I know that Nature's tears have wet The world with sympathy; but you, Who know not any sorrow yet, Call it the dew.
Althea Gyles [ ? ]
THE LOOK
Strephon kissed me in the spring, Robin in the fall, But Colin only looked at me And never kissed at all.
Strephon's kiss was lost in jest, Robin's lost in play, But the kiss in Colin's eyes Haunts me night and day.
Sara Teasdale [1884-1933]
"WHEN MY BELOVED SLEEPING LIES"
When my beloved sleeping lies I cannot look at him for tears, Such mournful peace is on his eyes.
A look of lonely death he wears, And graven very calm and deep Lie all the sorrows of old years.
He is so passionless in sleep, With all his strength relaxed to rest; I cannot see him and not weep.
For weakness life has not confessed And shadowed scars of old mistakes, I take his head upon my breast, And hold my dearest till he wakes.
Irene Rutherford McLeod [1891-
LOVE AND LIFE
"Give me a fillet, Love," quoth I, "To bind my Sweeting's heart to me, So ne'er a chance of earth or sky Shall part us ruthlessly: A fillet, Love, but not to chafe My Sweeting's soul, to cause her pain; But just to bind her close and safe Through snow and blossom and sun and rain: A fillet, boy!" Love said, "Here's joy."
"Give me a fetter, Life," quoth I, "To bind to mine my Sweeting's heart, So Death himself must fail to pry With Time the two apart: A fetter, Life, that each shall wear, Whose precious bondage each shall know. I prithee, Life, no more forbear - Why dost thou wait and falter so? Haste, Life - be brief!" Said Life: - "Here's grief."
Julie Mathilde Lippman [1864-
LOVE'S PRISONER
Sweet love has twined his fingers in my hair, And laid his hand across my wondering eyes. I cannot move save in the narrow space Of his strong arms' embrace, Nor see but only in my own heart where His image lies. How can I tell, Emprisoned so well, If in the outer world be sunset or sunrise? Sweet Love has laid his hand across my eyes.
Sweet Love has loosed his fingers from my hair, His lifted hand has left my eyelids wet. I cannot move save to pursue his fleet And unreturning feet, Nor see but in my ruined heart, and there His face lies yet. How should I know, Distraught and blinded so, If in the outer world be sunrise or sunset? Sweet Love has freed my eyes, but they are wet.
Mariana Griswold Van Rensselaer [1851-1934]
ROSIES
There's a rosie-show in Derry, An' a rosie-show in Down; An' 'tis like there's wan, I'm thinkin', 'll be held in Randalstown; But if I had the choosin' Av a rosie-prize the day, 'Twould be a pink wee rosie Like he plucked whin rakin' hay: Yon pink wee rosie in my hair - He fixed it troth - an' kissed it there! White gulls wor wheelin' roun' the sky Down by - down by.
Ay, there's rosies sure in Derry, An' there's famous wans in Down; Och there's rosies all a-hawkin' Through the heart av London town! But if I had the liftin' Or the buyin' av a few, I'd choose jist pink wee rosies That's all drenchin' wid the dew - Yon pink wee rosies wid the tears! Och wet, wet tears! - ay, troth, 'tis years Since we kep' rakin' in the hay Thon day - thon day!
Agnes I. Hanrahan [18
AT THE COMEDY
Last night, in snowy gown and glove, I saw you watch the play Where each mock hero won his love In the old unlifelike way.
(And, oh, were life their little scene Where love so smoothly ran, How different, Dear, this world had been Since this old world began!)
For you, who saw them gayly win Both hand and heart away, Knew well where dwelt the mockery in That foolish little play.
("If love were all - if love were all," The viols sobbed and cried, "Then love were best whate'er befall!" Low, low, the flutes replied.)
And you, last night, did you forget, So far from me, so near? For watching there your eyes were wet With just an idle tear!
(And down the great dark curtain fell Upon their foolish play: But you and I knew - Oh, too well! - Life went another way!)
