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

grew,
For all reply.
But you! If 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
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 ?

me ?

All would have answer'd had you an

swer'd then With even a sigh.

of me,

Philip Bourke Marston
A GREETING

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'S MUSIC

LOVE held a harp between his hands, and, A VAIN WISH

lo!

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'a Thou shouldst not, love, forget me utterly ; As made the heart with happy tears o'erYea, when the sultry stars of summer shine

flow;

MORNING

DAWN

Then sad and wild did that strange music

The Rose
grow,
And, - like the wail of woods by storm

Already my flush'd heart grows faint with

bliss ;
gusts sway'd,
While yet the awful thunder's wrath is

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

night.
And earth lies faint beneath the coming

The Wind
blow,
Still wilder wax'd the tune ; until at length

And I to kiss your petals warm and bright.
The strong strings, strain’d by sudden stress

The Rose
and sharp
Of that musician's hand intolerable,

Laugh round me, Love, and kiss me ; it is

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
THE ROSE AND THE WIND

'Twas dawn when first you came ; and

now the sun

Shines brightly and the dews of dawn are The Rose

done. WHEN, think you, comes the Wind, 'Tis well you take me so in your embrace ; The Wind that kisses me and is But lay me back again into my place, kind ?

For I am worn, perhaps with bliss extreme. Lo, how the Lily sleeps ! her sleep is light;

The Wind Would I were like the Lily, pale and Nay, you must wake, Love, from this childwhite !

ish dream.
Will the Wind come ?

The Rose
The Beech

'T is you, Love, who seem changed ; your Perchance for you too soon.

laugh is loud,

And 'neath your stormy kiss my head is
The Rose

bow'd.
If not, how could I live until the noon ? O Love, O Wind, a space will you not spare ?
What, think you, Beech-tree, makes the
Wind delay?

The Wind
Why comes he not at breaking of the day ?

Not while your petals are so soft and fair.
The Beech

The Rose
Hush, child, and, like the Lily, go to sleep.

My buds are blind with leaves, they cannot

see,
The Rose
You know I cannot.

O Love, O Wind, will you not pity me?

SO

EVENING

The Beech

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

kiss.

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

blow.

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

Do they know of the change that awaits

them,
The sepulchre vast and strange ?
Do they long for the days to go over,
And bring that miraculous change ?
Or love they their night with no moonlight,
With no starlight, no dawn to its gloom ?
Do they sigh : “ 'Neath the snow, or the

bloom
Of the wild things that wave from our

night, We are warm, through winter and summer ; We hear the winds rave, and we say : • The storm-wind blows over our heads, But we here are out of its way'"?

may tell

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,

ters,
When the winter's anger is all but fled ; That people the bright sea-regions
The high, sweet voice of the west wind, And play with the young sea-kings ?
The fall of the warm, soft rain,

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 have lain for so long there together ? In violent weather
Do they hear the note of the cuckoo, Shall come down to them, haply, and all
The cry of gulls on the wing,

They shall lie there together.
The laughter of winds and waters,
The feet of the dancing Spring ?

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.

said ;

It was the strangest, subtlest, sweetest “Softly through the snow we settle,
sound :

Little snow-drops press each petal.
It seem'd above me, seem'd

upon

the Oh, the snow is kind and white,
ground,

Soft it is, and very light ;
Then swiftly seem'd to eddy round and Soon we shall be where no light is,
round,

But where sleep is, and where night is, –
Till I said : “ To-night the air is Sleep of every wind unshaken,
Surely full of garden fairies."

Till our Summer bids us waken.”
And all at once it seem'd I grew aware Then toward some far-off goal that singing
That little, shining presences were there,

drew;
White shapes and red shapes danced upon Then altogether ceas'd ; more steely blue
the air ;

The blue stars shone ; but in my spirit grew
Then a peal of silver laughter,

Hope of Summer, love of Roses,
And such singing followed after

Certainty that Sorrow closes.
As none of you, I think, have ever heard.

LOVE AND MUSIC
More soft it was than call of any bird,
Note after note, exquisitely deferr'd, I LISTEN'd to the music broad and deep :

Soft as dew-drops when they settle I heard the tenor in an ecstasy
In a fair flower's open petal.

Touch the sweet, distant goal; I heard the

cry
"What are these fairies ?” to myself I Of prayer and passion ; and I heard the

sweep
For answer, then, as from a garden's bed, Of mighty wings, that in their waving keep
On the cold air a sudden scent was shed, The music that the spheres make end-
Scent of lilies, scent of roses,

lessly;
Scent of Summer's sweetest posies. Then my cheek shiver'd, tears made blind
And said a small, sweet voice within my ear : As flame to flame I felt the quick blood leap,
"We flowers, that sleep through winter, And, through the tides and moonlit winds

of sound,
Are by our flower queen sent to visit here, To me love's passionate voice grew

audible. That this fact may duly flout us,

Again I felt thy heart to my heart bound, Gardens can look fair without us. Then silence on the viols and voices fell ;

But, like the still, small voice within a shell, A

very little time we have to play, I heard Love thrilling through the void Then must we go, oh, very far away,

profound.
And sleep again for many a long, long day,
Till the glad birds sing above us,

NO DEATH
And the warm sun comes to love us.

I saw in dreams a mighty multitude,“Hark what the roses sing now, as we go ;"

Gather'd, they seem'd, from North, South,
Then
very sweet and soft, and very low,

East, and West,
A dream of sound across the garden snow,

And in their looks such horror was exprest
Came the chime of roses singing

As must forever words of mine elude. To the lily-bell's faint ringing.

As if transfix'd by grief, some silent stood,

While others wildly smote upon the breast, ROSES' SONG

And cried out fearfully, “ No rest, no “Softly sinking through the snow,

rest!” To our winter rest we go,

Some fled, as if by shapes unseen pursued. Underneath the snow to nouse

Some laugh'd insanely. Others, shrieking, Till the birds be in the boughs,

said : And the boughs with leaves be fair,

“ To think but yesterday we might have And the sun shine everywhere.

mine eye ;

once a year

died ;