The March winds blow. I watch her go: Her eye is brown and clear; Her cheek is brown, and soft as down, (To those who see it near!) - With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly! Dolly shall be mine, Before the spray is white with May, Or blooms the eglantine.
What has she not that those have got, - The dames that walk in silk! If she undo her kerchief blue, Her neck is white as milk. With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly! Dolly shall be mine, Before the spray is white with May, Or blooms the eglantine.
Let those who will be proud and chill! For me, from June to June, My Dolly's words are sweet as curds - Her laugh is like a tune; - With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly! Dolly shall be mine, Before the spray is white with May, Or blooms the eglantine.
Break, break to hear, O crocus-spear! O tall Lent-lilies flame! There'll be a bride at Easter-tide, And Dolly is her name. With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly! Dolly shall be mine, Before the spray is white with May, Or blooms the eglantine.
Austin Dobson [1840-1921]
SONG
This peach is pink with such a pink As suits the peach divinely; The cunning color rarely spread Fades to the yellow finely; But where to spy the truest pink Is in my Love's soft cheek, I think.
The snowdrop, child of windy March, Doth glory in her whiteness; Her golden neighbors, crocuses, Unenvious praise her brightness! But I do know where, out of sight, My sweetheart keeps a warmer white.
Norman Gale [1862-
IN FEBRUARY
My Lady's birthday crowns the growing year; A flower of Spring before the Spring is here; To sing of her and this fair day to keep The very Loves forsake their Winter sleep; Where'er she goes their circling wings they spread, And shower celestial roses o'er her head. I, too, would chant her worth and dare to raise A hymn to what's beyond immortal praise. Go, little verse, and lay in vesture meet Of poesy, my homage at her feet.
Henry Simpson [1868-
"LOVE, I MARVEL WHAT YOU ARE"
Love, I marvel what you are! Heaven in a pearl of dew, Lilies hearted with a star - All are you.
Spring along your forehead shines And the summer blooms your breast. Graces of autumnal vines Round you rest.
Birds about a limpid rose Making song and light of wing While the warm wind sunny blows, - So you sing.
Darling, if the little dust, That I know is merely I, Have availed to win your trust, Let me die.
Trumbull Stickney [1874-1904]
BALLADE OF MY LADY'S BEAUTY
Squire Adam had two wives, they say, Two wives had he for his delight; He kissed and clypt them all the day, And clypt and kissed them all the night. Now Eve like ocean foam was white, And Lilith, roses dipped in wine, But though they were a goodly sight, No lady is so fair as mine.
To Venus some folk tribute pay, And Queen of Beauty she is hight, And Sainte Marie the world doth sway, In cerule napery bedight. My wonderment these twain invite, Their comeliness it is divine; And yet I say in their despite, No lady is so fair as mine.
Dame Helen caused a grievous fray, For love of her brave men did fight, The eyes of her made sages fey And put their hearts in woeful plight. To her no rhymes will I indite, For her no garlands will I twine; Though she be made of flowers and light, No lady is so fair as mine.
L'ENVOI Prince Eros, Lord of lovely might, Who on Olympus doth recline, Do I not tell the truth aright? No lady is so fair as mine.
Joyce Kilmer [1886-1918]
URSULA
I see her in the festal warmth to-night, Her rest all grace, her motion all delight. Endowed with all the woman's arts that please, In her soft gown she seems a thing of ease, Whom sorrow may not reach or evil blight.
To-morrow she will toil from floor to floor To smile upon the unreplying poor, To stay the tears of widows, and to be Confessor to men's erring hearts . . . ah me! She knows not I am beggar at her door.
Robert Underwood Johnson [1853-
VILLANELLE OF HIS LADY'S TREASURES
I took her dainty eyes, as well As silken tendrils of her hair: And so I made a Villanelle!
I took her voice, a silver bell, As clear as song, as soft as prayer; I took her dainty eyes as well.
It may be, said I, who can tell, These things shall be my less despair? And so I made a Villanelle!
I took her whiteness virginal And from her cheeks two roses rare: I took her dainty eyes as well.
I said: "It may be possible Her image from my heart to tear!" And so I made a Villanelle!
I stole her laugh, most musical: I wrought it in with artful care; I took her dainty eyes as well; And so I made a Villanelle.
