Alas, thy olden fires, O life,
May not again be thine!
In vain it sighs its spring-time back,
This withered heart of mine.
A VALENTINE,
GENTLE quiet of her eye,
To my asking deign reply;
By the impassioned day made bold,
Be thy hoarded secret told;
Or by trusting glance or fall
Of thy fluttering look from mine,
Dower my thought with hopes divine,
Hopes no coldness may recal;
Sweet betrayer, bid me see
If not in thy depths there be
Love thy coyness keeps from me.
Stained whiteness of her cheek
Quit thy fear and prithee speak,
All to-day should bid thee tell,
All that thou hast hid so well;
Through the day-dawn of a flush,
Dimpling ripple of a smile,
Oh, let watching love beguile
Thy sweet secret from its hush!
Give me, this sweet day, to know
If, thy rosy calm below,
Love lurk not, thou wilt not show.
'Oh, thou music of her speech,
Leave thou meaner things and teach
Listening love the all he'd learn!
Give the enamoured air to burn
With thy sumless burdens; round,
Words half silence—many a tone
Caught by love's hushed ear alone,
Thoughts that tremble into sound,
Breathe!-Oh, utterance all divine,
Bid me know she would be mine-
That I am her valentine!
OF SUNDRY QUAINT CONCEITS, WRITTEN IN PENSHURST
PARK.
BRING, I pray thee, wanton Spring,
Prithee, all thy treasures bring;
Bring me every flower that stains
Grassy mead, or woodland dell;
All that nod in sunlit lanes;
All on wayside banks that dwell;
For I'd choose
Fancies sweet;
Thoughts most meet
Now I'd use;
Such alone her praise should sing;
Such, I prithee, bring me, Spring.
Bring, sweet wanton, bring, I pray,
Songs, the sweetest heard by May;
All the melodies that still
Gush around us everywhere,
Wander with thee where we will,
Haunting earth and filling air.
She is sweet;
Songs should be
Sweet as she,
For the music of my song
Should not do her praises wrong!
Hither, Summer, prithee, bring
All the sunshine thou dost fling
On the great earth everywhere,
Ripening grain and flushing flowers
Bring me, sheeted Winter, all
That makes men thee ruthless call;
All that stays the streamlet's flow;
All that mocks the snows of May;
All that hardens earth below;
All that turns to night, sweet day;
All things bare,
DOES she love me? listen;
As I come through the door, Mark how her eyes will glisten, Dull the moment before; Glance on glance she's darted; Ever the door they've sought; Never till now she started; Never my eye she caught; Love may mask and pride it None its presence can guess; Ah, what mask can hide it? Does she love me? yes.
Does she love me? glancing,
Look how her eye glides round;
Ah, the spot where I'm dancing,
Point of her search, is found;
Turn I quickly, and turning,
Surely her gaze I meet;
Sinks her hot cheek burning;
Drops her glance to her feet;
Love is dumb? who say it?
Would you his sweet thought guess? Wordless, he'll betray it;
Does she love me? yes.
Yes, though she scorn to love me,
Ay, though her haughty will
Others would rank above me,
Yes, she loves me still;
Pride would strive with passion;
Nurture would nature tame;
Hearts are not made by fashion;
Love, it is more than name.
Hope, I hear her singing,
Time the gladdener bless,
Years all radiance bringing,
Yes, she loves thee; yes.
OH, were she mine! oh, were she mine!
I would not envy kings;
I would not ask another joy
That time, existence, brings;
Thou maddening dream! I thrill—I burn,
Drunk with a bliss divine;
Oh, what an utter blank were all,
All else, were she but mine!
Out, dusty thoughts; out, aims that grey
The pulsing life of youth;
Fools-fools-to fling the years away
In doting search for truth;
A clinging lip-a dewy eye-
A palm that throbs to thine,
These these are love; these these are life; Oh, were she-were she mine!
PRITHEE, let the song go round
Till the air be drunk with sound;
Swelling-sinking-like the ocean,
Let its waves come circling round,
Wakening into blest emotion
Every feeling in us found;
Thoughts of ill fly far its sound;
Prithee, let the song go round.
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