loving kindness, that is pity's kin And is most pitiless.

There were three men with her, each garmented With gold, and shod with gold upon the feet; And with plucked ears of wheat. The first man's hair was wound upon his head: His face was red, and his mouth curled and sad; All his gold garment had Pale stains of dust and rust. A riven hood was pulled across his eyes; The token of him being upon this wise Made for a sign of Lust.

The next 'was Shame, with hollow heavy face Colored like green wood when flame kindles it. He hath such feeble feet They may not well endure in any place. His face was full of gray old miseries. And all his blood's increase Was even increase of pain. The last was Fear, that is akin to Death; He is Shame's friend, and always as Shame saith Fear answers him again.

My soul said in me: This is marvelous, Seeing the air's face is not so delicate Nor the sun's grace so great, If sin and she be kin or amorous. And seeing where maidens served her on their knees, I bade one crave of these To know the cause thereof. Then Fear said: I am Pity that was dead. And Shame said: I am Sorrow comforted. And Lust said: I am Love.

Thereat her hands began a lute-playing And her sweet mouth a song in a strange tongue; And all the while she sung There was no sound but long tears following Long tears upon men's faces, waxen white With extreme sad delight. But those three following men Became as men raised up among the dead; Great glad mouths open, and fair cheeks made red With child's blood come again.

Then I said: Now assuredly I see My lady is perfect, and transfigureth All sin and sorrow and death, Making them fair as her own eyelids be, Or lips wherein my whole soul's life abides; Or as her sweet white sides And bosom carved to kiss. Now therefore, if her pity further me, Doubtless for her sake all my days shall be As righteous as she is.

Forth, ballad, and take roses in both arms, Even till the top rose touch thee in the throat Where the least thornprick harms; And girdled in thy golden singing-coat, Come thou before my lady and say this: Borgia, thy gold hair's color burns in me, Thy mouth makes beat my blood in feverish rhymes; Therefore so many as these roses be, Kiss me so many times. Then it may be, seeing how sweet she is, That she will stoop herself none otherwise Than a blown vine-branch doth, And kiss thee with soft laughter on thine eyes, Ballad, and on thy mouth.

Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909]

A LEAVE-TAKING

Let us go hence, my songs; she will not hear. Let us go hence together without fear; Keep silence now, for singing time is over, And over all old things and all things dear. She loves not you nor me as all we love her. Yea, though we sang as angels in her ear, She would not hear.

Let us rise up and part; she will not know. Let us go seaward as the great winds go, Full of blown sand and foam; what help is there? There is no help, for all these things are so, And all the world is bitter as a tear, And how these things are, though ye strove to show, She would not know.

Let us go home and hence; she will not weep. We gave love many dreams and days to keep, Flowers without scent, and fruits that would not grow, Saying, "If thou wilt, thrust in thy sickle and reap." All is reaped now; no grass is left to mow; And we that sowed, though all we fell on sleep, She would not weep.

Let us go hence and rest; she will not love. She shall not hear us if we sing hereof, Nor see love's ways how sore they are and steep. Come hence, let be, lie still; it is enough. Love is a barren sea, bitter and deep; And though she saw all heaven in flower above, She would not love.

Let us give up, go down; she will not care. Though all the stars made gold of all the air, And the sea moving saw before it move One moon-flower making all the foam-flowers fair; Though all those waves went over us, and drove Deep down the stifling lips and drowning hair, She would not care.

Let us go hence, go hence; she will not see. Sing all once more together; surely she, She too, remembering days and words that were, Will turn a little towards us, sighing; but we, We are hence, we are gone, as though we had not been there. Nay, and though all men seeing had pity on me, She would not see.

Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909]

A LYRIC

There's nae lark loves the lift, my dear, There's nae ship loves the sea, There's nae bee loves the heather-bells, That loves as I love thee, my love, That loves as I love thee.

The whin shines fair upon the fell, The blithe broom on the lea: The muirside wind is merry at heart: It's a' for love of thee, my love, It's a' for love of thee.

Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909]

MAUREEN

O, you plant the pain in my heart with your wistful eyes, Girl of my choice, Maureen! Will you drive me mad for the kisses your shy, sweet mouth denies, Maureen?

Like a walking ghost I am, and no words to woo, White rose of the West, Maureen: For it's pale you are, and the fear on you is over me too, Maureen!

Sure it's one complaint that's on us, asthore, this day, Bride of my dreams, Maureen: The smart of the bee that stung us his honey must cure, they say, Maureen!

I'll coax the light to your eyes, and the rose to your face, Mavourneen, my own Maureen! When I feel the warmth of your breast, and your nest is my arm's embrace, Maureen!

O where was the King o' the World that day - only me? My one true love, Maureen! And you the Queen with me there, and your throne in my heart, machree, Maureen!

John Todhunter [1839-?]

A LOVE SYMPHONY

Along the garden ways just now I heard the flowers speak; The white rose told me of your brow, The red rose of your cheek; The lily of your bended head, The bindweed of your hair; Each looked its loveliest and said You were more fair.

I went into the wood anon, And heard the wild birds sing, How sweet you were, they warbled on, Piped, trilled, the selfsame thing. Thrush, blackbird, linnet, without pause The burden did repeat, And still began again because You were more sweet.

And then I went down to the sea, And heard it murmuring too, Part of an ancient mystery, All made of me and you: How many a thousand years ago I loved, and you were sweet - Longer I could not stay, and so I fled back to your feet.

Arthur O'Shaughnessy [1844-1881]