16

TRIOLET

When first we met we did not guess That Love would prove so hard a master; Of more than common friendliness When first we met we did not guess.

Who could foretell this sore distress, This irretrievable disaster When first we met?--We did not guess That Love would prove so hard a master.

17

TRIOLET

All women born are so perverse No man need boast their love possessing.

If nought seem better, nothing's worse: All women born are so perverse.

From Adam's wife, that proved a curse Though G.o.d had made her for a blessing, All women born are so perverse No man need boast their love possessing.

BOOK II

TO

THE MEMORY OF

G. M. H.

1

MUSE.

Will Love again awake, That lies asleep so long?

POET.

O hush! ye tongues that shake The drowsy night with song.

MUSE.

It is a lady fair Whom once he deigned to praise, That at the door doth dare Her sad complaint to raise.

POET.

She must be fair of face, As bold of heart she seems, If she would match her grace With the delight of dreams.

MUSE.

Her beauty would surprise Gazers on Autumn eves, Who watched the broad moon rise Upon the scattered sheaves.

POET.

O sweet must be the voice He shall descend to hear, Who doth in Heaven rejoice His most enchanted ear.

MUSE.

The smile, that rests to play Upon her lip, foretells What musical array Tricks her sweet syllables

POET.

And yet her smiles have danced In vain, if her discourse Win not the soul entranced In divine intercourse.

MUSE.

She will encounter all This trial without shame, Her eyes men Beauty call, And Wisdom is her name.

POET.

Throw back the portals then, Ye guards, your watch that keep, Love will awake again That lay so long asleep.

2

A Pa.s.sER-BY

Whither, O splendid ship, thy white sails crowding, Leaning across the bosom of the urgent West, That fearest nor sea rising, nor sky clouding, Whither away, fair rover, and what thy quest?

Ah! soon, when Winter has all our vales opprest, When skies are cold and misty, and hail is hurling, Wilt thou glide on the blue Pacific, or rest In a summer haven asleep, thy white sails furling.

I there before thee, in the country that well thou knowest, Already arrived am inhaling the odorous air: I watch thee enter unerringly where thou goest, And anchor queen of the strange shipping there, Thy sails for awnings spread, thy masts bare; Nor is aught from the foaming reef to the snow-capped, grandest Peak, that is over the feathery palms more fair Than thou, so upright, so stately, and still thou standest.

And yet, O splendid ship, unhailed and nameless, I know not if, aiming a fancy, I rightly divine That thou hast a purpose joyful, a courage blameless, Thy port a.s.sured in a happier land than mine.

But for all I have given thee, beauty enough is thine, As thou, aslant with trim tackle and shrouding, From the proud nostril curve of a prow's line In the offing scatterest foam, thy white sails crowding.

3

LATE SPRING EVENING

I saw the Virgin-mother clad in green, Walking the sprinkled meadows at sundown; While yet the moon's cold flame was hung between The day and night, above the dusky town: I saw her brighter than the Western gold, Whereto she faced in splendour to behold.

Her dress was greener than the tenderest leaf That trembled in the sunset glare aglow: Herself more delicate than is the brief, Pink apple-blossom, that May showers lay low, And more delicious than 's the earliest streak The blushing rose shows of her crimson cheek.

As if to match the sight that so did please, A music entered, making pa.s.sion fain: Three nightingales sat singing in the trees, And praised the G.o.ddess for the fallen rain; Which yet their unseen motions did arouse, Or parting Zephyrs shook out from the boughs.

And o'er the treetops, scattered in mid air, The exhausted clouds laden with crimson light Floated, or seemed to sleep; and, highest there, One planet broke the lingering ranks of night; Daring day's company, so he might spy The Virgin-queen once with his watchful eye.

And when I saw her, then I worshipped her, And said,--O bounteous Spring, O beauteous Spring, Mother of all my years, thou who dost stir My heart to adore thee and my tongue to sing, Flower of my fruit, of my heart's blood the fire, Of all my satisfaction the desire!