The Dream of Aengus Og. [Eleanor Rogers c.o.x]

When the rose of Morn through the Dawn was breaking, And white on the hearth was last night's flame, Thither to me 'twixt sleeping and waking, Singing out of the mists she came.

And grey as the mists on the spectre meadows Were the eyes that on my eyes she laid, And her hair's red splendor through the shadows Like to the marsh-fire gleamed and played.

And she sang of the wondrous far-off places That a man may only see in dreams, The death-still, odorous, starlit s.p.a.ces Where Time is lost and no life gleams.

And there till the day had its crest uplifted, She stood with her still face bent on me, Then forth with the Dawn departing drifted Light as a foam-fleck on the sea.

And now my heart is the heart of a swallow That here no solace of rest may find, Forevermore I follow and follow Her white feet glancing down the wind.

And forevermore in my ears are ringing -- (Oh, red lips yet shall I kiss you dumb!) Twain sole words of that May morn's singing, Calling to me "Hither"! and "Come"!

From flower-bright fields to the wild lake-sedges Crying my steps when the Day has gone, Till dim and small down the Night's pale edges The stars have fluttered one by one.

And light as the thought of a love forgotten, The hours skim past, while before me flies That face of the Sun and Mist begotten, Its singing lips and death-cold eyes.

"I am in Love with High Far-Seeing Places". [Arthur Davison Ficke]

I am in love with high far-seeing places That look on plains half-sunlight and half-storm, -- In love with hours when from the circling faces Veils pa.s.s, and laughing fellowship glows warm.

You who look on me with grave eyes where rapture And April love of living burn confessed, -- The G.o.ds are good! The world lies free to capture!

Life has no walls. O take me to your breast!

Take me, -- be with me for a moment's span! -- I am in love with all unveiled faces.

I seek the wonder at the heart of man; I would go up to the far-seeing places.

While youth is ours, turn toward me for a s.p.a.ce The marvel of your rapture-lighted face!

You. [Ruth Guthrie Harding]

Deep in the heart of me, Nothing but You!

See through the art of me -- Deep in the heart of me Find the best part of me, Changeless and true.

Deep in the heart of me, Nothing but You!

Choice. [Angela Morgan]

I'd rather have the thought of you To hold against my heart, My spirit to be taught of you With west winds blowing, Than all the warm caresses Of another love's bestowing, Or all the glories of the world In which you had no part.

I'd rather have the theme of you To thread my nights and days, I'd rather have the dream of you With faint stars glowing, I'd rather have the want of you, The rich, elusive taunt of you Forever and forever and forever unconfessed Than claim the alien comfort Of any other's breast.

O lover! O my lover, That this should come to me!

I'd rather have the hope for you, Ah, Love, I'd rather grope for you Within the great abyss Than claim another's kiss -- Alone I'd rather go my way Throughout eternity.

Song. [Margaret Steele Anderson]

The bride, she wears a white, white rose -- the plucking it was mine; The poet wears a laurel wreath -- and I the laurel twine; And oh, the child, your little child, that's clinging close to you, It laughs to wear my violets -- they are so sweet and blue!

And I, I have a wreath to wear -- ah, never rue nor thorn!

I sometimes think that bitter wreath could be more sweetly worn!

For mine is made of ghostly bloom, of what I can't forget -- The fallen leaves of other crowns -- rose, laurel, violet!

Romance. [Scudder Middleton]

Why should we argue with the falling dust Or tremble in the traffic of the days?

Our hearts are music-makers in the clouds, Our feet are running on the heavenly ways.

We'll go and find the honey of romance Within the hollow of the sacred tree.

There is a spirit in the eastern sky, Calling along the dawn to you and me.

She'll lead us to the forest where she hides The yellow wine that keeps the angels young -- We are the chosen lovers of the earth For whom alone the golden comb was hung.

Good-Bye. [Norreys Jephson O'Conor]

Good-bye to tree and tower, To meadow, stream, and hill, Beneath the white clouds marshalled close At the wind's will.