I HAVE lov'd flowers that fade, I have lov'd airs that die Die, song, die like a breath, THOU DIDST DELIGHT MY EYES THOU didst delight my eyes: Yet who am I? nor first Nor last nor best, that durst Once dream of thee for prize; Nor this the only time Thou shalt set love to rhyme. Thou didst delight my ear: Ah! little praise; thy voice Makes other hearts rejoice Makes all ears glad that hear; For what wert thou to me? How shall I say? The moon, That pour'd her midnight noon Upon his wrecking sea ; A sail, that for a day AWAKE, MY HEART! AWAKE, my heart, to be lov'd, awake, awake! The darkness silvers away, the morn doth break, It leaps in the sky: unrisen lustres slake The o'ertaken moon. Awake, O heart, awake! She, too, that loveth awaketh and hopes for thee; Her eyes already have sped the shades that flee, Already they watch the path thy feet shall take: Awake, O heart to be lov'd, awake, awake! And if thou tarry from her, if this could be, She cometh herself, O heart, to be lov'd, to thee; For thee would unasham'd herself forsake: Awake to be lov'd, my heart, awake, awake! Awake! The land is scatter'd with light, and see, Uncanopied sleep is flying from field and tree; And blossoming boughs of April in laughter shake : Awake, O heart, to be lov'd, awake, awake! Lo, all things wake and tarry and look for thee: She looketh and saith, "O sun, now bring him to me. Come, more ador'd, O ador'd, for his coming's sake, And awake, my heart, to be lov'd, awake, awake!" HAS summer come without the rose, Is the blue changed above thee, O world! or am I blind? Will you change every flower that grows, The skies seem'd true above thee, The bird seem'd true the summer through, Have said, I love thee not? With no delaying, over shore and deep! Be with my lady when she wakes from sleep; Touch her with kisses softly on each eye; And say, before she puts her dreaming by: "Within the palaces of slumber keep One little niche wherein sometimes to weep For one who vainly toils till he shall die!" Yet say again, a sweeter thing than this: "His life is wasted by his love for thee." Then, looking o'er the fields of memory, She'll find perchance, o'ergrown with grief and bliss, Some flower of recollection, pale and fair, That she, through pity, for a day may wear. A VAIN WISH I WOULD not, could I, make thy life as mine; Only I would, if such a thing might be, Thou shouldst not, love, forget me utterly; Yea, when the sultry stars of summer shine On dreaming woods, where nightingales repine, I would that at such times should come to thee Some thought not quite unmix'd with pain, of me, - Some little sorrow for a soul's decline. Yea, too, I would that through thy brightest times, Like the sweet burden of remember'd rhymes, That gentle sadness should be with thee, dear; And when the gates of sleep are on thee shut, I would not, even then, it should be mute, But murmur, shell-like, at thy spirit's ear. LOVE'S MUSIC LOVE held a harp between his hands, and, lo! The master hand, upon the harp-strings laid By way of prelude, such a sweet tune play'd As made the heart with happy tears o'erflow; |