Chapter V: Part 5

LOVE ON THE MOUNTAIN

My love comes down from the mountain Through the mists of dawn; I look, and the star of the morning From the sky is gone.

My love comes down from the mountain, At dawn, dewy sweet; Did you step from the star to the mountain, O little white feet?

O whence came your twining tresses And your shining eyes, But out of the gold of the morning And the blue of the skies?

The misty mountain is burning In the sun's red fire, And the heart in my breast is burning And lost in desire.

I follow you into the valley But no word can I say; To the East or the West I will follow Till the dusk of my day.

Thomas Boyd [1867-

KATE TEMPLE'S SONG

Only a touch, and nothing more; Ah! but never so touched before! Touch of lip, was it? Touch of hand? Either is easy to understand. Earth may be smitten with fire or frost - Never the touch of true love lost.

Only a word, was it? Scarce a word! Musical whisper, softly heard, Syllabled nothing - just a breath - 'Twill outlast life and 'twill laugh at death. Love with so little can do so much - Only a word, sweet! Only a touch!

Mortimer Collins [1827-1876]

MY QUEEN

When and how shall I earliest meet her? What are the words she first will say? By what name shall I learn to greet her? I know not now; it will come some day! With the selfsame sunlight shining upon her, Shining down on her ringlets' sheen, She is standing somewhere - she I shall honor, She that I wait for, my queen, my queen!

Whether her hair be golden or raven, Whether her eyes be hazel or blue, I know not now; but 'twill be engraven Some day hence as my loveliest hue. Many a girl I have loved for a minute, Worshipped many a face I have seen: Ever and aye there was something in it, Something that could not be hers, my queen!

I will not dream of her tall and stately, She that I love may be fairy light; I will not say she must move sedately, - Whatever she does it will then be right. She may be humble or proud, my lady, Or that sweet calm which is just between; And whenever she comes she will find me ready To do her homage, my queen, my queen!

But she must be courteous, she must be holy, Pure in her spirit, this maiden I love; Whether her birth be noble or lowly I care no more than the spirits above. But I'll give my heart to my lady's keeping, And ever her strength on mine shall lean; And the stars may fall, and the saints be weeping Ere I cease to love her, my queen, my queen!

Unknown

"DARLING, TELL ME YES"

One little minute more, Maud, One little whisper more; I have a word to speak, Maud, I never breathed before. What can it be but love, Maud; And do I rightly guess 'Tis pleasant to your ear, Maud? O darling! tell me yes!

The burden of my heart, Maud, There's little need to tell; There's little need to say, Maud, I've loved you long and well. There's language in a sigh, Maud, One's meaning to express, And yours - was it for me, Maud? O darling! tell me yes!

My eyes have told my love, Maud, And on my burning cheek, You've read the tender thought, Maud, My lips refused to speak. I gave you all my heart, Maud, 'Tis needless to confess; And did you give me yours, Maud? O darling! tell me yes!

'Tis sad to starve a love, Maud, So worshipful and true; I know a little cot, Maud, Quite large enough for two; And you will be my wife, Maud? So may you ever bless Through all your sunny life, Maud, The day you answered yes!

John Godfrey Saxe [1816-1877]

"DO I LOVE THEE?"

Do I love thee? Ask the bee If she loves the flowery lea, Where the honeysuckle blows And the fragrant clover grows. As she answers, Yes or No, Darling! take my answer so.

Do I love thee? Ask the bird When her matin song is heard, If she loves the sky so fair, Fleecy cloud and liquid air. As she answers, Yes, or No, Darling! take my answer so.

Do I love thee? Ask the flower If she loves the vernal shower, Or the kisses of the sun, Or the dew, when day is done. As she answers, Yes or No, Darling! take my answer so.

John Godfrey Saxe [1816-1887]

"O WORLD, BE NOBLER"

O world be nobler, for her sake! If she but knew thee what thou art, What wrongs are borne, what deeds are done In thee, beneath thy daily sun, Know'st thou not that her tender heart For pain and very shame would break? O World, be nobler, for her sake!

Laurence Binyon [1869-

"IN THE DARK, IN THE DEW"

In the dark, in the dew, I am smiling back at you; But you cannot see the smile, And you're thinking all the while How I turn my face from you, In the dark, in the dew.

In the dark, in the dew, All my love goes out to you, Flutters like a bird in pain, Dies and comes to life again; While you whisper, "Sweetest, hark; Someone's sighing in the dark, In the dark, in the dew!"

In the dark, in the dew, All my heart cries out to you, As I cast it at your feet, Sweet indeed, but not too sweet; Wondering will you hear it beat, Beat for you, and bleed for you, In the dark, in the dew!

Mary Newmarch Prescott [1849-1888]

NANNY

Oh, for an hour when the day is breaking, Down by the shore where the tide is making, Fair as white cloud, thou, love, near me, None but the waves and thyself to hear me! Oh, to my breast how these arms would press thee! Wildly my heart in its joy would bless thee! Oh, how the soul thou has won would woo thee, Girl of the snow neck, closer to me!

Oh, for an hour as the day advances, Out where the breeze on the broom-bush dances, Watching the lark, with the sun-ray o'er us, Winging the notes of his Heaven-taught chorus! Oh, to be there, and my love before me, Soft as a moonbeam smiling o'er me! Thou would'st but love, and I would woo thee, Girl of the dark eye, closer to me!

