As if I had lived it or dreamed it, And yet, could I live it over, This life that stirs in my brain, Could I be both maiden and lover, Moon and tide, bee and clover, As I seem to have been, once again, This pleasure more sharp than pain, The world should once more have a poet, Such as it had In the ages glad, Long ago! James Russell Lowell [1819-1891] AN IMMORALITY SING we for love and idleness, Naught else is worth the having. And I would rather have my sweet, To pass all men's believing. Ezra Pound [1885 THREE SEASONS "A CUP for hope!" she said, In springtime ere the bloom was old: "A cup for love!" how low, The Old Familiar Faces "A cup for memory!" Cold cup that one must drain alone: While autumn winds are up and moan Hope, memory, love: Hope for fair morn, and love for day, 453 Christina Georgina Rossetti [1830-1894] THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES I HAVE had playmates, I have had companions, I have been laughing, I have been carousing, I loved a Love once, fairest among women: I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man: Ghost-like, I paced round the haunts of my childhood. Earth seemed a desert I was bound to traverse, Seeking to find the old familiar faces. Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother, How some they have died, and some they have left me, And some are taken from me; all are departed,+ All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. Charles Lamb [1775-1834] THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS Ere Slumber's chain hath bound me, Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken; The eyes that shone, Now dimmed and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken! Thus in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain hath bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. When I remember all The friends, so linked together, I've seen around me fall, Like leaves in wintry weather, I feel like one Who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, Whose garlands dead, Ere Slumber's chain hath bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. Thomas Moore [1779-1852] TEARS, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair The Pet Name Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The casement slowly grows a glimmering square; Dear as remembered kisses after death, 455 Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] THE PET NAME the name Which from their lips seemed a caress." ---MISS MILFORD'S “DRAMATIC SCENES " Though I write books, it will be read Upon the leaves of none, And afterward, when I am dead, Will ne'er be graved for sight or tread, Across my funeral-stone. This name, whoever chance to call, Is there a leaf, that greenly grows Is there a word, or jest, or game, Assumes a mournful sound. My brother gave that name to me No shade was on us then, save one Of chestnuts from the hill; And through the word our laugh did run As part thereof: the mirth being done, He calls me by it still. Nay, do not smile! I hear in it What none of you can hear, The talk upon the willow seat, I hear the birthday's noisy bliss |