For E. W. W.
ONE pale November day
Flying Summer paused,
They say:
And growing bolder,
O’er rosy shoulder
Threw her lover such a glance
That Autumn’s heart began to dance.
(O happy lover!)
A leafless peach-tree bold
Thought for him she smiled,
I ’m told;
And...
From Byrd’s “Songs and Sonnets,” 1588
IF women could be fair, and yet not fond,
Or that their love were firm, not fickle still,
I would not marvel that they make men bond
By service long to purchase their good-will;
But when I see how frail those creatures are,
I muse that men forget themselves so far.
To mark the choice they make, and...
Why so pale and wan, fond lover?
Pr’y thee, why so pale?
Will, when looking well can’t move her,
Looking ill prevail?
Pr’y thee, why so pale?
Why so dull and mute, young sinner?
Pr’y thee, why so mute?
Will, when speaking well can’t win her,
Saying nothing do ’t?
Pr’y thee, why so mute?
Quit, quit,...
Before I trust my fate to thee,
Or place my hand in thine,
Before I let thy future give
Color and form to mine,
Before I peril all for thee, question thy soul to-night for me.
I break all slighter bonds, nor feel
A shadow of regret:
Is there one link within the past
That holds thy spirit yet?
Or is thy faith as...
From “Merlin and Vivien”
IN Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours,
Faith and unfaith can ne’er be equal powers;
Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all.
It is the little rift within the lute,
That by and by will make the music mute,
And ever widening slowly silence all.
The little rift within the lover’s lute
Or little...
From “The House of Life”
WHEN do I see thee most, belovèd one?
When in the light the spirits of mine eyes
Before thy face, their altar, solemnize
The worship of that Love through thee made known?
Or when, in the dusk hours (we two alone),
Close-kissed, and eloquent of still replies
Thy twilight-hidden glimmering visage lies,
And my...
’t Is much immortal beauty to admire,
But more immortal beauty to withstand;
The perfect soul can overcome desire,
If beauty with divine delight be scanned.
For what is beauty but the blooming child
Of fair Olympus, that in night must end,
And be forever from that bliss exiled,
If admiration stand too much its friend?
The wind may...
When I am standing on a mountain crest,
Or hold the tiller in the dashing spray,
My love of you leaps foaming in my breast,
Shouts with the winds and sweeps to their foray;
My heart bounds with the horses of the sea,
And plunges in the wild ride of the night,
Flaunts in the teeth of tempest the large glee
That rides out Fate and welcomes...
Kissing her hair, I sat against her feet:
Wove and unwove it,—wound, and found it sweet:
Made fast therewith her hands, drew down her eyes,
Deep as deep flowers, and dreamy like dim skies;
With her own tresses bound, and found her fair,—
Kissing her hair.
Sleep were no sweeter than her face to me,—
Sleep of cold sea-bloom under...
From a MS. Temp. Henry VIII.
AH, my sweet sweeting;
My little pretty sweeting,
My sweeting will I love wherever I go;
She is so proper and pure,
Full, steadfast, stable, and demure,
There is none such, you may be sure,
As my sweet sweeting.
In all this world, as thinketh me,
Is none so pleasant...
