Chapter III

When April comes, and binds and girds
The world with warmth that breathes above,
And to the breeze flings all her birds,
Whose songs are welcome as the words
Of you I love, of you I love:

It's music for all things that woo,
And music for the heart!
And, oh, to be away with you
Beyond the town and mart.

"THE YEARS WHEREIN I NEVER KNEW."

The years, wherein I never knew
Such beauty as is yours,--so fraught
With truth and kindness looking through
Your loveliness,--I count them naught,
O girl, so like a lily wrought!
The years wherein I knew not you.

Ah, let me see you always so!--
A dream that haunts my memory's sight--
Your hair of moonlight, face of snow,
And eyes, blue stars of laughing light,
O girl, so like a lily white!
Through all the years that come and go.

True to you only, in my heart
I wear your spirit miniature,
Sincere in simpleness of art,
That makes my love to still endure,
O girl, so like a lily pure!
Through years that keep us still apart.

MIGNON.

Oh, Mignon's mouth is like a rose,
A red, red rose, that half uncurls
Sweet petals o'er a crimson bee:
Or like a shell, that, opening, shows
Within its rosy curve white pearls,
White rows of pearls,
Is Mignon's mouth that smiles at me.

Oh, Mignon's eyes are like blue gems,
Two azure gems, that gleam and glow,
Soft sapphires set in ivory:
Or like twin violets, whose stems
Bloom blue beneath the covering snow,
The lidded snow,
Are Mignon's eyes that laugh at me.

O mouth of Mignon, Mignon's eyes!
O eyes of violet, mouth of fire!--
Within which lies all ecstasy
Of tears and kisses and of sighs:--
O mouth, O eyes, and O desire,
O love's desire,
Have mercy on the soul of me!

QUI DOCET, DISCIT.

I.

When all the world was white with flowers,
And Summer, in her sun-built towers,
Stood smiling 'mid her handmaid Hours,
Who robed her limbs for bridal;
Somewhere between the golden sands
And purple hills of Folly's lands,
Love, with a laugh, let go our hands,
And left our sides to idle.

II.

Now all the world is red with doom,
And Autumn, in her frost-carved room,
Bends darkly o'er the gipsy loom
Of memories she weaves there;
Who knocks at night upon the door,
All travel-worn and pale and poor?--
Open! and let him in once more,
The Love that stands and grieves there.

TRANSUBSTANTIATION.

I.

A sunbeam and a drop of dew
Lay on a red rose in the South:
God took the three and made her mouth,
Her sweet, sweet mouth,
So red of hue,--
The burning baptism of His kiss
Still fills my heart with heavenly bliss.