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Little Kate.
Beside me, in the golden lightThat slants upon the floor,She twines the many-colored silksHer dimpled fingers o'er;Uplifting now and then her eye,Or praise or blame in mine to spy.For her sweet sake I've cast asideThe books I've loved so well,And given up my being toAffection's mighty spell;Ambition's visions vanish all,Before the music of her call.The fancy of the past, that lentTo jewels bright and rareAscendency at every birthIn this our planet's air,Hath to October's children givenThe opal with its hues of Heaven.The golden sunlight in the sky,The red leaf on the plain;Beneath the opal's changeful lightHope and Misfortune reign;And mid gay leaves of wondrous dyes,My darling first u...
Mary Gardiner Horsford
Numen Lumen.
I live with him, I see his face;I go no more awayFor visitor, or sundown;Death's single privacy,The only one forestalling mine,And that by right that hePresents a claim invisible,No wedlock granted me.I live with him, I hear his voice,I stand alive to-dayTo witness to the certaintyOf immortalityTaught me by Time, -- the lower way,Conviction every day, --That life like this is endless,Be judgment what it may.
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
A Love Song
I gave her a rose in early June,Fed with the sun and the dew,Each petal I said is a note in the tune,The rose is the whole tune through and through,The tune is the whole red-hearted rose,Flush and form, honey and hue,Lull with the cadence and throb to the close,I love you, I love you, I love you.She gave me a rose in early June,Fed with the sun and the dew,Each petal she said is a mount in the moon,The rose is the whole moon through and through,The moon is the whole pale-hearted rose,Round and radiance, burnish and blue,Break in the flood-tide that murmurs and flows,I love you, I love you, I love you.This is our love in early June,Fed with the sun and the dew,Moonlight and roses hid in a tune,The roses are music th...
Duncan Campbell Scott
Translations Of The Italian Poems
IFair Lady, whose harmonious name the Rheno Through all his grassy vale delights to hear, Base were, indeed, the wretch, who could forbear To love a spirit elegant as thine,That manifests a sweetness all divine, Nor knows a thousand winning acts to spare, And graces, which Love's bow and arrows are, Temp'ring thy virtues to a softer shine.When gracefully thou speak'st, or singest gay Such strains as might the senseless forest move, Ah then--turn each his eyes and ears away,Who feels himself unworthy of thy love! Grace can alone preserve him, e'er the dart Of fond desire yet reach his inmost heart.IIAs on a hill-top rude, when closing day Imbrowns the scene, some past'ral maiden fair...
William Cowper
Sonnet--In February
Rich meanings of the prophet-Spring adorn, Unseen, this colourless sky of folded showers, And folded winds; no blossom in the bowers.A poet's face asleep is this grey morn.Now in the midst of the old world forlorn A mystic child is set in these still hours. I keep this time, even before the flowers,Sacred to all the young and the unborn;To all the miles and miles of unsprung wheat, And to the Spring waiting beyond the portal, And to the future of my own young art,And, among all these things, to you, my sweet, My friend, to your calm face and the immortal Child tarrying all your life-time in your heart.
Alice Christiana Thompson Meynell
Rosy Hannah.
A Spring o'erhung with many a flow'r,The grey sand dancing in its bed,Embank'd beneath a Hawthorn bower,Sent forth its waters near my head:A rosy Lass approach'd my view;I caught her blue eye's modest beam:The stranger nodded 'How d'ye do!'And leap'd across the infant stream.The water heedless pass'd away:With me her glowing image stay'd.I strove, from that auspicious day,To meet and bless the lovely Maid.I met her where beneath our feetThrough downy Moss the Wild-Thyme grew;Nor Moss elastic, flow'rs though sweet,Match'd Hannah's cheek of rosy hue.I met her where the dark Woods wave,And shaded verdure skirts the plain;And when the pale Moon rising gaveNew glories to her cloudy train.From her sweet Cot upon th...
Robert Bloomfield
To Sarah.
I.One happy year has fled, Sall,Since you were all my own,The leaves have felt the autumn blight,The wintry storm has blown.We heeded not the cold blast,Nor the winter's icy air;For we found our climate in the heart,And it was summer there.II.The summer's sun is bright, Sall,The skies are pure in hue;But clouds will sometimes sadden them,And dim their lovely blue;And clouds may come to us, Sall,But sure they will not stay;For there's a spell in fond heartsTo chase their gloom away.III.In sickness and in sorrowThine eyes were on me still,And there was comfort in each glanceTo charm the sense of ill.And were they absent now, Sall,I'd seek my bed of pain,And bless ...
Joseph Rodman Drake
Song
I would not feign a single sighNor weep a single tear for thee:The soul within these orbs burns dry;A desert spreads where love should be.I would not be a worm to crawlA writhing suppliant in thy way;For love is life, is heaven, and allThe beams of an immortal day.For sighs are idle things and vain,And tears for idiots vainly fall.I would not kiss thy face againNor round thy shining slippers crawl.Love is the honey, not the bee,Nor would I turn its sweets to gallFor all the beauty found in thee,Thy lily neck, rose cheek, and all.I would not feign a single taleThy kindness or thy love to seek;Nor sigh for Jenny of the Vale,Her ruby smile or rosy cheek.I would not have a pain to ownFor those dark curls an...
John Clare
To Phoebe
"Gentle, modest little flower,Sweet epitome of May,Love me but for half an hour,Love me, love me, little fay."Sentences so fiercely flamingIn your tiny shell-like ear,I should always be exclaimingIf I loved you, PHOEBE dear."Smiles that thrill from any distanceShed upon me while I sing!Please ecstaticize existence,Love me, oh, thou fairy thing!"Words like these, outpouring sadlyYou'd perpetually hear,If I loved you fondly, madly;But I do not, PHOEBE dear.
