Chapter 8

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.