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FATE

Two shall be born, the whole wide world apart,
And speak in different tongues and have no thought
Each of the other's being, and no heed.

And these, o'er unknown seas, to unknown lands
Shall cross, escaping wreck, defying death;
And all unconsciously shape every act

And bend each wandering step to this one end-
That, one day, out of darkness they shall meet
And read life's meaning in each other's eyes. !

And two shall walk some narrow way of life
So nearly side by side that, should one turn
Ever so little space to left or right,

They needs must stand acknowledged, face to face.
And, yet, with wistful eyes that never meet

And groping hands that never clasp and lips
Calling in vain to ears that never hear,
They seek each other all their weary days
And die unsatisfied-and this is Fate!

Susan Marr Spalding [18

-?]

"GIVE ALL TO LOVE”

GIVE all to love;

Obey thy heart;

Friends, kindred, days,

Estate, good fame,

Plans, credit, and the Muse,

Nothing refuse.

"Tis a brave master;

Let it have scope:

Follow it utterly,

Hope beyond hope:

High and more high

"Give All To Love"

It dives into noon,
With wing unspent,
Untold intent;
But it is a god,
Knows its own path

And the outlets of the sky.

It was never for the mean;
It requireth courage stout.
Souls above doubt,
Valor unbending,
It will reward,-
They shall return
More than they were,
And ever ascending.

Leave all for love;

Yet, hear me, yet,

One word more thy heart behoved,

One pulse more of firm endeavor,——
Keep thee to-day,

To-morrow, forever,
Free as an Arab

Of thy beloved.

Cling with life to the maid;

But when the surprise,

First vague shadow of surmise,

Flits across her bosom young,

Of a joy apart from thee,

Free be she, fancy-free;

Nor thou detain her vesture's hem,

Nor the palest rose she flung

From her summer diadem.

Though thou loved her as thyself,

As a self of purer clay,

Though her parting dims the day,

Stealing grace from all alive;

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"O, LOVE IS NOT A SUMMER MOOD"

O, LOVE is not a summer mood,

Nor flying phantom of the brain,

Nor youthful fever of the blood,

Nor dream, nor fate, nor circumstance.
Love is not born of blinded chance,
Nor bred in simple ignorance.

Love is the flower of maidenhood;
Love is the fruit of mortal pain;

And she hath winter in her blood.

True love is steadfast as the skies,
And once alight, she never flies;
And love is strong, and love is wise.
Richard Watson Gilder [1844-1909]

WHEN WILL LOVE COME?,

SOME find Love late, some find him soon,
Some with the rose in May,

Some with the nightingale in June,

And some when skies are gray;

Love comes to some with smiling eyes,

And comes with tears to some;

For some Love sings, for some Love sighs,

For some Love's lips are dumb.

די

How will you come to me, fair Love?!

Will you come late or soon?

With sad or smiling skies above,

By light of sun or moon?

The Secret

Will you be sad, will you be sweet, !`
Sing, sigh, Love, or be dumb?:
Will it be summer when we meet,

Or autumn ere you come?

Pakenham Beatty [1855

505

"AWAKE, MY HEART"

AWAKE, my heart, to be loved, 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 loved, awake, awake!

And if thou tarry from her,-if this could be,—
She cometh herself, O heart, to be loved, to thee;
For thee would unashamèd herself forsake:
Awake, to be loved, my heart, awake, awake!

Awake! The land is scattered 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 loved, 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 adored, O adored, for his coming's sake,
And awake, my heart, to be loved, awake, awake!"
Robert Bridges [1855-

THE SECRET

NIGHTINGALES warble about it

All night under blossom and star;
The wild swan is dying without it,
And the eagle crieth afar; t

The sun, he doth mount but to find it,
Searching the green earth o'er;

But more doth a man's heart mind it-
O more, more, more!

Over the gray leagues of ocean
The infinite yearneth alone;
The forests with wandering emotion
The thing they know not intone;
Creation arose but to see it,

A million lamps in the blue;

But a lover, he shall be it,

If one sweet maid is true.

George Edward Woodberry [1855

THE ROSE OF STARS

WHEN Love, our great Immortal,

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Put on mortality,

And down from Eden's portal

Brought this sweet life to be,
At the sublime archangel

He laughed with veiled eyes,
For he bore within his bosom
The seed of Paradise,

He hid it in his bosom,

And there such warmth it found,

It brake in bud and blossom,

And the rose fell on the ground;

As the green light on the prairie,
As the red light on the sea,
Through fragrant belts of summer
Came this sweet life to be.

And the grave archangel seeing,
Spread his mighty wings for flight,
But the glow hung round him fleeing
Like the rose of an Arctic night;

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