The Spinner twisted her slender thread
As she sat and spun:
“The earth and the heavens are mine,” she said,
“And the moon and sun;
Into my web the sunlight goes,
And the breath of May,
And the crimson life of the new-blown rose
That was...
Mary Ainge De Vere
-
-
When Psyche’s friend becomes her lover,
How sweetly these conditions blend!
But, oh, what anguish to discover
Her lover has become—her friend! -
God keep you, dearest, all this lonely night:
The winds are still,
The moon drops down behind the western hill;
God keep you safely, dearest, till the light.God keep you then when slumber melts away,
And care and strife
Take up new arms... -
When psyche’s friend becomes her lover,
How sweetly these conditions blend!
But, oh, what anguish to discover
Her lover has become—her friend! -
A breath can fan love’s flame to burning,—
Make firm resolve of trembling doubt.
But, strange! at fickle fancy’s turning,
The selfsame breath can blow it out. -
When leaves turn outward to the light,
And all the roads are fringed with green,
When larks are pouring, high, unseen,
The joy they find in song and flight,
Then I, too, with the lark would wing
My little flight, and, soaring, sing.When...
-
What ’s love, when the most is said? The flash of the lightning fleet,
...
Then, darkness that shrouds the soul,—but the earth is firm to my feet;
The rocks and the tides endure, the grasses and herbs return,
The path to my foot is sure, and the sods to my bosom yearn. -
The spinner twisted her slender thread
As she sat and spun:
“The earth and the heavens are mine,” she said,
“And the moon and sun;
Into my web the sunlight goes,
And the breath of May,
And the crimson life of the new-blown rose
That was... -
Were i a happy bird,
Building my little nest each early spring,
It might be easy then to keep God’s word,
His praise to sing;
Easy to live content,
Tending my little ones,—of love secure,
Knowing no agony for time misspent,
... -
I put thy hand aside, and turn away:
Why should I blame the slight and fickle heart
That cannot bravely go, nor boldly stay,
Too weak to cling, and yet too fond to part?
Dead Passion chains thee where her ashes lie.
Cold is the shrine, ah, cold for...