Round among the quiet graves,
When the sun was low,
Love went grieving,—Love who saves:
Did the sleepers know?
At his touch the flowers awoke,
At his tender call
Birds into sweet singing broke,
And it did befall
From the blooming, bursting sod
All Love’s dead arose,
And went flying...
The Spacious Noon enfolds me with its peace—
The affluent Midsummer wraps me round—
So still the earth and air, that scarce a sound
Affronts the silence, and the swift caprice
Of one stray bird’s lone call does but increase
The sense of some compelling hush profound,
Some spell by which the whole vast world is bound,
Till star-...
Roses and butterflies snared on a fan,
All that is left of summer gone by;
Of swift, bright wings that flashed in the sun,
And loveliest blossoms that bloomed to die!
By what subtle spell did you lure them here,
Fixing a beauty that will not change,—
Roses whose petals never will fall,
Bright, swift wings that never will range...
A Picture by Burne-Jones
PALLID with too much longing,
White with passion and prayer,
Goddess of love and beauty,
She sits in the picture there,—
Sits with her dark eyes seeking
Something more subtle still
Than the old delights of loving
Her measureless days to fill.
She has loved and been loved so often...