Oh, for an hour where the sun first found us, Out in the eve with its red sheets round us, Brushing the dew from the gale's soft winglets, Pearly and sweet, with thy long dark ringlets! Oh, to be there on the sward beside thee, Telling my tale, though I know you'd chide me! Sweet were thy voice, though it should undo me, - Girl of the dark locks, closer to me!

Oh, for an hour by night or by day, love, Just as the Heavens and thou might say, love! Far from the stare of the cold-eyed many, Bound in the breath of my dove-souled Nanny! Oh, for the pure chains that have bound me, Warm from thy red lips circling round me! Oh, in my soul, as the light above me, Queen of the pure hearts, do I love thee!

Francis Davis [1810-1885]

A TRIFLE

I know not why, but even to me My songs seem sweet when read to thee.

Perhaps in this the pleasure lies - I read my thoughts within thine eyes,

And so dare fancy that my art May sink as deeply as thy heart.

Perhaps I love to make my words Sing round thee like so many birds,

Or, maybe, they are only sweet As they seem offerings at thy feet.

Or haply, Lily, when I speak, I think, perchance, they touch thy cheek,

Or with a yet more precious bliss, Die on thy red lips in a kiss.

Each reason here - I cannot tell - Or all perhaps may solve the spell.

But if she watch when I am by, Lily may deeper see than I.

Henry Timrod [1829-1867]

ROMANCE

I will make you brooches and toys for your delight Of bird-song at morning and star-shine at night. I will make a palace fit for you and me, Of green days in forests and blue days at sea.

I will make my kitchen, and you shall keep your room, Where white flows the river and bright blows the broom, And you shall wash your linen and keep your body white In rainfall at morning and dewfall at night.

And this shall be for music when no one else is near The fine song for singing, the rare song to hear! That only I remember, that only you admire, Of the broad road that stretches and the roadside fire.

Robert Louis Stevenson [1850-1894]

"OR EVER THE KNIGHTLY YEARS WERE GONE"

Or ever the knightly years were gone With the old world to the grave, I was a King in Babylon And you were a Christian Slave.

I saw, I took, I cast you by, I bent and broke your pride. You loved me well, or I heard them lie, But your longing was denied. Surely I knew that by and by You cursed your gods and died.

And a myriad suns have set and shone Since then upon the grave Decreed by the King in Babylon To her that had been his Slave.

The pride I trampled is now my scathe, For it tramples me again. The old resentment lasts like death, For you love, yet you refrain. I break my heart on your hard unfaith, And I break my heart in vain.

Yet not for an hour do I wish undone The deed beyond the grave, When I was a King in Babylon And you were a Virgin Slave.

William Ernest Henley [1849-1903]

RUS IN URBE

Poets are singing the whole world over Of May in melody, joys for June; Dusting their feet in the careless clover, And filling their hearts with the blackbird's tune. The "brown bright nightingale" strikes with pity The Sensitive heart of a count or clown; But where is the song for our leafy city, And where the rhymes for our lovely town?

"O for the Thames, and its rippling reaches, Where almond rushes, and breezes sport! Take me a walk under Burnham Beeches, Give me dinner at Hampton Court! Poets, be still, though your hearts I harden; We've flowers by day and have scents at dark, The limes are in leaf in the cockney garden, And lilacs blossom in Regent's Park.

"Come for a blow," says a reckless fellow, Burned red and brown by passionate sun; "Come to the downs, where the gorse is yellow; The season of kisses has just begun! Come to the fields where bluebells shiver, Hear cuckoo's carol, or plaint of dove; Come for a row on the silent river; Come to the meadows and learn to love!"

Yes, I will come when this wealth is over Of softened color and perfect tone - The lilac's better than fields of clover; I'll come when blossoming May has flown. When dust and dirt of a trampled city Have dragged the yellow laburnum down, I'll take my holiday - more's the pity - And turn my back upon London town.

Margaret! am I so wrong to love it, This misty town that your face shines through? A crown of blossom is waved above it; But heart and life of the whirl - 'tis you! Margaret! pearl! I have sought and found you; And, though the paths of the wind are free, I'll follow the ways of the world around you, And build my nest on the nearest tree!

Clement Scott [1841-1904]

MY ROAD

There's a road to heaven, a road to hell, A road for the sick and one for the well; There's a road for the false and a road for the true, But the road for me is the road to you.

There's a road through prairie and forest and glen, A road to each place in human ken; There's a road over earth and a road over sea, But the road to you is the road for me.

There's a road for animal, bird, and beast, A road for the greatest, a road for the least; There's a road that is old and a road that is new, But the road for me is the road to you.

There's a road for the heart and a road for the soul, There's a road for a part and a road for the whole; There's a road for love, - which few ever see, - 'Tis the road to you and the road for me.

Oliver Opdyke [1878-

A WHITE ROSE

The red rose whispers of passion, And the white rose 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.

John Boyle O'Reilly [1844-1890]

"SOME DAY OF DAYS"

Some day, some day of days, threading the street With idle, heedless pace, Unlooking for such grace I shall behold your face! Some day, some day of days, thus may we meet.

Perchance the sun may shine from skies of May, Or winter's icy chill Touch whitely vale and hill. What matter? I shall thrill Through every vein with summer on that day.

