Loneliness

        This is the time for birds to mate;
                To-day the dove
        Will mark the ancient amorous date
                With moans of love;
        The crow will change his call to prate
                His hopes thereof.

        The starling will display the red
                That lights his wings;
        The wren will know the sweet things said
                By him who swings
        And ducks and dips his crested head
                And sings and sings.

        They are obedient to their blood,
                Nor ask a sign,
        Save buoyant air and swelling bud,
                At hands divine,
        But choose, each in the barren wood,
                His valentine.

        In caution's maze they nev...

Apollo never smote a lovelier strain,
When swan-necked Hebe paused her thirsty bowl
A-sparkle with its wealth of nectar-draughts
To lend a list'ners ear and smile on him,
As that the Tritons blew on wreathed horns
When Aphrodite, the cold ocean-foam
Bursting its bubbles, from the hissing snow
Whirled her nude form on Hyperion's gaze,
Naked and fresh as Indian Ocean shell
Dashed landward from its bed of sucking sponge
And branching corals by the changed monsoon.
Wind-rocked she swung her white feet on the sea,
And music raved down the slant western winds;
With swollen jowls the Tritons puffed the conch,
Where, breasting with cold bosoms the green waves,
That laughed in ripples at Love's misty feet,
Oceanids with dimple-dented palms
Smote sidewise the pale ...

    To market, to market,
        To buy a plum cake;
    Home again, home again,
        Ne'er a one baked;
    The baker is dead and all his men,
    And we must go to market again.

    This is the song
    The spice-tree sings:
    "Hunger and fire,
    Hunger and fire,
    Sky-born Beauty -
    Spice of desire,"
    Under the spice-tree
    Watch and wait,
    Burning maidens
    And lads that mate.

    The spice-tree spreads
    And its boughs come down
    Shadowing village and farm and town.
    And none can see
    But the pure of heart
    The great green leaves
    And the boughs descending,
    And hear the song that is never ending.

    The deep roots whisper,
    The branches say: -
    "Love to-morrow,
    And love to-day,
    And till Heaven's day,
    And till Heaven's day."

    The moon is a bird's nest in its branches,
    The moon is hung in its topmost spaces...

Lips, lips, open!
Up comes a little bird that lives inside
Up comes a little bird, and peeps, and out he flies.

All the day he sits inside, and sometimes he sings,
Up he comes, and out he goes at night to spread his wings.

Little bird, little bird, whither will you go?
Round about the world, while nobody can know.

Little bird, little bird, whither do you flee?
Far away around the world, while nobody can see.

Little bird, little bird, how long will you roam?
All round the world and around again home;

Round the round world, and back through the air,
When the morning comes, the little bird is there.

Back comes the little bird and looks and in he flies,
Up wakes the little boy, and opens both his eyes.

Sleep, sleep, little boy,...

Farewell! and know, where'er I roam,
    My heart still turns to thee,
From spacious halls, or trackless woods,
    Or on the foaming sea.

Farewell, my friend! oh, could I say,
    My love, my own, to you,
My outlook on this dreary world
    Would have a brighter hue.

But duty calls, and I must go,
    E'en now, with outstretch'd hand,
I take a sad, sad leave of thee,
    To dwell in distant land.

For thy sweet sake I'll onward toil,
In earnest, patient strife.
Content, if thou shalt know I live
An earnest, useful life.

And if, in future years thou'rt free,
And none has gain'd thy heart,
Oh, darling, wilt thou come to me,
And we shall never part.

My shatter'd life will then be sweet,
My spirit shall rejoic...

    I.

    Dawn, noon and dewfall!    Bluebird and robin
    Up and at it airly, and the orchard-blossoms bobbin'!
    Peekin' from the winder, half-awake, and wishin'
    I could go to sleep agin as well as go a-fishin'!


    II.

    On the apern o' the dam, legs a-danglin' over,
    Drowsy-like with sound o' worter and the smell o' clover:
    Fish all out a visitin' - 'cept some dratted minnor!
    Yes, and mill shet down at last and hands is gone to dinner.


    III.

    Trompin' home acrost the fields:    Lightnin'-bugs a-blinkin'
    In the wheat like sparks o' things feller keeps a-thinkin': -
    Mother waitin' supper, and the childern there to cherr me!
    And fiddle on the kitchen-wall a-jist a-eechin' fer me!

