La Doleur De La Jeunessb.

Ah, love, why love you tears?
What beauty in the rue?
Do you not know the years
Shall bring their griefs to you,
To dew your nightly pillow ere you sleep?
Perchance, hut let me weep!

No sorrow do you mourn,
No cloud in heaven for you.
No graves have you, forlorn.
With salt tears to bestrew.
Nor any field of tares that you must reap.
Ah no! Yet I would weep!

One day, shall not your ships
Come sailing o'er the blue.
With fruit and spice for lips.
And robes of many a hue.
And gems and gold for your white hands to keep?
Yet, on the shore, I weep!

Then I my harp will bring,
And sing your tears and ruth;
More sweet than songs of spring
Sweet bitterness of youth!
I will forget, one hour, that grief is deep,
And, singing, I will weep!

Margaret Steele Anderson

Margaret Steele Anderson was an American poet and author, born on October 8, 1867. She is known for her lyrical and expressive poetry, which often explores themes of nature, emotion, and personal reflection. Anderson's works include several published collections of poetry and prose that garnered critical acclaim during her lifetime. Though not as widely recognized today, her contributions to American literature remain significant. She passed away on October 7, 1921.

Margaret Steele Anderson

Odes Of A Boy.

Margaret Steele Anderson, Simple Poetry

The Violinist.

Margaret Steele Anderson, Simple Poetry

The Shepherd.

Margaret Steele Anderson, Simple Poetry

Childless.

Margaret Steele Anderson, Simple Poetry

English

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After Paul Verlaine

I

Il pleut doucement sur la ville.--RIMBAUD

Tears fall within mine heart,
As rain upon the town:
Whence does this languor start,
Possessing all mine heart?

O sweet fall of the rain
Upon the earth and roofs!
Unto an heart in pain,
O music of the rain!

Tears that have no reason
Fall in my sorry heart:
What! there was no treason?
This grief hath no reason.

Nay! the more desolate,
Because, I know not why,
(Neither for love nor hate)
Mine heart is desolate.


II

COLLOQUE SENTIMENTAL

Into the lonely park all frozen fast,
Awhile ago there were two forms who passed.

Lo, are their lips fallen and their eyes dead,
Hardly shall a man hear the words they said.

In...

Ernest Christopher Dowson

Margaret

I.
O sweet pale Margaret,
O rare pale Margaret,
What lit your eyes with tearful power,
Like moonlight on a falling shower?
Who lent you, love, your mortal dower
Of pensive thought and aspect pale,
Your melancholy sweet and frail
As perfume of the cuckoo-flower?
From the westward-winding flood,
From the evening-lighted wood,
From all things outward you have won
A tearful grace, as tho you stood
Between the rainbow and the sun.
The very smile before you speak,
That dimples your transparent cheek,
Encircles all the heart, and feedeth
The senses with a still delight
Of dainty sorrow without sound,
Like the tender amber round,
Which the moon about her spreadeth,
Moving thro a fleecy night.

II.
You love, remaining peacefull...

Alfred Lord Tennyson

The Tear.

O lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros
Ducentium ortus ex animo; quater
    Felix! in imo qui scatentem
        Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit. ^[1]

Gray, 'Alcaic Fragment'.



1.

When Friendship or Love
Our sympathies move;
When Truth, in a glance, should appear,
The lips may beguile,
With a dimple or smile,
But the test of affection's a Tear.


2.

Too oft is a smile
But the hypocrite's wile,
To mask detestation, or fear;
Give me the soft sigh,
Whilst the soul-telling eye
Is dimm'd, for a time, with a Tear.


3.

Mild Charity's glow,
To us mortals below,
Shows the soul from barbarity clear;
Compassion will melt,
Where this virtue is felt,
And its dew is...

George Gordon Byron

The Tear Sent To Her From Staines.

Glide, gentle streams, and bear
Along with you my tear
To that coy girl
Who smiles, yet slays
Me with delays,
And strings my tears as pearl.

See! see, she's yonder set,
Making a carcanet
Of maiden-flowers!
There, there present
This orient
And pendant pearl of ours.

Then say I've sent one more
Gem to enrich her store;
And that is all
Which I can send,
Or vainly spend,
For tears no more will fall.

Nor will I seek supply
Of them, the spring's once dry;
But I'll devise,
Among the rest,
A way that's best
How I may save mine eyes.

Yet say - should she condemn
Me to surrender them
Then say my part
Must be to weep
Out them, to keep
A poor, yet loving heart.

Say too, she...

Robert Herrick

To George Morgan, Esq. Of Norfolk, Virginia.

FROM BERMUDA, JANUARY, 1804.


Oh, what a sea of storm we've past!--
    High mountain waves and foamy showers,
And battling winds whose savage blast
    But ill agrees with one whose hours
    Have past in old Anacreon's bowers,
Yet think not poesy's bright charm
Forsook me in this rude alarm;^[1]--
When close they reefed the timid sail,
    When, every plank complaining loud,
We labored in the midnight gale;
And even our haughty mainmast bowed,
Even then, in that unlovely hour,
The Muse still brought her soothing power,
And, midst the war of waves and wind,
In song's Elysium lapt my mind.
Nay, when no numbers of my own
Responded to her wakening tone,
She opened, with her golden key,
    The casket where my memory lays
...

Thomas Moore

To Primroses Filled With Morning Dew

Why do ye weep, sweet babes? can tears
Speak grief in you,
Who were but born
just as the modest morn
Teem'd her refreshing dew?
Alas, you have not known that shower
That mars a flower,
Nor felt th' unkind
Breath of a blasting wind,
Nor are ye worn with years;
Or warp'd as we,
Who think it strange to see,
Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young,
To speak by tears, before ye have a tongue.

Speak, whimp'ring younglings, and make known
The reason why
Ye droop and weep;
Is it for want of sleep,
Or childish lullaby?
Or that ye have not seen as yet
The violet?
Or brought a kiss
From that Sweet-heart, to this?
No, no, this sorrow shown
By your tears shed,
Would have this lecture read,
That things of greatest, ...

Robert Herrick