Once more life's perfect youth will all come back, And for a moment there I shall stand fresh and fair, And drop the garment care; Once more my perfect youth will nothing lack.

I shut my eyes now, thinking how 'twill be - How face to face each soul Will slip its long control, Forget the dismal dole Of dreary Fate's dark, separating sea;

And glance to glance, and hand to hand in greeting, The past with all its fears, Its silences and tears, Its lonely, yearning years, Shall vanish in the moment of that meeting.

Nora Perry [1832-1896]

THE TELEPHONE

"When I was just as far as I could walk From here to-day, There was an hour All still When leaning with my head against a flower I heard you talk. Don't say I didn't, for I heard you say - You spoke from that flower on the window sill - Do you remember what it was you said?"

"First tell me what it was you thought you heard."

"Having found the flower and driven a bee away, I leaned my head, And holding by the stalk, I listened and I thought I caught the word - What was it? Did you call me by my name? Or did you say - Someone said 'Come' - I heard it as I bowed."

"I may have thought as much, but not aloud."

"Well, so I came."

Robert Frost [1875-

WHERE LOVE IS

By the rosy cliffs of Devon, on a green hill's crest, I would build me a house as a swallow builds its nest; I would curtain it with roses, and the wind should breathe to me The sweetness of the roses and the saltness of the sea.

Where the Tuscan olives whiten in the hot blue day, I would hide me from the heat in a little hut of gray, While the singing of the husbandmen should scale my lattice green From the golden rows of barley that the poppies blaze between.

Narrow is the street, Dear, and dingy are the walls Wherein you wait my coming as the twilight falls. All day with dreams I gild the grime till at your step I start - Ah Love, my country in your arms - my home upon your heart!

Amelia Josephine Burr [1878-

THAT DAY YOU CAME

Such special sweetness was about That day God sent you here, I knew the lavender was out, And it was mid of year.

Their common way the great winds blew, The ships sailed out to sea; Yet ere that day was spent I knew Mine own had come to me.

As after song some snatch of tune Lurks still in grass or bough, So, somewhat of the end o' June Lurks in each weather now.

The young year sets the buds astir, The old year strips the trees; But ever in my lavender I hear the brawling bees.

Lizette Woodworth Reese [1856-1935]

AMANTIUM IRAE

When this, our rose, is faded, And these, our days, are done, In lands profoundly shaded From tempest and from sun: Ah, once more come together, Shall we forgive the past, And safe from worldly weather Possess our souls at last?

Or in our place of shadows Shall still we stretch a hand To green, remembered meadows, Of that old pleasant land? And vainly there foregathered, Shall we regret the sun? The rose of love, ungathered? The bay, we have not won?

Ah, child! the world's dark marges May lead to Nevermore, The stately funeral barges Sail for an unknown shore, And love we vow to-morrow, And pride we serve to-day: What if they both should borrow Sad hues of yesterday?

Our pride! Ah, should we miss it, Or will it serve at last? Our anger, if we kiss it, Is like a sorrow past. While roses deck the garden, While yet the sun is high, Doff sorry pride: for pardon, Or ever love go by.

Ernest Dowson [1867-1900]

IN A ROSE GARDEN

A hundred years from now, dear heart, We shall not care at all. It will not matter then a whit, The honey or the gall. The summer days that we have known Will all forgotten be and flown; The garden will be overgrown Where now the roses fall.

A hundred years from now, dear heart, We shall not mind the pain; The throbbing crimson tide of life Will not have left a stain. The song we sing together, dear, The dream we dream together here, Will mean no more than means a tear Amid a summer rain.

A hundred years from now, dear heart, The grief will all be o'er; The sea of care will surge in vain Upon a careless shore. These glasses we turn down to-day Here at the parting of the way - We shall be wineless then as they, And shall not mind it more.

A hundred years from now, dear heart, We'll neither know nor care What came of all life's bitterness, Or followed love's despair. Then fill the glasses up again, And kiss me through the rose-leaf rain; We'll build one castle more in Spain, And dream one more dream there.

John Bennett [1865-

"GOD BLESS YOU, DEAR, TO-DAY"

If there be graveyards in the heart From which no roses spring, A place of wrecks and old gray tombs From which no birds take wing, Where linger buried hopes and dreams Like ghosts among the graves, Why, buried hopes are dismal things, And lonely ghosts are knaves!

If there come dreary winter days, When summer roses fall And lie, forgot, in withered drifts Along the garden wall; If all the wreaths a lover weaves Turn thorns upon the brow, - Then out upon the silly fool Who makes not merry now!

For if we cannot keep the past, Why care for what's to come? The instant's prick is all that stings, And then the place is numb. If Life's a lie, and Love's a cheat, As I have heard men say, Then here's a health to fond deceit - God bless you, dear, to-day!

John Bennett [1865-

TO-DAY

I bring you all my olden days, My childhood's morning glow; I love you down the meadow ways Where early blossoms blow: And up deep lanes of long-gone-by, Shining with dew-drops yet, - I wander still, till you and I Over the world are met.

I bring you all my lonely days, My heart that hungered so; I love you through the wistful haze Of autumns burning low; And on pale seas, beneath wan sky, By weary tides beset, I voyage still, till you and I Over the world are met.

