“Lily Bright and Shine-a”
351
SILLY SWEETHEART
Silly Sweetheart, say not nay,
Come away:
All I tell is sweet and merry;
Soon rings evensong, and soon
Where was blossom hangs a berry;
Where was darkness shines a moon.
Prythee, Sweetheart, then I say,
Come, come away.
O away,
Come away:
Maids there are with cheeks like roses,
Thine are roses in the snow.
Fie, the lass whose dainty nose is
Tilted not as one I know.
Nought heeds she, Alackaday!
My, Come, come away.
O away,
Come away:
Honeycomb by bees made sweet is;
Dew on apple, bloom on plum;
Hearken, my heart’s lightest beat is
Drumming, drumming; haste and come
Say not nay, then;
Make no stay, then;
Dance thy dainty foot and straying
Come, come away!
352
HERE COMES A LUSTY WOOER
“Here comes a lusty wooer,
My a dildin, my a daldin;
Here comes a lusty wooer,
Lily bright and shine-a.”
“Pray who do you woo?
My a dildin, my a daldin;
Pray who do you woo?
Lily bright and shine-a.”
“Woo! Your fairest daughter!
My a dildin, my a daldin;
Woo! your fairest daughter!
Lily bright and shine-a.”
“There! there! she is for you,
My a dildin, my a daldin;
There! there! she is for you,
Lily bright and shine-a.”
353
THREE KNIGHTS FROM SPAIN
We are three Brethren come from Spain,
All in French garlands;
We are come to court your daughter Jane,
And adieu to you, my darlings.
My daughter Jane!—she is too young,
All in French garlands;
She cannot bide your flattering tongue,
And adieu to you, my darlings.
Be she young, or be she old,
All in French garlands;
’Tis for a bride she must be sold,
And adieu to you, my darlings.
A bride, a bride, she shall not be
All in French garlands;
Till she go through this world with me,
And adieu to you, my darlings.
Then shall you keep your daughter Jane,
All in French garlands;
Come once, we come not here again,
And adieu to you, my darlings.
Turn back, turn back, you Spanish Knights,
All in French garlands;
Scour, scour your spurs, till they be bright,
And adieu to you, my darlings.
Sharp shine our spurs, all richly wrought,
All in French garlands;
In towns afar our spurs were bought
And adieu to you, my darlings.
Smell my lilies, smell my roses,
All in French garlands;
Which of my maidens do you choose?
And adieu to you, my darlings.
Not she. Not she. Thy youngest, Jane!
All in French garlands;
We ride—and ride not back again,
And adieu to you, my darlings.
In every pocket a thousand pound,
All in French garlands;
On every finger a gay gold ring,
And adieu to you, my darlings.
And adieu to you, my darlings.
354
THE WHUMMIL BORE
Seven lang years I hae served the King,
Fa fa fa fa lilly:
And I never got a sight of his daughter but ane:
With my glimpy, glimpy, glimpy eedle,
Lillum too tee a ta too a tee a ta a tally.
I saw her thro’ a whummil bore,
Fa fa fa fa lilly:
And I ne’er got a sight of her no more.
With my glimpy, glimpy, glimpy eedle,
Lillum too tee a ta too a tee a ta a tally.
Twa was putting on her gown,
Fa fa fa fa lilly:
And ten was putting pins therein.
With my glimpy, glimpy, glimpy eedle.
Lillum too tee a ta too a tee a ta a tally.
Twa was putting on her shoon,
Fa fa fa fa lilly:
And twa was buckling them again.
With my glimpy, glimpy, glimpy eedle.
Lillum too tee a ta too a tee a ta a tally.
Five was combing down her hair,
Fa fa fa fa lilly:
And I ne’er got a sight of her nae mair.
With my glimpy, glimpy, glimpy eedle,
Lillum too tee a ta too a tee a ta a tally.
