If there were dreams to sell,
What would you buy?
Some cost a passing bell;
Some a light sigh,
That shakes from Life's fresh crown
Only a rose-leaf down.
If there were dreams to sell,
Merry and sad to tell,
And the crier rung the bell,
What would you buy
A cottage lone and still,
With bowers nigh,
Shadowy, my woes to still,
Until I die.
Such pearl from Life's fresh crown
Fain would I shake me down.
Were dreams to have at will,
This would best heal my ill,
This would I buy.
But there were dreams to sell
Ill didst thou buy ;
Life is a dream, they tell,
Waking, to die.
Dreaming a dream to prize,
Is wishing ghosts to rise;
And, if I had the spell
To call the buried well,
Which one would I?
If there are ghosts to raise,
What shall I call
Out of hell's murky haze,
Heaven's blue pall?
Raise my lov'd long-lost boy
To lead me to his joy.
There are no ghosts to raise ;
Out of death lead no ways;
Vain is the call.
Know'st thou not ghosts to sue?
No love thou hast.
Else lie, as I will do,
And breathe thy last.
So out of Life's fresh crown
Fall like a rose-leaf down.
Thus are the ghosts to woo;
Thus are all dreams made true,
Ever to last!
WHEN we were girl and boy together,
We toss'd about the flowers
And wreath'd the blushing hours
Into a posy green and sweet.
I sought the youngest, best,
And never was at rest
Till I had laid them at thy fairy feet.
But the days of childhood they were fleet,
And the blooming sweet-briar-breath'd
weather,
When we were boy and girl together.
Then we were lad and lass together,
And sought the kiss of night
Before we felt aright,
Sitting and singing soft and sweet.
The dearest thought of heart
With thee 't was joy to part,
And the greater half was thine, as meet.
Still my eyelid 's dewy, my veins they beat
At the starry summer-evening weather,
When we were lad and lass together.
And we are man and wife together,
Although thy breast, once bold
With song, be clos'd and cold
Beneath flowers' roots and birds' light feet.
Yet sit I by thy tomb,
And dissipate the gloom
With songs of loving faith and sorrow sweet. And fate and darkling grave kind dreams do cheat,
That, while fair life, young hope, despair and death are,
We're boy and girl, and lass and lad, and man and wife together.
TO SEA, TO SEA!
To sea, to sea! The calm is o'er ;
The wanton water leaps in sport,
And rattles down the pebbly shore;
The dolphin wheels, the sea-cows snort,
And unseen Mermaids' pearly song
Comes bubbling up, the weeds among.
Fling broad the sail, dip deep the oar:
To sea, to sea! the calm is o'er.
ATHULF'S DEATH SONG
A CYPRESS-BOUGH, and a rose-wreath sweet,
A wedding-robe, and a winding-sheet,
A bridal-bed and a bier.
Thine be the kisses, maid,
And smiling Love's alarms;
And thou, pale youth, be laid
In the grave's cold arms.
Each in his own charms,
Death and Hymen both are here;
So up with scythe and torch,
And to the old church porch,
While all the bells ring clear:
And rosy, rosy the bed shall bloom,
And earthy, earthy heap up the tomb
Now tremble dimples on your cheek,
Sweet be your lips to taste and speak,
For he who kisses is near:
Anon a wanton imp astray
His piteous moaning hears, And from his bosom steals away His rosary of tears:
With his plunder fled that urchin elf,
And hid it in your eyes;
Then tell me back the stolen pelf,
Give up the lawless prize;
Or your cry shall be ever, alack!
Alack, and woe is me!
LOVE GOES A-HAWKING
A Hо! A ho!
Love's horn doth blow,
And he will out a-hawking go. His shafts are light as beauty's sighs, And bright as midnight's brightest eyes,
And round his starry way
The swan-wing'd horses of the skies,
With summer's music in their manes,
Curve their fair necks to zephyr's reins,
And urge their graceful play.
A ho! A ho!
Love's horn doth blow,
And he will out a-hawking go.
The sparrows flutter round his wrist,
The feathery thieves that Venus kist
And taught their morning song,
The linnets seek the airy list,
And swallows too, small pets of Spring,
Beat back the gale with swifter wing,
And dart and wheel along.
A ho! A ho!
Love's horn doth blow,
And he will out a-hawking go.
Now woe to every gnat that skips
To filch the fruit of ladies' lips,
His felon blood is shed; And woe to flies, whose airy ships On beauty cast their anchoring bite, And bandit wasp, that naughty wight,
Whose sting is slaughter-red.
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