I bring you all my happy days, - Armfuls of flowers - oh, I love you as the sunlight stays On mountains heaped with snow: And where the dearest dream-buds lie, With tears and dew-drops wet, I toss to-day; for you and I Over the world are met!

Benjamin R. C. Low [1880-

TO ARCADY

Across the hills of Arcady Into the Land of Song - Ah, dear, if you will go with me The way will not be long!

It will not lead through solitudes Of wind-blown woods or sea; Dear, no! the city's weariest moods May scarce veil Arcady.

'Tis in no unfamiliar land Lit by some distant star. No! Arcady is where you stand, And Song is where you are!

So walk but hand in hand with me - No road can lead us wrong; These are the hills of Arcady - Here is the Land of Song!

Charles Buxton Going [1863-

WILD WISHES

I wish, because the sweetness of your passing Makes all the earth a garden where you tread, That I might be the meanest of your roses, To pave your path with petals passion-red!

I wish, because the softness of your breathing Stirs the white jasmine at your window frame, That I might be the fragrance of a flower, To stir the night breeze with your dearest name!

I wish, because the glory of your dreaming Strews all the field of heaven with throbbing stars, That I might storm the portals of your slumber, And soar with you beyond night's golden bars!

I wish to be the day you die, Beloved, Though at its close my foolish heart must break! But most of all, I wish, my dearest darling, To be the Blessed Morning when you wake!

Ethel M. Hewitt [18 -

"BECAUSE OF YOU"

Sweet have I known the blossoms of the morning Tenderly tinted to their hearts of dew: But now my flowers have found a fuller fragrance, Because of you.

Long have I worshiped in my soul's enshrining High visions of the noble and the true - Now all my aims and all my prayers are purer, Because of you.

Wise have I seen the uses of life's labor; To all its puzzles found some answering clue. But now my life has learned a nobler meaning, Because of you.

In the past days I chafed at pain and waiting, Grasping at gladness as the children do; Now it is sweet to wait and joy to suffer, Because of you.

In the long years of silences that part us Dimmed by my tears and darkened to my view, Close shall I hold my memories and my madness, Because of you.

Whether our lips shall touch or hands shall hunger, Whether our love be fed or joys be few, Life will be sweeter and more worth the living, Because of you.

Sophia Almon Hensley [1866-

THEN

I give thee treasures hour by hour, That old-time princes asked in vain, And pined for in their useless power, Or died of passion's eager pain.

I give thee love as God gives light, Aside from merit, or from prayer, Rejoicing in its own delight, And freer than the lavish air.

I give thee prayers, like jewels strung On golden threads of hope and fear; And tenderer thoughts than ever hung In a sad angel's pitying tear.

As earth pours freely to the sea Her thousand streams of wealth untold, So flows my silent life to thee, Glad that its very sands are gold.

What care I for thy carelessness? I give from depths that overflow, Regardless that their power to bless Thy spirit cannot sound or know.

Far lingering on a distant dawn, My triumph shines, more sweet than late; When, from these mortal mists withdrawn, Thy heart shall know me - I can wait.

Rose Terry Cooke [1827-1892]

THE MISSIVE

I that tremble at your feet Am a rose; Nothing dewier or more sweet Buds or blows; He that plucked me, he that threw me Breathed in fire his whole soul through me.

How the cold air is infused With the scent! See, this satin leaf is bruised - Bruised and bent, Lift me, lift the wounded blossom, Soothe it at your rosier bosom!

Frown not with averted eyes! Joy's a flower That is born a god, and dies In an hour. Take me, for the Summer closes, And your life is but a rose's.

Edmund Gosse [1849-1928]

PLYMOUTH HARBOR

Oh, what know they of harbors Who toss not on the sea! They tell of fairer havens But none so fair there be

As Plymouth town outstretching Her quiet arms to me; Her breast's broad welcome spreading From Mewstone to Penlee.

Ah, with this home-thought, darling, Come crowding thoughts of thee. Oh, what know they of harbors Who toss not on the sea!

Mrs. Ernest Radford [1858-

THE SERF'S SECRET

I know a secret, such a one The hawthorn blossoms spider-spun, The dew-damp daisies in the grass Laugh up to greet me as I pass To meet the upland sun.

It is that I would rather be The little page, on bended knee, Who stoops to gather up her train Beneath the porch-lamp's ruby rain Than hold a realm in fee.

It is that in her scornful eye, Too hid for courtly sneer to spy, I saw, one day, a look which said That I, and only I, might shed Love-light across her sky.

I know a secret, such a one The hawthorn blossoms spider-spun, The dew-damp daisies in the grass Laugh up to greet me as I pass To meet the upland sun.

William Vaughn Moody [1869-1910]

"O, INEXPRESSIBLE AS SWEET"

O, inexpressible as sweet, Love takes my voice away; I cannot tell thee when we meet What most I long to say.

But hadst thou hearing in thy heart To know what beats in mine, Then shouldst thou walk, where'er thou art, In melodies divine.

So warbling birds lift higher notes Than to our ears belong; The music fills their throbbing throats, But silence steals the song.

George Edward Woodberry [1855-1930]

THE CYCLAMEN

Over the plains where Persian hosts Laid down their lives for glory Flutter the cyclamens, like ghosts That witness to their story. Oh, fair! Oh, white! Oh, pure as snow! On countless graves how sweet they grow!

