Puslapio vaizdai
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1877.

Sing flutes of harvest
Where men rejoice ;
Sing rounds of reapers,—
And my Love's voice.

But when comes Winter
With hail and storm,

And red fire roaring

And ingle warm,—

Sing first sad going

Of friends that part;

Then sing glad meeting,-
And my Love's heart.

W

TO A GREEK GIRL

ITH breath of thyme and bees that hum,

Across the years you seem to come,— Across the years with nymph-like head, And wind-blown brows unfilleted; A girlish shape that slips the bud In lines of unspoiled symmetry; A girlish shape that stirs the blood With pulse of Spring, Autonoë!

Where'er you pass,-where'er you go,
I hear the pebbly rillet flow;
Where'er you go,—where'er you pass,
There comes a gladness on the grass;
You bring blithe airs where'er you tread,—
Blithe airs that blow from down and sea ;
You wake in me a Pan not dead,—

Not wholly dead!—Autonoë!

How sweet with you on some green sod
To wreath the rustic garden-god;
How sweet beneath the chestnut's shade
With you to weave a basket-braid;

To watch across the stricken chords
Your rosy-twinkling fingers flee ;
To woo you in soft woodland words,
With woodland pipe, Autonoë!

In vain,—in vain! The years divide :
Where Thamis rolls a murky tide,
I sit and fill my painful reams,
And see you only in my dreams ;--
A vision, like Alcestis, brought

From under-lands of Memory,-

A dream of Form in days of Thought,A dream,-a dream, Autonoë!

1875.

THE SICK MAN AND THE BIRDS

SPRING

ÆGROTUS.

PRING,—art thou come, O Spring!
I am too sick for words;

How hast thou heart to sing,

O Spring, with all thy birds?

MERULA.

I sing for joy to see again

The merry leaves along the lane,
The little bud grown ripe ;

And look, my love upon the bough !
Hark, how she calleth to me now,-

"Pipe! pipe!"

ÆGROTUS.

Ah! weary is the sun :

Love is an idle thing;
But, Bird, thou restless one,
What ails thee, wandering?

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