Ernest Dowson [1867-1900]
SONG
Love, by that loosened hair Well now I know Where the lost Lilith went So long ago.
Love, by those starry eyes I understand How the sea maidens lure Mortals from land.
Love, by that welling laugh Joy claims his own Sea-born and wind-wayward Child of the sun.
Bliss Carman [1861-1929]
SONG
O, like a queen's her happy tread, And like a queen's her golden head! But O, at last, when all is said, Her woman's heart for me!
We wandered where the river gleamed 'Neath oaks that mused and pines that dreamed, A wild thing of the woods she seemed, So proud, and pure, and free!
All heaven drew nigh to hear her sing, When from her lips her soul took wing; The oaks forgot their pondering, The pines their reverie.
And O, her happy, queenly tread, And O, her queenly golden head! But O, her heart, when all is said, Her woman's heart for me!
William Watson [1858-1935]
ANY LOVER, ANY LASS
Why are her eyes so bright, so bright, Why do her lips control The kisses of a summer night, When I would love her soul?
God set her brave eyes wide apart And painted them with fire; They stir the ashes of my heart To embers of desire.
Her lips so tenderly are wrought In so divine a shape, That I am servant to my thought And can no wise escape.
Her body is a flower, her hair About her neck doth play; I find her colors everywhere, They are the pride of day.
Her little hands are soft, and when I see her fingers move I know in very truth that men Have died for less than love.
Ah, dear, live, lovely thing! my eyes Have sought her like a prayer; It is my better self that cries "Would she were not so fair!"
Would I might forfeit ecstasy And find a calmer place, Where I might undesirous see Her too desired face:
Nor find her eyes so bright, so bright, Nor hear her lips unroll Dream after dream the lifelong night, When I would love her soul.
Richard Middleton [1882-1911]
SONGS ASCENDING
Love has been sung a thousand ways - So let it be; The songs ascending in your praise Through all my days Are three.
Your cloud-white body first I sing; Your love was heaven's blue, And I, a bird, flew carolling In ring on ring Of you.
Your nearness is the second song; When God began to be, And bound you strongly, right or wrong, With his own thong, To me.
But oh, the song, eternal, high, That tops these two! - You live forever, you who die, I am not I But you.
Witter Bynner [1881-
SONG
"Oh! Love," they said, "is King of Kings, And Triumph is his crown. Earth fades in flame before his wings, And Sun and Moon bow down." - But that, I knew, would never do; And Heaven is all too high. So whenever I meet a Queen, I said, I will not catch her eye.
"Oh! Love," they said, and "Love," they said, "The gift of Love is this; A crown of thorns about thy head, And vinegar to thy kiss!" - But Tragedy is not for me; And I'm content to be gay. So whenever I spied a Tragic Lady, I went another way.
And so I never feared to see You wander down the street, Or come across the fields to me On ordinary feet. For what they'd never told me of, And what I never knew; It was that all the time, my love, Love would be merely you.
Rupert Brooke [1887-1915]
SONG
How do I love you? I do not know. Only because of you Gladly I go.
Only because of you Labor is sweet, And all the song of you Sings in my feet.
Only the thought of you Trembles and lies Just where the world begins - Under my eyes.
Irene Rutherford McLeod [1891-
TO. . . IN CHURCH
If I was drawn here from a distant place, 'Twas not to pray nor hear our friend's address, But, gazing once more on your winsome face, To worship there Ideal Loveliness. On that pure shrine that has too long ignored The gifts that once I brought so frequently I lay this votive offering, to record How sweet your quiet beauty seemed to me. Enchanting girl, my faith is not a thing By futile prayers and vapid psalm-singing To vent in crowded nave and public pew. My creed is simple: that the world is fair, And beauty the best thing to worship there, And I confess it by adoring you.
Alan Seeger [1888-1916]
AFTER TWO YEARS
She is all so slight And tender and white As a May morning. She walks without hood At dusk. It is good To hear her sing.
It is God's will That I shall love her still As He loves Mary. And night and day I will go forth to pray That she love me.
She is as gold Lovely, and far more cold. Do thou pray with me, For if I win grace To kiss twice her face God has done well to me.
Richard Aldington [1892-
PRAISE
Dear, they are praising your beauty, The grass and the sky: The sky in a silence of wonder, The grass in a sigh.
I too would sing for your praising, Dearest, had I Speech as the whispering grass, Or the silent sky.