Or crimson, like the cruel wounds From which the life-blood, flowing, Poured out where now on grassy mounds The low, soft winds are blowing: Oh, fair! Oh, red! Like blood of slain; Not even time can cleanse that stain.

But when my dear these blossoms holds, All loveliness her dower, All woe and joy the past enfolds In her find fullest flower. Oh, fair! Oh, pure! Oh, white and red! If she but live, what are the dead!

Arlo Bates [1850-1918]

THE WEST-COUNTRY LOVER

Then, lady, at last thou art sick of my sighing? Good-bye! So long as I sue, thou wilt still be denying? Good-bye! Ah, well! shall I vow then to serve thee forever, And swear no unkindness our kinship can sever? Nay, nay, dear my lass! here's an end of endeavor. Good-bye!

Yet let no sweet ruth for my misery grieve thee. Good-bye! The man who has loved knows as well how to leave thee. Good-bye! The gorse is enkindled, there's bloom on the heather, And love is my joy, and so too is fair weather; I still ride abroad, though we ride not together. Good-bye!

My horse is my mate; let the wind be my master. Good-bye! Though Care may pursue, yet my hound follows faster. Good-bye! The red deer's a-tremble in coverts unbroken. He hears the hoof-thunder; he scents the death-token. Shall I mope at home, under vows never spoken? Good-bye!

The brown earth's my book, and I ride forth to read it. Good-bye! The stream runneth fast, but my will shall outspeed it. Good-bye! I love thee, dear lass, but I hate the hag Sorrow. As sun follows rain, and to-night has its morrow, So I'll taste of joy, though I steal, beg, or borrow! Good-bye!

Alice Brown [1857-

"BE YE IN LOVE WITH APRIL-TIDE"

Be ye in love with April-tide? I' faith, in love am I! For now 'tis sun, and now 'tis shower, And now 'tis frost and now 'tis flower, And now 'tis Laura laughing-eyed, And now 'tis Laura shy!

Ye doubtful days, O slower glide! Still smile and frown, O sky! Some beauty unforeseen I trace In every change of Laura's face; - Be ye in love with April-tide? I' faith, in love am I!

Clinton Scollard [1860-1932]

UNITY

Heart of my heart, the world is young: Love lies hidden in every rose! Every song that the skylark sung Once, we thought, must come to a close: Now we know the spirit of song, Song that is merged in the chant of the whole, Hand in hand as we wander along, What should we doubt of the years that roll?

Heart of my heart, we can not die! Love triumphant in flower and tree, Every life that laughs at the sky Tells us nothing can cease to be; One, we are one with a song to-day, One with the clover that scents the wold, One with the Unknown, far away, One with the stars, when earth grows old.

Heart of my heart, we are one with the wind, One with the clouds that are whirled o'er the lea, One in many, O broken and blind, One as the waves are at one with the sea! Ay! when life seems scattered apart, Darkens, ends as a tale that is told, One, we are one, O heart of my heart, One, still one, while the world grows old.

Alfred Noyes [1880-

THE QUEEN

He loves not well whose love is bold! I would not have thee come too nigh: The sun's gold would not seem pure gold Unless the sun were in the sky: To take him thence and chain him near Would make his glory disappear.

He keeps his state, - keep thou in thine, And shine upon me from afar! So shall I bask in light divine, That falls from love's own guiding star; So shall thy eminence be high, And so my passion shall not die;

But all my life shall reach its hands Of lofty longing toward thy face, And be as one who, speechless, stands In rapture at some perfect grace! My love, my hope, my all shall be To look to heaven and look to thee!

Thy eyes shall be the heavenly lights, Thy voice the gentle summer breeze, - What time it sways, on moonlit nights, The murmuring tops of leafy trees; And I shall touch thy beauteous form In June's red roses, rich and warm.

But thou thyself shall come not down From that pure region far above; But keep thy throne and wear thy crown, Queen of my heart and queen of love! A monarch in thy realm complete, And I a monarch - at thy feet!

William Winter [1836-1917]

A LOVER'S ENVY

I envy every flower that blows Beside the pathway where she goes, And every bird that sings to her, And every breeze that brings to her The fragrance of the rose.

I envy every poet's rhyme That moves her heart at eventime, And every tree that wears for her Its brightest bloom, and bears for her The fruitage of its prime.

I envy every Southern night That paves her path with moonbeams white, And silvers all the leaves for her, And in their shadow weaves for her A dream of dear delight.

I envy none whose love requires Of her a gift, a task that tires: I only long to live to her, I only ask to give to her All that her heart desires.

Henry Van Dyke [1852-1933]

STAR SONG

When sunset flows into golden glows And the breath of the night is new, Love, find afar eve's eager star - That is my thought of you.

O tear-wet eye that scans the sky Your lonely lattice through: Choose any one, from sun to sun - That is my thought of you.

And when you wake at the morning's break To rival rose and dew, The star that stays till the leaping rays - That is my thought of you.

Ay, though by day they seem away Beyond or cloud or blue, From dawn to night unquenched their light - As are my thoughts of you.

Robert Underwood Johnson [1853-

"MY HEART SHALL BE THY GARDEN"

My heart shall be thy garden. Come, my own, Into thy garden; thine be happy hours Among my fairest thoughts, my tallest flowers, From root to crowning petal, thine alone. Thine is the place from where the seeds are sown Up to the sky inclosed, with all its showers. But ah, the birds, the birds! Who shall build bowers To keep these thine? O friend, the birds have flown.

