Close they breathed and yet were wrapt away Fresh their kisses fell, Cool with happiness, for happy things Solemn rolled the breezes overhead, For, like moss and briar, He had now no life of fret or fire, Silent with the silent Fays, With the windflowers, with the sweet-fern shootlets, With the leaf-green Presences of trees. After Soufrière. It is not grief or pain; But like the even dropping of the rain That thou art gone. It is not like a grave To weep upon; But like the rise and falling of a wave When the vessel's gone. It is like the sudden void Where the sun shone: It is neither grief nor pain, She Mingled Me Rue and Roses. SHE mingled me rue and roses, But the rue lives on, The bitter that lived with the sweet. Life will mingle you rue and roses; That their leaves bestrew The bitter will smell of the sweet. An Unfinished Picture. 'Tis Mary the milkmaid singing, A-singing, a-singing So rarely and sweet that the lark at her feet, Pure music of Mary singing. 'Tis Mary the milkmaid singing, So rarely and plain that a man in the lane 'Tis Richard the keeper whistling, A-whistling, a-whistling So rarely and clear for the milkmaid to hear! And she with a start puts her hand to her heart That leaps in the nest of that tremulous breast Beating time to the rollicking tune drawing near With Richard the keeper whistling. A Petition. ONCE in the daring days, Born out of strife, Gods of my fashioning Sprang into life Gods of high flight that scorn Death as he plods, Wonderful, winged and wild, Glittering gods! Yet were they weak as reeds, Only a woman's eyes, Then did a god in me, Youngest and fair, Bind me with luminous Tangles of hair; Drave me to roam at night Under the moon Even in June! Then in his treachery, Traitor and spy! Snared her away I loved, Left me to die. |