Puslapio vaizdai
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HAS summer come without the rose,
Or left the bird behind?

Is the blue changed above thee,

O world! or am I blind?

Will you change every flower that grows,
Or only change this spot,
Where she who said, I love thee,
Now says, I love thee not?

The skies seem'd true above thee,

The rose true on the tree;

The bird seem'd true the summer through,
But all prov'd false to me.
World, is there one good thing in you,
Life, love, or death or what?
Since lips that sang, I love thee,

Have said, I love thee not?

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Two or three to carry away.

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IF SHE BUT KNEW

If she but knew that I am weeping
Still for her sake,

That love and sorrow grow with keeping
Till they must break,

My heart that breaking will adore her,
Be hers and die ;

If she might hear me once implore her,
Would she not sigh?

If she but knew that it would save me
Her voice to hear,

Saying she pitied me, forgave me,

Must she forbear?

If she were told that I was dying,
Would she be dumb?

Could she content herself with sighing?
Would she not come ?

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Some little sorrow for a soul's decline.
Yea, too, I would that through thy brightest
times,

Like the sweet burden of remember'd
rhymes,

That gentle sadness should be with thee, dear;

And when the gates of sleep are on thee

shut,

"Within the palaces of slumber keep One little niche wherein sometimes to weep For one who vainly toils till he shall die!" Yet say again, a sweeter thing than this : "His life is wasted by his love for thee." Then, looking o'er the fields of memory, She'll find perchance, o'ergrown with grief But murmur, shell-like, at thy spirit's ear.

and bliss,

Some flower of recollection, pale and fair,
That she, through pity, for a day may wear.

A VAIN WISH

I WOULD not, could I, make thy life as
mine;

Only I would, if such a thing might be,
Thou shouldst not, love, forget me utterly;
Yea, when the sultry stars of summer shine

I would not, even then, it should be mute,

LOVE'S MUSIC

LOVE held a harp between his hands, and,

lo!

The master hand, upon the harp-strings laid

By way of prelude, such a sweet tune play'd'

As made the heart with happy tears o'erflow;

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Still wilder wax'd the tune; until at length The strong strings, strain'd by sudden stress and sharp

Of that musician's hand intolerable,

The Rose

Already my flush'd heart grows faint with bliss;

Love, I have long'd for you through all the night.

The Wind

And I to kiss your petals warm and bright.
The Rose

Laugh round me, Love, and kiss me ;
well.

And jarr'd by sweep of unrelenting strength, Nay, have no fear, the Lily will not tell.

Sunder'd, and all the broken music fell. Such was Love's music,-lo, the shatter'd harp!

THE ROSE AND THE WIND

DAWN

The Rose

WHEN, think you, comes the Wind,

The Wind that kisses me and is so kind?

Lo, how the Lily sleeps! her sleep is light;

MORNING

The Rose

it is

'Twas dawn when first you came; and

now the sun

Shines brightly and the dews of dawn are
done.

'Tis well you take me so in your embrace;
But lay me back again into my place,
For I am worn, perhaps with bliss extreme.
The Wind

Would I were like the Lily, pale and Nay, you must wake, Love, from this child

white!

Will the Wind come?

The Beech

Perchance for you too soon.
The Rose

If not, how could I live until the noon?
What, think you, Beech-tree, makes the
Wind delay?

Why comes he not at breaking of the day?

The Beech

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Hush, child, and, like the Lily, go to sleep. My buds are blind with leaves, they cannot

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HOW MY SONG OF HER BEGAN

GOD made my lady lovely to behold, Above the painter's dream he set her face, And wrought her body in divinest grace; He touch'd the brown hair with a sense of gold;

And in the perfect form He did enfold What was alone as perfect, the sweet heart; Knowledge most rare to her He did impart ; And fill'd with love and worship all her days.

And then God thought Him how it would be well

To give her music; and to Love He said, "Bring thou some minstrel now that he may tell

How fair and sweet a thing My hands have made."

Then at Love's call I came, bow'd down my head,

And at His will my lyre grew audible.

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