For as these come and go, and quit our pine To follow the sweet season, or, new-corners, Sing one song only from our alder-trees, My heart has thoughts, which, though thine eyes hold mine. Flit to the silent world and other summers, With wings that dip beyond the silver seas.

Alice Meynell [1853-1922]

AT NIGHT

Home, home from the horizon far and clear, Hither the soft wings sweep; Flocks of the memories of the day draw near The dovecote doors of sleep.

Oh which are they that come through sweetest light Of all these homing birds? Which with the straightest and the swiftest flight? Your words to me, your words!

Alice Meynell [1850-1922]

SONG

Song is so old, Love is so new - Let me be still And kneel to you.

Let me be still And breathe no word, Save what my warm blood Sings unheard.

Let my warm blood Sing low of you - Song is so fair, Love is so new!

Hermann Hagedorn [1882-

"ALL LAST NIGHT"

All last night I had quiet In a fragrant dream and warm: She had become my Sabbath, And round my neck, her arm.

I knew the warmth in my dreaming; The fragrance, I suppose, Was her hair about me, Or else she wore a rose.

Her hair, I think; for likest Woodruffe 'twas, when Spring Loitering down wet woodways Treads it sauntering.

No light, nor any speaking; Fragrant only and warm. Enough to know my lodging, The white Sabbath of her arm.

Lascelles Abercrombie [1881-

THE LAST WORD

When I have folded up this tent And laid the soiled thing by, I shall go forth 'neath different stars, Under an unknown sky.

And yet whatever house I find Beneath the grass or snow Will ne'er be tenantless of love Or lack the face I know.

O lips - wild roses wet with rain! Blown hair of drifted brown! O passionate eyes! O panting heart - When in that colder town

I lie, the one inhabitant, My hands across my breast, How warm through all eternity The summer of my rest!

To each frail root beneath the ground That thrusts its flower above, I shall impart a fiercer sap - I who have known your love!

And growing things will lean to me To learn what love hath won, Till I shall whisper to the dust That secret of the Sun.

Yea, though my spirit never wake To hear the voice I knew, Even an endless sleep would be Stirred by the dreams of You!

Frederic Lawrence Knowles [1869-1905]

"HEART OF MY HEART"

Heart of my heart, my life, my light! If you were lost what should I do? I dare not let you from my sight Lest Death should fall in love with you.

Such countless terrors lie in wait! The gods know well how dear you are! What if they left me desolate And plucked and set you for their star!

Then hold me close, the gods are strong, And perfect joy so rare a flower No man may hope to keep it long - And I may lose you any hour.

Then kiss me close, my star, my flower! So shall the future grant me this: That there was not a single hour We might have kissed, and did not kiss!

Unknown

MY LADDIE

Oh, my laddie, my laddie, I lo'e your very plaidie, I lo'e your very bonnet Wi' the silver buckle on it, I lo'e your collie Harry, I lo'e the kent ye carry; But oh! it's past my power to tell How much, how much I lo'e yoursel!

Oh, my dearie, my dearie, I could luik an' never weary At your een sae blue an' iaughin', That a heart o' stane wad saften, While your mouth sae proud an' curly Gars my heart gang tirlie-wirlie; But oh! yoursel, your very sel, I lo'e ten thousand times as well!

Oh! my darlin', my darlin', Let's flit whaur flits the starlin', Let's loll upo' the heather A' this bonny, bonny weather; Ye shall fauld me in your plaidie, My luve, my luve, my laddie; An' close, an' close into your ear I'll tell ye how I lo'e ye, dear.

Amelie Rives [1863-

THE SHADED POOL

A laughing knot of village maids Goes gaily tripping to the brook, For water-nymphs they mean to be, And seek some still, secluded nook. Here Laura goes, my own delight, And Colin's love, the madcap Jane, And half a score of goddesses Trip over daisies in the plain: Already now they loose their hair And peep from out the tangled gold, Or speed the flying foot to reach The brook that's only summer-cold; The lovely locks stream out behind The shepherdesses on the wing, And Laura's is the wealth I love, And Laura's is the gold I sing.

A-row upon the bank they pant, And all unlace the country shoe; Their fingers tug the garter-knots To loose the hose of varied hue. The flashing knee at last appears, The lower curves of youth and grace, Whereat the girls intently scan The mazy thickets of the place. But who's to see except the thrush Upon the wild crab-apple tree? Within his branchy haunt he sits - A very Peeping Tom is he! Now music bubbles in his throat, And now he pipes the scene in song - The virgins slipping from their robes, The cheated stockings lean and long, The swift-descending petticoat, The breasts that heave because they ran, The rounded arms, the brilliant limbs, The pretty necklaces of tan. Did ever amorous God in Greece, In search of some young mouth to kiss, By any river chance upon A sylvan scene as bright as this? But though each maid is pure and fair, For one alone my heart I bring, And Laura's is the shape I love, And Laura's is the snow I sing.

