I sat beneath the elm-tree; For I listened for a footfall, I listened for a word,- But the beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard. He came not, no, he came not, The night came on alone, The little stars sat, one by one, Each on his golden throne; The evening wind passed by my cheek, The leaves above were stirred,— But the beating of my own heart Fast şilent tears were flowing, I knew its touch was kind: For the beating of our own hearts Was all the sound we heard. Richard Monckton Milnes [1809-1885] SONG FOR me the jasmine buds unfold And silver daisies star the lea, The crocus hoards the sunset gold, And the wild rose breathes for me. I feel the sap through the bough returning, I share the skylark's transport fine, I know the fountain's wayward yearning; I love, and the world is mine! What My Lover Said 1149 I love, and thoughts that sometime grieved, Still well remembered, grieve not me; From all that darkened and deceived Upsoars my spirit free. For soft the hours repeat one story, Sings the sea one strain divine, My clouds arise all flushed with glory; I love, and the world is mine! Florence Earle Coates [1850-. WHAT MY LOVER SAID By the merest chance, in the twilight gloom, In the tall, wet grass, with its faint perfume, Oh, I tried, but he would not let me. So I stood and blushed till the grass grew red,! While he took my hand as he whispering said- Oh, the clover in bloom, I love it!) In the high, wet grass went the path to hide, But I could not pass upon either side, In the arms of my steadfast lover. And he looked down into my eyes and said- Oh, the leaves hanging lowly o'er me!) Had he moved aside but a little way, I could surely then have passed him; And he knew I never could wish to stay, Could I only aside have cast him. Oh, the whispering wind around us!) I am sure he knew when he held me fast, For I tried to go, and I would have passed, And the sky with its stars was filling. But he clasped me close when I would have fled, And his soul came out from his lips and said- Oh, the moon and the stars in glory!) I know that the grass and the leaves will not tell, That no being shall ever discover From the soul-speaking lips of my lover; And the moon and the stars that looked over Shall never reveal what a fairy-like spell MAY-MUSIC OH! lose the winter from thine heart, the darkness from thine eyes, And from the low hearth-chair of dreams, my Love-o' May, arise; And let the maidens robe thee like a white white-lilac tree, Oh! hear the call of Spring, fair Soul, and wilt thou come with me? Even so, and even so! I will follow thee. Then wilt thou see the orange trees star-flowering over Spain, Or arched and mounded Kaiser-towns that molder mid Almain, Or through the cypress-gardens go of magic Italy? Oh! East or West or South or North, say, wilt thou come with me? Even so, or even so! Whither thou goest, I will go. I will follow thee. But wilt thou farther come with me through hawthorn red and white Until we find the wall that hides the Land of Heart's Delight? The gates all carved with olden things are strange and dread to see: But I will lift thee through, fair Soul. Arise and come with me! Even so, Love, even so! Whither thou goest, I will go! Lo, I follow thee. Rachel Annand Taylor [18 SONG FLAME at the core of the world, And flame in the red rose-tree; The one is the fire of the ancient spheres, The other is Junes to be; And, oh, there's a flame that is both their flames As strong as the fires of stars, . As the prophet rose-tree true, For out of the infinite past it came Arthur Upson [1877-1908] A MEMORY THE Night walked down the sky The hair that swept your shoulders Was yellow, too, Your feet as they touched the grasses Shamed the dew. The Night wore all her jewels, And you wore none, But your gown had the odor of lilies Drenched with sun. And never was Eve of the Garden Or Mary the Maid More pure than you as you stood there And the sleeping birds woke, trembling, And my senses were faint with the fragrant And our lips found ways of speaking What words cannot say, Till a hundred nests gave music, And the East was gray. Frederic Lawrence Knowles [1869-1905] |