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I rais'd my eyes to heaven; my prayer
went high Into the luminous mystery of the blue ; My thought of God was purer than a
flame, And God it seem'd a little nearer came, Then pass’d ; and greater still the silence
l grew, For all reply. But you! If I can speak before I die, I spoke to you with all my soul, and
when I look at you 't is still my soul you see. Oh, in your heart was there no word for
IF SHE BUT KNEW
Still for her sake,
Till they must break,
Be hers and die ;
Would she not sigh ?
Her voice to hear,
Must she forbear?
Would she be dumb ?
Would she not come ?
All would have answer'd had you an
swer'd then With even a sigh.
Philip Bourke Marston
On dreaming woods, where nightingales
repine, Rise up, my song ! stretch forth thy wings I would that at such times should come to and fly
thee With no delaying, over shore and deep ! Some thought not quite unmix'd with pain, Be with my lady when she wakes from sleep;
Some little sorrow for a soul's decline. Touch her with kisses softly on each Yea, too, I would that through thy brightest eye ;
times, And say, before she puts her dreaming Like the sweet burden of remember'd by :
rhymes, “Within the palaces of slumber keep That gentle sadness should be with thee, One little niche wherein sometimes to weep
dear ; For one who vainly toils till he shall die !" And when the gates of sleep are on thee Yet say again, a sweeter thing than this :
shut, “ His life is wasted by his love for thee." I would not, even then, it should be Then, looking o'er the fields of memory,
mute, 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.
LOVE held a harp between his hands, and, A VAIN WISH
The master hand, upon the harp-strings I WOULD not, could I, make thy life as
laid mine ;
By way of prelude, such a sweet tune Only I would, if such a thing might be,
play'd Thou shouldst not, love, forget me utterly ; As made the heart with happy tears o'erYea, when the sultry stars of summer shine
The Rose 'T was 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 Nay, you must wake, Love, from this child
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; Would I were like the Lily, pale and
Wind delay? Why comes he not at breaking of the day?
The Beech Hush, child, and, like the Lily, go to sleep.
The Rose You know I cannot.
Nay, then, do not weep.
(After a pause) Your lover comes, be happy now,
O Rose ! He softly through my bending branches
goes. Soon he shall come, and you shall feel his
The Rose 'Tis you, Love, who seem changed ; your
laugh is loud, And 'neath your stormy kiss my head is
bow'd. O Love, O Wind, a space will you not spare ?
The Wind Not while your petals are so soft and fair.
The Rose My buds are blind with leaves, they cannot
see, O Love, O Wind, will you not pity me?
The Beech O Wind, a word with you before you pass ; What did you to the Rose that on the grass Broken she lies and pale, who lov'd you so ?
The Wind Roses must live and love, and winds must
HOW MY SONG OF HER BEGAN Do they know of the change that awaits
them, God made my lady lovely to behold, The sepulchre vast and strange ? Above the painter's dream he set her face, Do they long for the days to go over, And wrought her body in divinest grace ; And bring that miraculous change ? He touch'd the brown hair with a sense of gold ;
Or love they their night with no moonlight, And in the perfect form He did enfold With no starlight, no dawn to its gloom ? What was alone as perfect, the sweet heart ; Do they sigh : “ 'Neath the snow, or the Knowledge most rare to her He did impart ;
bloom And fill'd with love and worship all her Of the wild things that wave from our days.
night, And then God thought Him how it would We are warm, through winter and summer ; be well
We hear the winds rave, and we say : To give her music; and to Love He said, • The storm-wind blows over our heads, “ Bring thou some minstrel now that he But we here are out of its way'”? How fair and sweet a thing My hands have Do they mumble low, one to another, made."
With a sense that the waters that thunder Then at Love's call I came, bow'd down Shall ingather them all, draw them under: my head,
“Ah, how long to our moving, my brother ? And at His will my lyre grew audible. How long shall we quietly rest here,
In graves of darkness and ease ?
The waves, even now, may be on us, THE OLD CHURCHYARD OF To draw us down under the seas !" BONCHURCH
Do they think 't will be cold when the waters The churchyard leans to the sea with its That they love not, that neither can love dead,
them, It leans to the sea with its dead so long. Shall eternally thunder above them? Do they hear, I wonder, the first bird's Have they dread of the sea's shining daughsong,
Have they dread of their cold embraces, When the second month of the year And dread of all strange sea-things ? Puts heart in the earth again ?
But their dread or their joy,- it is bootless : Do they hear, through the glad April | They shall pass from the breast of their weather,
mother ; The green grasses waving above them ? They shall lie low, dead brother by brother, Do they think there are none left to love In a place that is radiant and fruitless ; them,
And the folk that sail over their heads
They shall lie there together.
GARDEN FAIRIES Do they feel the old land slipping sea- KEEN was the air, the sky was very light, ward,
Soft with shed snow my garden was, and The old land, with its hills and its graves,
white, As they gradually slide to the waves, And, walking there, I heard upon the night With the wind blowing on them from lea- Sudden sound of little voices, ward ?
Just the prettiest of noises.