And now upon the brook's green brink, A milk-white bevy, lo, they stand, Half shy, half frightened, reaching back The beauty of a poising hand! How musical their little screams When ripples kiss their shrinking feet! And then the brook embraces all Till gold and white and water meet! Within the streamlet's soft cool arms Delight and love and gracefulness Sport till a flock of tiny waves Swamps all the beds of floating cress; And on his shining face are seen Great yellow lilies drifting down Beyond the ringing apple-tree, Beyond the empty homespun gown. Did ever Orpheus with his lute, When making melody of old, E'er find a stream in Attica So ripely full of pink and gold?

At last they climb the sloping bank And shake upon the thirsty soil A treasury of diamond-drops Not gained by aught of grimy toil. Again the garters clasp the hose, Again the velvet knee is hid, Again the breathless babble tells What Colin said, what Colin did. In grace upon the grass they lie And spread their tresses to the sun, And rival, musical as they, The blackbird's alto shake and run. Did ever Love, on hunting bent, Come idly humming through the hay, And, to his sudden joyfulness, Find fairer game at close of day? Though every maid's a lily-rose, And meet to sway a sceptred king, Yet Laura's is the face I love, And Laura's are the lips I sing.

Norman Gale [1862-

GOOD-NIGHT

Good-night. Good-night. Ah, good the night That wraps thee in its silver light. Good-night. No night is good for me That does not hold a thought of thee. Good-night.

Good-night. Be every night as sweet As that which made our love complete, Till that last night when death shall be One brief "Good-night," for thee and me. Good-night.

S. Weir Mitchell [1829-1914]

THE MYSTIC

By seven vineyards on one hill We walked. The native wine In clusters grew beside us two, For your lips and for mine,

When, "Hark!" you said, - "Was that a bell Or a bubbling spring we heard?" But I was wise and closed my eyes And listened to a bird;

For as summer leaves are bent and shake With singers passing through, So moves in me continually The winged breath of you.

You tasted from a single vine And took from that your fill - But I inclined to every kind, All seven on one hill.

Witter Bynner [1881-

"I AM THE WIND"

I am the wind that wavers, You are the certain land; I am the shadow that passes Over the sand.

I am the leaf that quivers, You the unshaken tree; You are the stars that are steadfast, I am the sea.

You are the light eternal, Like a torch I shall die... You are the surge of deep music, I - but a cry!

Zoe Akins [1886-

"I LOVE MY LIFE, BUT NOT TOO WELL"

I love my life, but not too well To give it to thee like a flower, So it may pleasure thee to dwell Deep in its perfume but an hour. I love my life, but not too well.

I love my life, but not too well To sing it note by note away, So to thy soul the song may tell The beauty of the desolate day. I love my life, but not too well.

I love my life, but not too well To cast it like a cloak on thine, Against the storms that sound and swell Between thy lonely heart and mine. I love my life, but not too well.

Harriet Monroe [1860-1936]

"THIS IS MY LOVE FOR YOU"

I have brought the wine And the folded raiment fine, Pilgrim staff and shoe - This is my love for you.

I will smooth your bed, Lay away your coverlid, Sing the whole day through. This is my love for you.

Mayhap in the night, When the dark beats back the light, I shall struggle too . . . This is my love for you.

In your dream, once more, Will a star lead to my door? To stars and dreams be true This is my love for you . . .

Grace Fallow Norton [1876-

MY LADY'S LIPS

LIPS AND EYES From "Blurt, Master Constable"

Love for such a cherry lip Would be glad to pawn his arrows; Venus here to take a sip Would sell her doves and team of sparrows. But they shall not so; Hey nonny, nonny no! None but I this lip must owe; Hey nonny, nonny no!

Did Jove see this wanton eye, Ganymede must wait no longer; Phoebe here one night did lie, Would change her face and look much younger. But they shall not so; Hey nonny, nonny no! None but I this lip must owe; Hey nonny, nonny no!

Thomas Middleton [1570?-1627]

THE KISS From "Cynthia's Revels"

O that joy so soon should waste! Or so sweet a bliss As a kiss Might not for ever last! So sugared, so melting, so soft, so delicious, The dew that lies on roses, When the morn herself discloses, Is not so precious. O, rather than I would it smother, Were I to taste such another, It should be my wishing That I might die with kissing.

Ben Jonson [1573?-1637]

"TAKE, O TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY"

Take, O take those lips away, That so sweetly were forsworn, And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn; But my kisses bring again, Seals of love, but sealed in vain.

Hide, O hide those hills of snow, Which thy frozen bosom bears, On whose tops the pinks that grow Are of those that April wears! But first set my poor heart free, Bound in those icy chains by thee.

The first stanza from " Measure for Measure," by William Shakespeare [1564-1616] The second stanza from "The Bloody Brothers," by John Fletcher [1579-1625]

A STOLEN KISS

Now gentle sleep hath closed up those eyes Which, waking, kept my boldest thoughts in awe; And free access unto that sweet lip lies, From which I long the rosy breath to draw. Methinks no wrong it were, if I should steal From those two melting rubies one poor kiss; None sees the theft that would the thief reveal, Nor rob I her of aught that she can miss; Nay, should I twenty kisses take away, There would be little sign I had done so; Why then should I this robbery delay? O, she may wake, and therewith angry grow! Well if she do, I'll back restore that one, And twenty hundred thousand more for loan.

George Wither [1588-1667]

SONG

My Love bound me with a kiss That I should no longer stay; When I felt so sweet a bliss I had less power to part away: Alas! that women do not know Kisses make men loath to go.