Her neck and breast was like the snow,
Fa fa fa fa lilly:
Then from the bore I was forced to go.
With my glimpy, glimpy, glimpy eedle,
Lillum too tee a ta too a tee a ta a tally.
355
HEY, WULLY WINE
Hey, Wully wine, and How, Wully wine,
I hope for hame ye’ll no’ incline;
Ye’ll better light, and stay a’ night,
And I’ll gie thee a lady fine.
I maun ride hame, I maun gang hame,
And bide nae langer here;
The road is lang, the mirk soon on,
And howlets mak’ me fear.
Light down, and bide wi’ us a’ night,
We’ll choose for ye a bonnie lass,
Ye’ll get your wield and pick o’ them a’
And the time it soon awa’ will pass.
Wha will ye gie, if I wi’ ye bide,
To be my bonny bonny bride,
And lie down lovely by my side?
I’ll gie thee Kate o’ Dinglebell,
A bonny body like yersell.
I’ll stick her high in yon pear-tree
Sweet and meek, and sae is she:
I’ lo’ed her ance, but she’s no’ for me,
Yet I thank ye for your courtesy.
I’ll gie thee Rozie o’ the Cleugh,
I’m sure she’ll please thee weel eneugh.
Up wi’ her on the bare bane dyke,
She’ll be rotten or153 I’ll be ripe:
She’s made for some ither, and no’ me,
Yet I thank ye for your courtesy.
Then I’ll gie ye Nell o’ sweet Sprinkell,
Owre Galloway she bears the bell.
I’ll set her up in my bed-head,
And feed her wi’ new milk and bread;
She’s for nae ither, but just for me,
Sae I thank ye for your courtesy.
356
DOWN IN YONDER MEADOW
Down in yonder meadow where the green grass grows,
Pretty Pollie Pillicote bleaches her clothes.
She sang, she sang, she sang, oh, so sweet,
She sang, Oh, come over! across the street.
He kissed her, he kissed her, he bought her a gown,
A gown of rich cramasie out of the town.
He bought her a gown and a guinea gold ring,
A guinea, a guinea, a guinea gold ring;
Up street, and down, shine the windows made of glass,
Oh, isn’t Pollie Pillicote a braw young lass?
Cherries in her cheeks, and ringlets her hair,
Hear her singing Handy, Dandy up and down the stair.
357
QUOTH JOHN TO JOAN
Quoth John to Joan, will thou have me:
I prithee now, wilt? and I’ll marry thee,
My cow, my calf, my house, my rents,
And all my lands and tenements:
Oh, say, my Joan, will not that do?
I cannot come every day to woo.
I’ve corn and hay in the barn hard-by,
And three fat hogs pent up in the sty,
I have a mare and she is coal black,
I ride on her tail to save my back.
Then, say, my Joan, will not that do?
I cannot come every day to woo.
I have a cheese upon the shelf,
And I cannot eat it all myself;
I’ve three good marks that lie in a rag,
In a nook of the chimney, instead of a bag.
Then, say, my Joan, will not that do?
I cannot come every day to woo.
To marry I would have thy consent,
But faith I never could compliment;
I can say nought but “Hoy, gee ho!”
Words that belong to the cart and the plough.
Oh, say, my Joan, will not that do?
I cannot come every day to woo.
358
MY MISTRESS IS AS FAIR AS FINE
My mistress is as fair as fine,
Milk-white fingers, cherry nose.
Like twinkling day-stars look her eyne,
Lightening all things where she goes.
Fair as Phoebe, though not so fickle,
Smooth as glass, though not so brickle.
My heart is like a ball of snow
Melting at her lukewarm sight;
Her fiery lips like night-worms glow,
Shining clear as candle-light.
Neat she is, no feather lighter;
Bright she is, no daisy whiter.
359
DIAPHENIA
Diaphenia, like the daffdowndilly,
White as the sun, fair as the lily,
Heigh ho, how I do love thee!
