Why did you smile to his face, red Rose, A rose will bloom in a day. I gather your petals, Rose-red Rose, Dora Sigerson Shorter [18 AFFAIRE D'AMOUR ONE pale November day And growing bolder, O'er rosy shoulder Threw her lover such a glance That Autumn's heart began to dance. (O happy lover!) A leafless peach-tree bold Thought for him she smiled, I'm told; And, stirred by love, His sleeping sap did move, Decking each naked branch with green But Summer, laughing fled, Nor knew he loved her! 'Tis said The peach-tree sighed, And soon he gladly died: And Autumn, weary of the chase, Came on at Winter's sober pace (O careless lover!) Margaret Deland (1857 The Way of It 1049 A CASUAL SONG SHE sang of lovers met to play "Under the may bloom, under the may," I found the set face of Despair. She sang of woodland leaves in spring, But her young eyes were all one moan, And Death weighed on her heart like stone. I could not ask, I know not now, Roden Noel (1834-1894) THE WAY OF IT THE wind is awake, pretty leaves, pretty leaves, To the lowly clover He has lisped the same love (and forgotten it, too) The boy is abroad, pretty maid, pretty maid, Times many a score, Ay, he died for a dozen ere his beard pricked through, And the very same death he will die for you. The way of the boy is the way of the wind, And one to believe- That is the way of it, year to year; But I know you will learn it too late, my dear. John Vance Cheney [1848 "WHEN LOVELY WOMAN STOOPS TO FOLLY" From "The Vicar of Wakefield" WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly And finds too late that men betray,-- The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover Oliver Goldsmith [1728-1774] FOLK-SONG BACK she came through the trembling dusk; "What is it makes you late to-day, "Oh mother, my hen that never had chicks Has hatched out six!" Back she came through the flaming dusk; Back she came through the faltering dusk; And her mother spoke and said: "You are weeping; your footstep is heavy with care What makes you totter and cling to the stair, And why do you hang your head?" "Oh mother-oh mother-you never can knowI loved him so!" Louis Untermeyer [1885 "She Was Young and Blithe and Fair" 1051 A VERY OLD SONG "DAUGHTER, thou art come to die: Sound be thy sleeping, lass." "Well: without lament or cry, Mother, let me pass." "What things on mould were best of all? "Whom on earth hast thou loved best? "Him that shared with me thy breast; "What leavest thou of fame or hoard? "My far-blown shame for thy reward; "But what wilt leave thy lover, Grim? Mother, let me pass." William Laird [1888 "SHE WAS YOUNG AND BLITHE AND FAIR" SHE was young and blithe and fair, Yesterday beneath an oak, Wandering harmonies awoke; To-day without a song, without a word, She was young and blithe and fair, Perfect most of all her song. Harold Monro [1879 THE LASS THAT DIED OF LOVE LIFE is not dear or gay Till lovers kiss it, Love stole my life away Ere I might miss it. Ere June was over. I felt his body take My body to it, And knew my heart would break Ere I should rue it; June roses are not sad When dew-drops steep them, My moments were so glad I could not keep them. Proud was I love had made I shut my eyes and prayed The stars above him. |