Crowned "In the tempest thrust him forth; Sara Teasdale [1884 TO MANON AS TO HIS CHOICE OF HER IF I had chosen thee, thou shouldst have been Yet must I love thee, dear, and as thou art. Wilfrid Scawen Blunt [1840 CROWNED You came to me bearing bright roses, Enslaved and encircled, I bore it, Proud token of my gift to you. 851 And dropped; and the thorns started through. Bitter thorns to proclaim me your lover, A diadem woven with rue. Amy Lowell [1874 HEBE I SAW the twinkle of white feet, I saw the flash of robes descending; Before her ran an influence fleet, That bowed my heart like barley bending. As, in bare fields, the searching bees Joy's simple honey-cells unbinding. Those Graces were that seemed grim Fates; I saw the brimmed bowl in her grasp The beaker fell; the luck was over. The Earth has drunk the vintage up; Can Summer fill the icy cup Whose treacherous crystal is but Winter's? O spendthrift haste! await the Gods; Their nectar crowns the lips of Patience; Haste scatters on unthankful sods The immortal gift in vain libations. Coy Hebe flies from those that woo, And shuns the hands would seize upon her; Follow thy life, and she will sue To pour for thee the cup of honor. James Russell Lowell [1819-1891] 'JUSTINE, YOU LOVE ME NOT!" "Helas! vous ne m'aimez pas.”—PIRON I KNOW, Justine, you speak me fair As often as we meet; And 'tis a luxury, I swear, To hear a voice so sweet; And yet it does not please me quite, I know Justine, you never scold "A charming temper," say the men, I know, Justine, you wear a smile It shines for only one? A transient cloudy spot In yours would promise more to me- I know, Justine, you make my name And say-if any chance to blame--- You hold me in esteem. Such words, for all their kindly scope, Delight me not a jot; Just as you would have praised the Pope Justine, you love me not! I know, Justine-for I have heard. That seals my lonely lot: There's nothing now to hope or fear Justine, you love me not! John Godfrey Saxe [1816-1887] SNOWDROP WHEN, full of warm and eager love, "Take care, my dear, you'll spoil my lace." You kiss me just as you would kiss Some woman friend you chanced to see; You call me "dearest."-All love's forms Are yours, not its reality. Oh, Annie! cry, and storm, and rave! Hate me an hour, and then turn round WHEN THE SULTAN GOES TO ISPAHAN When the Sultan Shah-Zaman Goes to the city Ispahan, Even before he gets so far As the place where the clustered palm-trees are, At the last of the thirty palace-gates, The flower of the harem, Rose-in-Bloom, Orders a feast in his favorite room Glittering squares of colored ice, When the Sultan Goes to Ispahan 855 Sweetened with syrop, tinctured with spice, Limes, and citrons, and apricots, And wines that are known to Eastern princes; Of spiced meats and costliest fish And all that the curious palate could wish, Pass in and out of the cedarn doors; Are anemones, myrtles, and violets, Then at a wave of her sunny hand Of fleecy veils and floating hair And white arms lifted. Orient blood Now, when I see an extra light, |