I do love thee as my lambs
Are belovèd of their dams—
How blest were I if thou wouldst prove me.
Diaphenia, like the spreading roses,
That in thy sweets all sweets encloses,
Fair sweet, how I do love thee!
I do love thee as each flower
Loves the sun’s life-giving power,
For, dead, thy breath to life might move me.
Diaphenia, like to all things blessèd,
When all thy praises are expressèd,
Dear joy, how I do love thee!
As the birds do love the Spring,
Or the bees their careful king.
Then in requite, sweet virgin, love me!
Henry Constable
360
AEGLAMOUR’S LAMENT
Here she was wont to go, and here, and here!
Just where those daisies, pinks, and violets grow:
The world may find the spring by following her;
For other print her airy steps ne’er left:
Her treading would not bend a blade of grass,
Or shake the downy blow-ball from his stalk;
But like the soft west-wind she shot along;
And where she went, the flowers took thickest root
As she had sowed them with her odourous foot.
Ben Jonson
361
MY TRUE-LOVE HATH MY HEART
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his,
By just exchange one for the other given;
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss;
There never was a better bargain driven.
His heart in me keeps me and him in one,
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides;
He loves my heart, for once it was his own;
I cherish his because in me it bides.
His heart his wound receivèd from my sight,
My heart was wounded with his wounded heart;
For as from me on him his heart did light,
So still methought in me his heart did smart.
Both equal hurt, in this change sought our bliss,
My true love hath my heart, and I have his.
Sir Philip Sidney
362
A BIRTHDAY
My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a watered shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thickest fruit.
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is gladder than all these
Because my love is come to me.
Raise me a dais of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.
Christina Rossetti
363
LIFE OF LIFE
“Voice in the Air, singing”
Life of Life! thy lips enkindle
With their love the breath between them;
And thy smiles before they dwindle
Make the cold air fire; then screen them
In those looks, where whoso gazes
Faints, entangled in their mazes.
Child of Light! thy limbs are burning
Through the vest which seeks to hide them;
As the radiant lines of morning
Through the clouds ere they divide them;
And this atmosphere divinest
Shrouds thee wheresoe’er thou shinest.
Fair are others; none beholds thee,
But thy voice sounds low and tender
Like the fairest, for it folds thee
From the sight, that liquid splendour,
And all feel, yet see thee never,
As I feel now, lost for ever!
Lamp of Earth! where’er thou movest
Its dim shapes are clad with brightness,
And the souls of whom thou lovest
Walk upon the winds with lightness,
Till they fail, as I am failing,
Dizzy, lost, yet unbewailing!
Percy Bysshe Shelley
364
A SONNET OF THE MOON
Look how the pale Queen of the silent night
Doth cause the ocean to attend upon her,
And he, as long as she is in his sight,
With his full tide is ready her to honour:
But when the silver waggon of the Moon
Is mounted up so high he cannot follow,
The sea calls home his crystal waves to moan,
And with low ebb doth manifest his sorrow.
So you that are the sovereign of my heart,
Have all my joys attending on your will,
My joys low-ebbing when you do depart,
When you return, their tide my heart doth fill.
So as you come, and as you do depart,
Joys ebb and flow within my tender heart.
Charles Best
365
THE OUTLAW OF LOCH LENE
O many a day have I made good ale in the glen,
That came not of stream or malt, like the brewing of men:
My bed was the ground; my roof, the green-wood above;
And the wealth that I sought, one far kind glance from my Love.
Alas, on that night when the horses I drove from the field
That I was not near from terror my angel to shield!
She stretched forth her arms; her mantle she flung to the wind,
And swam o’er Loch Lene, her outlawed lover to find.
O would that a freezing sleet-winged tempest did sweep,
And I and my love were alone, far off on the deep;
I’d ask not a ship, or a bark, or a pinnace, to save—
With her hand round my waist, I’d fear not the wind or the wave.
