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Yea, though my spirit never wake
To hear the voice I knew,
Even an endless sleep would be

Stirred by the dreams of You!

Frederic Lawrence Knowles [1869-1905]

"HEART OF MY HEART"

HEART of my heart, my life, my light!
If you were lost what should I do?
I dare not let you from my sight

Lest Death should fall in love with you.

Such countless terrors lie in wait!

The gods know well how dear you are! What if they left me desolate

And plucked and set you for their star!

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Then hold me close, the gods are strong,
And perfect joy so rare a flower
No man may hope to keep it long-
And I may lose you any hour.

Then kiss me close, my star, my flower!
So shall the future grant me this:

That there was not a single hour

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We might have kissed, and did not kiss!

Unknown

MY LADDIE

Он, my laddie, my laddie,,

I lo'e your very plaidie,

I lo'e your very bonnet

Wi' the silver buckle on it,

I lo'e your collie Harry,

I lo'e the kent ye carry;

But oh! it's past my power to tell
How much, how much I lo'e yoursel!

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The Shaded Pool

Oh, my dearic, my dearie,

I could luik an' never weary

At your een sae blue an' iaughin',
That a heart o' stane wad saften,

While your mouth sae proud an' curly
Gars my heart gang tirlie-wirlie;

But oh! yoursel, your very sel,

I lo'e ten thousand times as well!

Oh! my darlin', my darlin',
Let's fit whaur flits the starlin',
Let's loll upo' the heather
A' this bonny, bonny weather;
Ye shall fauld me in your plaidie,
My luve, my luve, my laddie;
An' close, an' close into your ear
I'll tell ye how I lo'e ye, dear.

Amélie Rives [1863

THE SHADED POOL

A LAUGHING knot of village maids
Goes gaily tripping to the brook,
For water-nymphs they mean to be,
And seek some still, secluded nook.
Here Laura goes, my own delight,
And Colin's love, the madcap Jane,
And half a score of goddesses
Trip over daisies in the plain:
Already now they loose their hair
And peep from out the tangled gold,
Or speed the flying foot to reach
The brook that's only summer-cold;
The lovely locks stream out behind
The shepherdesses on the wing,
And Laura's is the wealth I love,
And Laura's is the gold I sing.

A-row upon the bank they pant,
And all unlace the country shoe;
Their fingers tug the garter-knots
To loose the hose of varied hue.

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The flashing knee at last appears,
The lower curves of youth and grace,
Whereat the girls intently scan
The mazy thickets of the place.
But who's to see except the thrush
Upon the wild crab-apple tree?
Within his branchy haunt he sits-
A very Peeping Tom is he!
Now music bubbles in his throat,
And now he pipes the scene in song-
The virgins slipping from their robes,
The cheated stockings lean and long,
The swift-descending petticoat,

The breasts that heave because they ran,
The rounded arms, the brilliant limbs,
The pretty necklaces of tan.

Did ever amorous God in Greece,

In search of some young mouth to kiss, By any river chance upon

A sylvan scene as bright as this?

But though each maid is pure and fair,

For one alone my heart I bring,
And Laura's is the shape I love,

And Laura's is the snow I sing.

And now upon the brook's green brink,
A milk-white bevy, lo, they stand,
Half shy, half frightened, reaching back
The beauty of a poising hand!
How musical their little screams
When ripples kiss their shrinking feet!
And then the brook embraces all
Till gold and white and water meet!
Within the streamlet's soft cool arms
Delight and love and gracefulness
Sport till a flock of tiny waves
Swamps all the beds of floating cress;
And on his shining face are seen
Great yellow lilies drifting down
Beyond the ringing apple-tree,
Beyond the empty homespun gown.

Good-night

Did ever Orpheus with his lute,
When making melody of old,
E'er find a stream in Attica
So ripely full of pink and gold?

At last they climb the sloping bank
And shake upon the thirsty soil
A treasury of diamond-drops
Not gained by aught of grimy toil.
Again the garters clasp the hose,
Again the velvet knee is hid,
Again the breathless babble tells
What Colin said, what Colin did.
In grace upon the grass they lie
And spread their tresses to the sun,
And rival, musical as they,

The blackbird's alto shake and run.
Did ever Love, on hunting bent,
Come idly humming through the hay,
And, to his sudden joyfulness,
Find fairer game at close of day?
Though every maid's a lily-rose,
And meet to sway a sceptred king,
Yet Laura's is the face I love,

And Laura's are the lips I sing.

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Norman Gale [1862

GOOD-NIGHT

GOOD-NIGHT. Good-night. Ah, good the night

That wraps thee in its silver light.

Good-night. No night is good for me
That does not hold a thought of thee.
Good-night.

Good-night. Be every night as sweet
As that which made our love complete,
Till that last night when death shall be
One brief "Good-night," for thee and me.
Good-night.

S. Weir Mitchell (1829-1914]

THE MYSTIC

By seven vineyards on one hill
We walked. The native wine
In clusters grew beside us two,
For your lips and for mine,

When, "Hark!" you said,-"Was that a bell
Or a bubbling spring we heard?"
But I was wise and closed my eyes
And listened to a bird;

For as summer leaves are bent and shake
With singers passing through,

So moves in me continually

The winged breath of you.

You tasted from a single vine

And took from that your fillBut I inclined to every kind,

All seven on one hill.

Witter Bynner [1881

"I AM THE WIND"

I AM the wind that wavers,
You are the certain land;
I am the shadow that passes
Over the sand.

I am the leaf that quivers,

You the unshaken tree;

You are the stars that are steadfast,

I am the sea.

You are the light eternal,

Like a torch I shall die. . .

You are the surge of deep music,

I-but a cry!

Zoë Akins (1886

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