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SUNKEN GOLD

IN dim green depths rot ingot-laden ships; And gold doubloons, that from the drowned hand fell,

Lie nestled in the ocean-flower's bell With love's old gifts, once kissed by longdrowned lips;

And round some wrought gold cup the seagrass whips,

And hides lost pearls, near pearls still in their shell,

Where sea-weed forests fill each ocean dell

And seek dim sunlight with their restless tips.

So lie the wasted gifts, the long-lost hopes Beneath the now hushed surface of myself, In lonelier depths than where the diver

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Proclaims its stormy parents; and we hear The faint far murmur of the breaking flood. We hear the sea. The sea? It is the blood

In our own veins, impetuous and near,
And pulses keeping pace with hope and
fear

And with our feelings' every shifting mood.
Lo, in my heart I hear, as in a shell,
The murmur of a world beyond the grave,
Distinct, distinct, though faint and far it be.
Thou fool; this echo is a cheat as well, -
The hum of earthly instincts; and we

crave

A world unreal as the shell-heard sea.

A FLIGHT FROM GLORY

ONCE, from the parapet of gems and glow, An Angel said, "O God, the heart grows cold

On these eternal battlements of gold, Where all is pure, but cold as virgin snow.

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WHAT THE SONNET IS

FOURTEEN small broidered berries on the hem

Of Circe's mantle, each of magic gold; Fourteen of lone Calypso's tears that rolled

Into the sea, for pearls to come of them; Fourteen clear signs of omen in the gem With which Medea human fate foretold; Fourteen small drops, which Faustus, growing old,

Craved of the Fiend, to water Life's dry stem.

It is the pure white diamond Dante brought

To Beatrice; the sapphire Laura wore When Petrarch cut it sparkling out of thought;

The ruby Shakespeare hewed from his heart's core;

The dark, deep emerald that Rossetti wrought

For his own soul, to wear for evermore.

ON HIS "SONNETS OF THE WINGLESS HOURS"

I WROUGHT them like a targe of hammered gold

On which all Troy is battling round and round;

Or Circe's cup, embossed with snakes that wound

Through buds and myrtles, fold on scaly fold;

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With toys and painted fruit.

A blade of grass in a rocky cleft;
A single star to shine.

Why should I sorrow if all be lost,
If only thou art mine?

To-day she may be speeding on bright If only a single bluebell gleams

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Bright on the barren heath,

Still of that flower the Summer dreams, Not of his August wreath.

– Why should I sorrow if thou art mine, Love, beyond change and death?

If only once on a wintry day

The sun shines forth in the blue, He gladdens the groves till they laugh as in May

And dream of the touch of the dew. - Why should I sorrow if all be false, If only thou art true?

THE OLD MAID

SHE gave her life to love. She never knew What other women give their all to gain. Others were fickle. She was passing true. She gave pure love, and faith without a stain.

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PROUD and lowly, beggar and lord,
Over the bridge they go;
Rags and velvet, fetter and sword,
Poverty, pomp, and woe.
Laughing, weeping, hurrying ever,
Hour by hour they crowd along,
While, below, the mighty river
Sings them all a mocking song.

Hurry along, sorrow and song,
All is vanity 'neath the sun;
Velvet and rags, so the world wags,
Until the river no more shall run.

Dainty, painted, powdered and gay,
Rolleth my lady by ;
Rags-and-tatters, over the way,
Carries a heart as high.

Flowers and dreams from country mea

dows,

Dust and din through city skies,

Old men creeping with their shadows,
Children with their sunny eyes,-
Hurry along, sorrow and song,

All is vanity 'neath the sun;
Velvet and rags, so the world wags,
Until the river no more shall run.

Storm and sunshine, peace and strife,
Over the bridge they go;

Floating on in the tide of life,

Whither no man shall know. Who will miss them there to-morrow, Waifs that drift to the shade or sun? Gone away with their songs and sorrow; Only the river still flows on.

NANCY LEE

Of all the wives as e'er you know,
Yeo-ho! lads ho! Yeo-ho! Yeo-ho!
There's none like Nancy Lee, I trow,
Yeo-ho! lads ho! Yeo-ho!

See there she stands an' waves her hands upon the quay,

And ev'ry day when I'm away, she 'll watch for me,

An' whisper low, when tempests blow for Jack at Sea,

Yeo-ho! lads ho! Yeo-ho!

The sailor's wife the sailor's star shall

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The boa's'n pipes the watch below,

Yeo-ho! lads ho! Yeo-ho! Yeo-ho! Then here's a health afore we go,

Yeo-ho! lads ho! Yeo-ho!

A long long life to my sweet wife and mates at sea;

An' keep our bones from Davy Jones where'er we be,

An' may you meet a mate as sweet as Nancy Lee;

Yeo-ho! lads ho! Yeo-ho!

The sailor's wife the sailor's star shall be,

Yeo-ho! we go across the sea;

The sailor's wife the sailor's star shall be,

The sailor's wife his star shall be.

A BIRD IN THE HAND

THERE were three young maids of Lee,
They were fair as fair can be,
And they had lovers three times three,
For they were fair as fair can be,
These three young maids of Lee.
But these young maids they cannot find
A lover each to suit her mind;
The plain-spoke lad is far too rough,
The rich young lord is not rich enough,
And one is too poor and one too tall,
And one just an inch too short for them all.
"Others pick and choose and why not we?
"We can very well wait," said the maids
of Lee.

There were three young maids of
Lee,

They were fair as fair can be,
And they had lovers three times three,
For they were fair as fair can be,
These three young maids of Lee.

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He may take the one, or the two, or the three,

If he 'll only take them away from Lee.
There are three old maids at Lee,
They are cross as cross can be,
And there they are, and there they 'll be
To the end of the chapter one, two,
three,

These three old maids of Lee.

DOUGLAS GORDON

"Row me o'er the strait, Douglas Gordon, Row me o'er the strait, my love," said she, "Where we greeted in the summer, Douglas Gordon,

Beyond the little Kirk by the old, old
trysting tree."

Never a word spoke Douglas Gordon,
But he looked into her eyes so tenderly,
And he set her at his side,
And away across the tide

They floated to the little Kirk,
And the old, old trysting tree.

"Give me a word of love, Douglas Gordon, Just a word of pity, O my love," said she, "For the bells will ring to-morrow, Douglas Gordon,

My wedding bells, my love, but not for

you and me.

They told me you were false, Douglas
Gordon,

And you never came to comfort me!"
And she saw the great tears rise,
In her lover's silent eyes,

As they drifted to the little Kirk,
And the old, old, trysting tree.

"And it's never, never, never, Douglas Gordon,

Never in this world that you may come

to me,

But tell me that you love me, Douglas Gordon,

And kiss me for the love of all that used to be!"

Then he flung away his sail, his oars and rudder,

And he took her in his arms so tenderly, And they drifted on amain,

And the bells may call in vain,

For she and Douglas Gordon

Are drowned in the sea.

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