’Tis down by the lake where the wild tree fringes its sides,
The maid of my heart, my fair one of Heaven resides:
I think, as at eve she wanders its mazes among,
The birds go to sleep by the sweet wild twist of her song.
Jeremiah John Callanan
366
O WHAT IF THE FOWLER
O what if the fowler my blackbird has taken?
The roses of dawn blossom over the sea;
Awaken, my blackbird, awaken, awaken,
And sing to me out of my red fuchsia tree!
O what if the fowler my blackbird has taken?
The sun lifts his head from the lip of the sea—
Awaken, my blackbird, awaken, awaken,
And sing to me out of my red fuchsia tree!
O what if the fowler my blackbird has taken?
The mountain grows white with the birds of the sea;
But down in my garden forsaken, forsaken,
I’ll weep all the day by my red fuchsia tree!
Charles Dalmon
367
WHITHER AWAY?
“Where are you going, Master mine?”
“Mistress of mine, farewell!
Pledge me a cup of golden wine!
Light shall be dark and darkness shine
Before I tell!”
“O go you by the firwoods blue?
And by the Fairies’ Trysting Tree?”
“No, for the path is grown with rue
And nightshade’s purple fruit, since you
Walked there with me!”
“O go you by the pastures high—
A grassy road and daisies fair?”
“No, for I saw them fade and die
On the bright evening, love, that I
Sat with you there.”
Mary Coleridge
368
BONNY BARBARA ALLAN
It was in and about the Martinmas time,
When the green leaves were a falling,
That Sir John Graeme, in the West Country,
Fell in love with Barbara Allan.
He sent his man down through the town,
To the place where she was dwelling:
“O haste and come to my master dear,
Gin ye be Barbara Allan.”
O hooly, hooly154 rose she up,
To the place where he was lying,
And when she drew the curtain by;—
“Young man, I think you’re dying.”
“O it’s I’m sick, and very, very sick,
And ’t is a’ for Barbara Allan.”—
“O the better for me ye’s never be,
Tho your heart’s blood were a spilling.
“O dinna ye mind, young man,” said she,
“When ye was in the tavern a-drinking,
That ye made the healths gae round and round,
And slighted Barbara Allan?”
He turned his face unto the wall,
And death was with him dealing:
“Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all,
And be kind to Barbara Allan.”
She had not gane a mile but twa,
When she heard the dead-bell ringing,
And every jow that the dead-bell gied,
It cryed, Woe to Barbara Allan!
“O mother, mother, make my bed!
O make it saft and narrow!
Since my love died for me to-day,
I’ll die for him to-morrow.”
369
PROUD MAISIE
Proud Maisie is in the wood,
Walking so early;
Sweet Robin sits on the bush,
Singing so rarely.
“Tell me, thou bonny bird,
When shall I marry me?”
“When six braw gentlemen
Kirkward shall carry ye.”
“Who makes the bridal bed,
Birdie, say truly?”
“The grey-headed sexton
That delves the grave duly.”
“The glowworm o’er grave and stone
Shall light thee steady;
The owl from the steeple sing
Welcome, proud lady.”
Sir Walter Scott
370
A LEAVE TAKING
Let us go hence, my songs; she will not hear.
Let us go hence together without fear;
Keep silence now, for singing-time is over,
And over all old things and all things dear.
She loves not you nor me as all we love her.
Yea, though we sang as angels in her ear,
She would not hear.
Let us rise up and part; she will not know.
Let us go seaward as the great winds go,
Full of blown sand and foam; what help is here?
There is no help, for all these things are so,
And all the world is bitter as a tear.
And how these things are, though ye strove to show,
She would not know.
Let us go home and hence; she will not weep.
We gave love many dreams and days to keep,
Flowers without scent, and fruits that would not grow,
Saying, “If thou wilt, thrust in thy sickle and reap.”