William Schwenck Gilbert
Song.
[1]Mary, I believed thee true, And I was blest in thus believingBut now I mourn that e'er I knew A girl so fair and so deceiving. Fare thee well.Few have ever loved like me,-- Yes, I have loved thee too sincerely!And few have e'er deceived like thee.-- Alas! deceived me too severely.Fare thee well!--yet think awhile On one whose bosom bleeds to doubt thee:Who now would rather trust that smile, And die with thee than live without thee.Fare thee well! I'll think of thee. Thou leavest me many a bitter token;For see, distracting woman, see, My peace is gone, my heart is broken!-- Fare thee well!
Thomas Moore
Her Voice
The wild bee reels from bough to boughWith his furry coat and his gauzy wing,Now in a lily-cup, and nowSetting a jacinth bell a-swing,In his wandering;Sit closer love: it was here I trowI made that vow,Swore that two lives should be like oneAs long as the sea-gull loved the sea,As long as the sunflower sought the sun,It shall be, I said, for eternity'Twixt you and me!Dear friend, those times are over and done;Love's web is spun.Look upward where the poplar treesSway and sway in the summer air,Here in the valley never a breezeScatters the thistledown, but thereGreat winds blow fairFrom the mighty murmuring mystical seas,And the wave-lashed leas.Look upward where the white gull screams,What do...
Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde
Love In Youth And Age. Second Reading.
Tornami al tempo.Bring back the time when glad desire ran free With bit and rein too loose to curb his flight, The tears and flames that in one breast unite, If thou art fain once more to conquer me!Bring back those journeys ta'en so toilsomely, So toilsome-slow to him whose hairs are white! Give back the buried face once angel-bright, That taxed all Nature's art and industry.O Love! an old man finds it hard to chase Thy flying pinions! Thou hast left thy nest; Nor is my heart as light as heretofore.Put thy gold arrows to the string once more: Then if Death hear my prayer and grant me grace, My grief I shall forget, again made blest.
Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni
Fly from the world, O Bessy! to me, Thou wilt never find any sincerer;I'll give up the world, O Bessy! for thee, I can never meet any that's dearer.Then tell me no more, with a tear and a sigh, That our loves will be censured by many;All, all have their follies, and who will deny That ours is the sweetest of any?When your lip has met mine, in communion so sweet, Have we felt as if virtue forbid it?--Have we felt as if heaven denied them to meet?-- No, rather 'twas heaven that did it.So innocent, love, is the joy we then sip, So little of wrong is there in it,That I wish all my errors were lodged on your lip, And I'd kiss them away in a minute.Then come to your lover, oh! fly to his shed, From a world...
Love Is Strong As Death.
"I have not sought Thee, I have not found Thee,I have not thirsted for Thee:And now cold billows of death surround me,Buffeting billows of death astound me, -Wilt Thou look upon, wilt Thou seeThy perishing me?""Yea, I have sought thee, yea, I have found thee,Yea, I have thirsted for thee,Yea, long ago with love's bands I bound thee:Now the Everlasting Arms surround thee, -Through death's darkness I look and seeAnd clasp thee to Me."
Christina Georgina Rossetti
A Birthday
My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a watered shoot;My heart is like an apple-tree Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit;My heart is like a rainbow shell That paddles in a halcyon sea;My heart is gladder than all these Because my love is come to me.Raise me a dais of silk and down; Hang it with vair and purple dyes;Carve it in doves, and pomegranates, And peacocks with a hundred eyes;Work it in gold and silver grapes, In leaves, and silver fleurs-de-lys;Because the birthday of my life Is come, my love is come to me.
To A Young Lady.
Short is the time, my friend, since IFirst heard thy voice, first saw thy face,And yet, the days in gliding by,Have left within my mind a trace--A friendly trace of thee and thine,Which I am sure will long remainWithin my heart, to cheer and shineWith other joys, to lessen pain.It is my hope, also, that thouMay, in thy heart, and on thy tongue,Have thoughts and words for him, who nowIs yours so friendly, T. F. Young.
Thomas Frederick Young
To Laura In Death. Sonnet LXIX.
Dolce mio caro e prezioso pegno.HE PRAYS HER TO APPEAR BEFORE HIM IN A VISION. Dear precious pledge, by Nature snatch'd away,But yet reserved for me in realms undying;O thou on whom my life is aye relying,Why tarry thus, when for thine aid I pray?Time was, when sleep could to mine eyes conveySweet visions, worthy thee;--why is my sighingUnheeded now?--who keeps thee from replying?Surely contempt in heaven cannot stay:Often on earth the gentlest heart is fainTo feed and banquet on another's woe(Thus love is conquer'd in his own domain),But thou, who seest through me, and dost knowAll that I feel,--thou, who canst soothe my pain,Oh! let thy blessed shade its peace bestow.WROTTESLEY.
Francesco Petrarca
Roses Of June.
She sat in the cottage door, and the fair June moon looked downOn a face as pure as its own, an innocent face and sweetAs the roses dewy white that grow so thick at her feet,White royal roses, fit for a monarch's crown.And one is clasped in her slender hand, and one on her bosom lies,And two rare blushing buds loop up her light brown hair,Ah, roses of June, you never looked on a face so white and fair,Such perfectly moulded lips, such sweet and heavenly eyes.This low-walled home is dear to her, she has come to it to-dayFrom the lordly groves of her palace home afar,But not to stay; there's a light on her brow like the light of a star,And her eyes are looking beyond the earth, far, far away.She was born in this cottage home, the sweetest rosebud of sp...
Marietta Holley