I hoped that he would love me,
And he has kissed my mouth,
But I am like a stricken bird
That cannot reach the south.
For though I know he loves me,
To-night my heart is sad;
His kiss was not so wonderful
As all the dreams I had.
-
-
Brown-thrush singing all day long
In the leaves above me,
Take my love this April song,
"Love me, love me, love me!"When he harkens what you say,
Bid him, lest he miss me,
Leave his work or leave his play,
And kiss me, kiss me, kiss me! -
I am free of love as a bird flying south in the autumn,
Swift and intent, asking no joy from another,
Glad to forget all of the passion of April
Ere it was love-free.I am free of love, and I listen to music lightly,
But if he returned, if he should look at me deeply,
I should awake, I should awake and remember
I am my lover’s. -
Believe me, if all those endearing young charms
Which I gaze on so fondly today
Were to change by tomorrow and fleet in my arms
Like fairy gifts fading away,
Thou wouldst still be adored as this moment thou art
Let thy loveliness fade as it will
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.It is...
-
At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly
To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in thine eye;
And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air,
To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me there,
And tell me our love is remember'd, even in the sky.Then I sing the wild song 'twas once such pleasure to hear...
-
Heart, we will forget him!
You an I, tonight!
You may forget the warmth he gave,
I will forget the light.When you have done, pray tell me
That I my thoughts may dim;
Haste! lest while you're lagging.
I may remember him! -
Proud of my broken heart since thou didst break it,
Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee,
Proud of my night since thou with moons dost slake it,
Not to partake thy passion, my humility. -
To lose thee, sweeter than to gain
All other hearts I knew.
‘Tis true the drought is destitute
But, then, I had the dew!
The Caspian has its realms of sand,
Its other realm of sea.
Without this sterile perquisite
No Caspian could be. -
It's all I have to bring today--
This, and my heart beside--
This, and my heart, and all the fields--
And all the meadows wide--
Be sure you count--should I forget
Some one the sum could tell--
This, and my heart, and all the Bees
Which in the Clover dwell. -
It's such a little thing to weep,
So short a thing to sigh;
And yet by trades the size of these
We men and women die!