All is reaped now; no grass is left to mow;
And we that sowed, though all we fell on sleep,
She would not weep.
Let us go hence and rest; she will not love.
She shall not hear us if we sing hereof,
Nor see love’s ways, how sore they are and steep.
Come hence, let be, lie still; it is enough.
Love is a barren sea, bitter and deep;
And though she saw all heaven in flower above,
She would not love.
Let us give up, go down; she will not care.
Though all the stars made gold of all the air,
And the sea moving saw before it move
One moon-flower making all the foam-flowers fair;
Though all those waves went over us, and drove
Deep down the stifling lips and drowning hair,
She would not care.
Let us go hence, go hence; she will not see.
Sing all once more together; surely she,
She, too, remembering days and words that were,
Will turn a little toward us, sighing; but we,
We are hence, we are gone, as though we had not been there.
Nay, and though all men seeing had pity on me,
She would not see.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
371
THE UNQUIET GRAVE
“The wind doth blow to-day, my love,
And a few small drops of rain;
I never had but one true love,
In cold grave she was lain.
“I’ll do as much for my true love
As any young man may;
I’ll sit and mourn all at her grave
For a twelvemonth and a day.”
The twelvemonth and a day being up,
The dead began to speak:
“Oh who sits weeping on my grave,
And will not let me sleep?”
“’Tis I, my love, sits on your grave,
And will not let you sleep;
For I crave one kiss of your clay-cold lips,
And that is all I seek.”
“You crave one kiss of my clay-cold lips;
But my breath smells earthy strong;
If you have one kiss of my clay-cold lips,
Your time will not be long.
“’Tis down in yonder garden green,
Love, where we used to walk,
The finest flower that ere was seen
Is withered to a stalk.
“The stalk is withered dry, my love,
So will our hearts decay;
So make yourself content, my love,
Till God calls you away.”
372
A LAMENT: 1547
“Departe, departe, departe—
Allace! I most departe
From hir that hes my hart,
With hairt full soir;
Aganis my will in deid,
And can find no remeid:
I wait the pains of deid—
Can do no moir....
“Adew, my ain sueit thing,
My joy and comforting,
My mirth and sollesing
Of erdly gloir:
Fair weill, my lady bricht,
And my remembrance rycht;
Fair weill and haif gud nycht:
I say no moir.”
Alexander Scott
373
I DIED TRUE
Lay a garland on my hearse
Of the dismal yew;
Maidens, willow branches bear;
Say I died true.
My love was false, but I was firm
From my hour of birth.
Upon my buried body lie
Lightly, gentle earth!
John Fletcher
374
SONG
How should I your true love know
From another one?
By his Cockle hat and staffe,
And his Sandal shoone.
He is dead and gone Lady,
He is dead and done,—
At his head a grasse-greene Turfe,
At his heeles a stone.
White his Shrowd as the Mountain Snow,
Larded with sweet flowers:
Which bewept to the grave did not go,
With true-love showres.
William Shakespeare
375
IT WAS THE TIME OF ROSES
It was not in the winter
Our loving lot was cast:
It was the time of roses—
We plucked them as we passed!
That churlish season never frowned
On early lovers yet!
O, no—the world was newly crowned
With flowers, when first we met.
’Twas twilight, and I bade you go,
But still you held me fast:
It was the time of roses—
We plucked them as we passed.”...
Thomas Hood
376
AULD ROBIN GRAY
When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye155 at hame,
And a’ the warld to rest are gane,
The waes o’ my heart fa’ in showers frae my e’e,
While my gudeman156 lies sound by me.
Young Jamie lo’ed me weel, and sought me for his bride,
But saving a croun he had naething else beside:
To make the croun a pund, young Jamie gaed to sea,
And the croun and the pund were baith for me.
He hadna been awa a week but only twa,
When my father brak his arm, and the cow was stown awa;
My mother she fell sick, and my Jamie at the sea—
And auld Robin Gray came a-courtin’ me.
