Chapter 9

Let us go hence, go hence; she will not see. Sing all once more together; surely she, She too, remembering days and words that were, Will turn a little towards us, sighing; but we, We are hence, we are gone, as though we had not been there. Nay, and though all men seeing had pity on me, She would not see.

Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909]

A LYRIC

There's nae lark loves the lift, my dear, There's nae ship loves the sea, There's nae bee loves the heather-bells, That loves as I love thee, my love, That loves as I love thee.

The whin shines fair upon the fell, The blithe broom on the lea: The muirside wind is merry at heart: It's a' for love of thee, my love, It's a' for love of thee.

Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909]

MAUREEN

O, you plant the pain in my heart with your wistful eyes, Girl of my choice, Maureen! Will you drive me mad for the kisses your shy, sweet mouth denies, Maureen?

Like a walking ghost I am, and no words to woo, White rose of the West, Maureen: For it's pale you are, and the fear on you is over me too, Maureen!

Sure it's one complaint that's on us, asthore, this day, Bride of my dreams, Maureen: The smart of the bee that stung us his honey must cure, they say, Maureen!

I'll coax the light to your eyes, and the rose to your face, Mavourneen, my own Maureen! When I feel the warmth of your breast, and your nest is my arm's embrace, Maureen!

O where was the King o' the World that day - only me? My one true love, Maureen! And you the Queen with me there, and your throne in my heart, machree, Maureen!

John Todhunter [1839-?]

A LOVE SYMPHONY

Along the garden ways just now I heard the flowers speak; The white rose told me of your brow, The red rose of your cheek; The lily of your bended head, The bindweed of your hair; Each looked its loveliest and said You were more fair.

I went into the wood anon, And heard the wild birds sing, How sweet you were, they warbled on, Piped, trilled, the selfsame thing. Thrush, blackbird, linnet, without pause The burden did repeat, And still began again because You were more sweet.

And then I went down to the sea, And heard it murmuring too, Part of an ancient mystery, All made of me and you: How many a thousand years ago I loved, and you were sweet - Longer I could not stay, and so I fled back to your feet.

Arthur O'Shaughnessy [1844-1881]

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.