Yes, she knows it but too well, For I heard when Venus' dove In her ear did softly tell That kisses were the seals of love: O muse not then though it be so, Kisses make men loath to go.

Wherefore did she thus inflame My desires, heat my blood, Instantly to quench the same And starve whom she had given food? Ay, ay, the common sense can show, Kisses make men loath to go.

Had she bid me go at first I would ne'er have grieved my heart Hope delayed had been the worst; But ah to kiss and then to part! How deep it struck, speak, gods! you know Kisses make men loath to go.

Unknown

TO ELECTRA

I dare not ask a kiss, I dare not beg a smile, Lest having that, or this, I might grow proud the while.

No, no, the utmost share Of my desire shall be Only to kiss that air That lately kissed thee.

Robert Herrick [1591-1674]

"COME, CHLOE, AND GIVE ME SWEET KISSES"

Come, Chloe, and give me sweet kisses, For sweeter sure never girl gave; But why in the midst of my blisses, Do you ask me how many I'd have? I'm not to be stinted in pleasure, Then, prithee, my charmer, be kind, For whilst I love thee above measure, To numbers I'll ne'er be confined.

Count the bees that on Hybla are playing, Count the flowers that enamel its fields, Count the flocks that on Tempe are straying, Or the grain that rich Sicily yields, Go number the stars in the heaven, Count how many sands on the shore, When so many kisses you've given, I still shall be craving for more.

To a heart full of love, let me hold thee, To a heart that, dear Chloe, is thine; In my arms I'll for ever enfold thee, And twist round thy limbs like a vine. What joy can be greater than this is? My life on thy lips shall be spent! But the wretch that can number his kisses, With few will be ever content.

Charles Hanbury Williams [1708-1759]

A RIDDLE

I am just two and two, I am warm, I am cold, And the parent of numbers that cannot be told, I am lawful, unlawful - a duty, a fault - I am often sold dear, good for nothing when bought; An extraordinary boon, and a matter of course, And yielded with pleasure when taken by force.

William Cowper [1731-1800]

TO A KISS

Soft child of love, thou balmy bliss, Inform me, O delicious kiss, Why thou so suddenly art gone, Lost in the moment thou art won?

Yet go! For wherefore should I sigh? On Delia's lips, with raptured eye, On Delia's blushing lips I see A thousand full as sweet as thee.

John Wolcot [1738-1819]

SONG

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 kissed me once in play, Rubies were less bright than they, And less bright than those which shone In the palace of the Sun. Will they be as bright again? Not if kissed by other men.

Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864]

THE FIRST KISS OF LOVE

Away with your fictions of flimsy romance, Those tissues of falsehood which folly has wove! Give me the mild beam of the soul-breathing glance, Or the rapture which dwells on the first kiss of love.

Ye rhymers, whose bosoms with phantasy glow, Whose pastoral passions are made for the grove; From what blest inspiration your sonnets would flow, Could you ever have tasted the first kiss of love!

If Apollo should e'er his assistance refuse, Or the Nine be disposed from your service to rove, Invoke them no more, bid adieu to the muse, And try the effect of the first kiss of love.

I hate you, ye cold compositions of art! Though prudes may condemn me, and bigots reprove, I court the effusions that spring from the heart, Which throbs with delight to the first kiss of love.

Your shepherds, your flocks, those fantastical themes, Perhaps may amuse, yet they never can move: Arcadia displays but a region of dreams; What are visions like these to the first kiss of love?

Oh! cease to affirm that man, since his birth, From Adam till now, has with wretchedness strove; Some portion of Paradise still is on earth, And Eden revives in the first kiss of love.

When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past - For years fleet away with the wings of the dove - The dearest remembrance will still be the last, Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love.

George Gordon Byron [1788-1824]

"JENNY KISSED ME"

Jenny kissed me when we met, Jumping from the chair she sat in; Time, you thief, who love to get Sweets into your list, put that in! Say I'm weary, say I'm sad, Say that health and wealth have missed me, Say I'm growing old, but add, Jenny kissed me.

Leigh Hunt [1784-1859]

"I FEAR THY KISSES, GENTLE MAIDEN"

I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden; Thou needest not fear mine; My spirit is too deeply laden Ever to burthen thine.

I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion; Thou needest not fear mine; Innocent is the heart's devotion With which I worship thine.

Percy Bysshe Shelley [1792-1822]

LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY

The fountains mingle with the river, And the rivers 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 one 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; And the sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea; What are all these kissings worth, If thou kiss not me?

Percy Bysshe Shelley [1792-1822]

SONG From "In a Gondola"

The moth's kiss, first! Kiss me 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 dares not disallow The claim, so all is rendered up, And passively its shattered cup Over your head to sleep I bow.

Robert Browning [1812-1889]

SUMMUM BONUM

All the breath and the bloom of the year in the bag of one bee: All the wonder and wealth of the mine in the heart of one gem: In the core of one pearl all the shade and the shine of the sea: Breath and bloom, shade and shine, - wonder, wealth, and - how far above them - Truth, that's brighter than gem, Trust, that's purer than pearl, - Brightest truth, purest trust in the universe - all were for me In the kiss of one girl.

Robert Browning [1812-1889]

THE FIRST KISS