My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin;
I toiled day and night, but their bread I couldna win;
Auld Rob maintained them baith, and wi’ tears in his e’e
Said:—“Jennie, for their sakes, O, marry me!”
My heart it said nay; I look’d for Jamie back;
But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack;
His ship it was a wrack.... Why didna Jamie dee?
Or why do I live to cry, Wae’s me?
My father urgit sair: my mother didna speak,
But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break:
They gi’ed him my hand, but my heart was at the sea,
Sae auld Robin Gray he was gudeman to me.
I hadna been a wife a week but only four,
When, mournfu’ as I sat on the stane at the door,
I saw my Jamie’s wraith, for I couldna think it he—
Till he said:—“I’m come hame to marry thee.”
O, sair, sair did we greet,157 and muckle158 did we say;
We took but ae kiss, and I bad him gang away;
I wish that I were dead, but I’m no like to dee,
And why was I born to say, Wae’s me!
I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin;
I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin;
But I’ll do my best a gude wife ay to be,
For auld Robin Gray, he is kind unto me.
Lady Anne Lindsay
377
THE LAWLANDS O’ HOLLAND
“The love that I hae chosen,
I’ll therewith be content;
The saut sea sall be frozen
Before that I repent.
Repent it sall I never
Until the day I dee;
But the Lawlands o’ Holland
Hae twinned my love and me.
“My love he built a bonny ship,
And set her to the main,
Wi’ twenty-four brave mariners
To sail her out and hame.
But the weary wind began to rise,
The sea began to rout,
And my love and his bonny ship
Turned withershins about.
“There sall nae mantle cross my back,
No kaim gae in my hair,
Neither sall coal nor candle-light
Shine in my bower mair;
Nor sall I choose anither love,
Until the day I dee,
Sin’ the Lawlands o’ Holland,
Hae twinned my love and me.”
“Noo haud your tongue, my daughter dear,
Be still, and bide content;
There’s ither lads in Galloway;
Ye needna sair lament.”
“O there is nane in Galloway,
There’s nane at a’ for me.
I never lo’ed a lad but ane,
And he’s drowned in the sea.”
378
THE CHURCHYARD ON THE SANDS
My love lies in the gates of foam,
The last dear wreck of shore;
The naked sea-marsh binds her home,
The sand her chamber door.
The gray gull flaps the written stones,
The ox-birds chase the tide;
And near that narrow field of bones
Great ships at anchor ride.
Black piers with crust of dripping green,
One foreland, like a hand,
O’er intervals of grass between
Dim lonely dunes of sand.
A church of silent weathered looks,
A breezy reddish tower,
A yard whose wounded resting-nooks
Are tinged with sorrel flower.
In peace the swallow’s eggs are laid
Along the belfry walls;
The tempest does not reach her shade,
The rain her silent halls.
But sails are sweet in summer sky,
The lark throws down a lay;
The long salt levels steam and dry,
The cloud-heart melts away.
And patches of the sea-pink shine,
The pied crows poise and come;
The mallow hangs, the bind-weeds twine,
Where her sweet lips are dumb.
The passion of the wave is mute;
No sound or ocean shock;
No music save the thrilling flute
That marks the curlew flock....
Lord de Tabley
379
ROSE AYLMER
Ah, what avails the sceptred race,
Ah, what the form divine!
What every virtue, every grace!
Rose Aylmer, all were thine.
Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes
May weep, but never see,
A night of memories and sighs
I consecrate to thee.
Walter Savage Landor
380
TO HELEN
Helen, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicæan barks of yore,
That gently, o’er a perfumed sea,
The weary, wayworn wanderer bore
To his own native shore.
On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy Naiad air, have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece
And the grandeur that was Rome.
Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche
How statue-like I see thee stand,
The agate lamp within thy hand!
Ah, Psyche, from the regions which
Are Holy Land!