Arthur Stringer [1874-
"SOMETIME IT MAY BE"
Sometime it may be you and I In that deserted yard shall lie Where memories fade away; Caring no more for our old dreams, Busy with new and alien themes, The saints and sages say.
But let our graves be side by side, So passers-by at even-tide May pause a moment's space: "Ah, they were lovers who lie here! Else why these low graves laid so near, In this forgotten place?"
Arthur Colton [1868-
"I HEARD A SOLDIER"
I heard a soldier sing some trifle Out in the sun-dried veldt alone: He lay and cleaned his grimy rifle Idly, behind a stone.
"If after death, love, comes a waking, And in their camp so dark and still The men of dust hear bugles, breaking Their halt upon the hill.
"To me the slow and silver pealing That then the last high trumpet pours Shall softer than the dawn come stealing, For, with its call, comes yours!"
What grief of love had he to stifle, Basking so idly by his stone, That grimy soldier with his rifle Out in the veldt, alone?
Herbert Trench [1865-1923]
THE LAST MEMORY
When I am old, and think of the old days, And warm my hands before a little blaze, Having forgotten love, hope, fear, desire, I shall see, smiling out of the pale fire, One face, mysterious and exquisite; And I shall gaze, and ponder over it, Wondering, was it Leonardo wrought That stealthy ardency, where passionate thought Burns inward, a revealing flame, and glows To the last ecstasy, which is repose? Was it Bronzino, those Borghese eyes? And, musing thus among my memories, O unforgotten! you will come to seem, As pictures do, remembered, some old dream. And I shall think of you as something strange, And beautiful, and full of helpless change, Which I beheld and carried in my heart; But you, I loved, will have become a part Of the eternal mystery, and love Like a dim pain; and I shall bend above My little fire, and shiver, being cold, When you are no more young, and I am old.
Arthur Symons [1865-
"DOWN BY THE SALLEY GARDENS"
Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet; She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet. She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree; But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree. In a field by the river my love and I did stand, And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand. She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs; But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.
William Butler Yeats [1865-
ASHES OF LIFE
Love has gone and left me, and the days are all alike. Eat I must, and sleep I will - and would that night were here! But ah, to lie awake and hear the slow hours strike! Would that it were day again, with twilight near!
Love has gone and left me, and I don't know what to do; This or that or what you will is all the same to me; But all the things that I begin I leave before I'm through - There's little use in anything as far as I can see.
Love has gone and left me, and the neighbors knock and borrow, And life goes on forever like the gnawing of a mouse. And to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow There's this little street and this little house.
Edna St. Vincent Millay [1892-
A FAREWELL
Thou wilt not look on me? Ah, well! the world is wide; The rivers still are rolling free, Song and the sword abide; And who sets forth to sail the sea Shall follow with the tide.
Thrall of my darkling day, I vassalage fulfil: Seeking the myrtle and the bay, (They thrive when hearts are chill!) The straitness of the narrowing way, The house where all is still.
Alice Brown [1857-
THE PARTED LOVERS
SONG From "Twelfth Night"
O mistress mine, where are you roaming? O, stay and hear; your true Love's coming, That can sing both high and low: Trip no further, pretty Sweeting; Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man's son doth know.
What is love? 'tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter; What's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies no plenty: Then come kiss me, Sweet-and-twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure.
William Shakespeare [1564-1616]
"GO, LOVELY ROSE"
Go, lovely Rose - Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be.
Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts, where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died.
Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired: Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired.
Then die - that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee; How small a part of time they share That are so wondrous sweet and fair!
Edmund Waller [1606-1687]
TO THE ROSE: A SONG
Go, happy Rose, and, interwove With other flowers, bind my love. Tell her, too, she must not be Longer flowing, longer free, That so oft fettered me.
Say, if she's fretful, I have bands Of pearl and gold to bind her hands; Tell her, if she struggle still, I have myrtle rods at will For to tame, though not to kill.
Take thou my blessing thus, and go And tell her this, - but do not so! - Lest a handsome anger fly Like a lightning from her eye, And burn thee up, as well as I!
Robert Herrick [1591-1674]