Edgar Allan Poe
381
“THERE IS A LADY SWEET AND KIND”
There is a Lady sweet and kind,
Was never face so pleased my mind;
I did but see her passing by,
And yet I love her till I die.
Her gesture, motion, and her smiles,
Her wit, her voice, my heart beguiles,
Beguiles my heart, I know not why,
And yet I love her till I die....
Cupid is wingèd and doth range,
Her country so my love doth change:
But change she earth, or change she sky,
Yet will I love her till I die.
Thomas Ford
382
“LOVE NOT ME FOR COMELY GRACE”
Love not me for comely grace,
For my pleasing eye or face,
Nor for any outward part:
No, nor for my constant heart!
For these may fail or turn to ill:
So thou and I shall sever:
Keep therefore a true woman’s eye,
And love me still, but know not why!
So hast thou the same reason still
To doat upon me ever.
383
NOW WOLDE
Now wolde I faine some merthės159 make,
All only for my lady sake,
When her I see;
But now I am so far fro her
It will not be.
Though I be far out of her sight
I am her man both day and night
And so will be.
Therefore wolde; as I love her,
She lovèd me.
When she is mery, then I am glad;
When she is sory, then I am sad;
And causė why,160
For he liveth not that loveth her
As well as I.
She saith that she hath seen it written
That “seldom seen is soon forgotten”;
It is not so.
For in good feith, save only her,
I love no mo.161
384
EGYPT’S MIGHT IS TUMBLED DOWN
Egypt’s might is tumbled down
Down a-down the deeps of thought;
Greece is fallen and Troy town,
Glorious Rome hath lost her crown,
Venice’ pride is nought.
But the dreams their children dreamed
Fleeting, unsubstantial, vain,
Shadowy as the shadows seemed,
Airy nothing, as they deemed,
These remain.
Mary Coleridge
385
DREAM LOVE
Young Love lies sleeping
In May-time of the year.
Among the lilies,
Lapped in the tender light:
White lambs come grazing,
White doves come building there;
And round about him
The May-bushes are white.
Soft moss the pillow
For oh, a softer cheek;
Broad leaves cast shadow
Upon the heavy eyes:
There winds and waters
Grow lulled and scarcely speak;
There twilight lingers
The longest in the skies.
Young Love lies dreaming;
But who shall tell the dream?
A perfect sunlight
On rustling forest tips;
Or perfect moonlight
Upon a rippling stream;
Or perfect silence,
Or song of cherished lips.
Burn odours round him
To fill the drowsy air;
Weave silent dances
Around him to and fro;
For oh, in waking
The sights are not so fair,
And song and silence
Are not like these below.
Young Love lies dreaming
Till summer days are gone,—
Dreaming and drowsing
Away to perfect sleep:
He sees the beauty
Sun hath not looked upon,
And tastes the fountain
Unutterably deep.
Him perfect music
Doth hush unto his rest,
And through the pauses
The perfect silence calms.
Oh, poor the voices
Of earth from east to west,
And poor earth’s stillness
Between her stately palms.
Young Love lies drowsing
Away to poppied death;
Cool shadows deepen
Across the sleeping face:
So fails the summer
With warm, delicious breath;
And what hath autumn
To give us in its place?
Draw close the curtains
Of branched evergreen;
Change cannot touch them
With fading fingers sere:
Here the first violets
Perhaps will bud unseen,
And a dove, may be,
Return to nestle here.
Christina Rossetti
386
AT COMMON DAWN
At common dawn there is a voice of bird
So sweet, ’tis kin to pain;
For love of earthly life it needs be heard,
And lets not sleep again.
This bird I did one time at midnight hear
In wet November wood
Say to himself his lyric faint and clear
As one at daybreak should.
He ceased; the covert breathed no other sound,
Nor moody answer made;
But all the world at beauty’s worship found,
Was waking in the glade.
Vivian Locke Ellis