O li'l' lamb out in de col',
De Mastah call you to de fol',
    O li'l' lamb!
He hyeah you bleatin' on de hill;
Come hyeah an' keep yo' mou'nin' still,
    O li'l' lamb!

De Mastah sen' de Shepud fo'f;
He wandah souf, he wandah no'f,
    O li'l' lamb!
He wandah eas', he wandah wes';
De win' a-wrenchin' at his breas',
    O li'l' lamb!

Oh, tell de Shepud whaih you hide;
He want you walkin' by his side,
    O li'l' lamb!
He know you weak, he know you so';
But come, don' stay away no mo',
    O li'l' lamb!

An' af'ah while de lamb he hyeah
De Shepud's voice a-callin' cleah--
    Sweet li'l' lamb!
He answah f'om de brambles thick,
"O Shepud, I's a-comin' quick"--
    O li'l' lamb!

    1

    And like a cobbler at a bench
    I return to my musings
    why Kensington Gardens
    with its grand, theatrical entrance
    is gateway to London's poor
    - why the stiff Victoria and Albert
    monument or grand canopy
    to the Hemispheres
    has a bison for the Americas
    or sultry elephant of
    Asia fame
    (India being the brightest
    jewel in the Empress' crown);
    why other archetypal animals at their pleasure
    are carved in gleaming milk white
    when the rich at their
    leisure, to and fro,
    dine elegantly as tight
    buds arranged on a stem.

    2
    I've not mentioned the poor
    come to the Serpentine
    a little ways up in Hyde Park
    only to be chased out...

When our downcast looks be smileless,
Under others' wrongs an' slightens,
When our daily deeds be guileless,
An' do meet unkind requitens,
You can meake us zome amends
Vor wrongs o' foes, an' slights o' friends;-
O flow'ry-gleaded, timber-sheaded
Vields by flowen watervalls!

Here be softest airs a'blowen
Drough the boughs, wi'zingen drushes,
Up above the streams, a-flowen
Under willows, on by rushes.
Here below the bright-zunned sky
The dew-bespangled flow'rs do dry,
In woody-zided, stream-divided
Vields by flowen watervalls.

Waters, wi' their giddy rollens;
Breezes wi' their playsome wooens;
Here do heal, in soft consolens,
Hearts-a-wrung wi' man's wrong doens.
Day do come to us as gay
As to king ov widest sway,
In de...

Silence again. The glorious symphony
Hath need of pause and interval of peace.
Some subtle signal bids all sweet sounds cease,
Save hum of insects' aimless industry.
Pathetic summer seeks by blazonry
Of color to conceal her swift decrease.
Weak subterfuge! Each mocking day doth fleece
A blossom, and lay bare her poverty.
Poor middle-agèd summer! Vain this show!
Whole fields of golden-rod cannot offset
One meadow with a single violet;
And well the singing thrush and lily know,
Spite of all artifice which her regret
Can deck in splendid guise, their time to go!

I

The curtains now are drawn,
And the spindrift strikes the glass,
Blown up the jagged pass
By the surly salt sou'-west,
And the sneering glare is gone
Behind the yonder crest,
While she sings to me:
"O the dream that thou art my Love, be it thine,
And the dream that I am thy Love, be it mine,
And death may come, but loving is divine."

II

I stand here in the rain,
With its smite upon her stone,
And the grasses that have grown
Over women, children, men,
And their texts that "Life is vain";
But I hear the notes as when
Once she sang to me:
"O the dream that thou art my Love, be it thine,
And the dream that I am thy Love, be it mine,
And death may come, but loving is divine."

Has Time a changeling made of thee?
Oh! no; and thou art all to me:
He bares the forest, but his pow'rs
Impair not love like ours.

Tho' sever'd from each other's sight,
When once we meet we shall unite,
As dew-drops down the lily run,
And, touching, blend in one.

For thee this bosom learnt to grieve,
Another never made it heave;
When present, oh! it was thy throne,
And, absent, thine alone.

Then may my trembling pilgrim feet
In safety find thy lov'd retreat!
And, if I'm doom'd to drop with care,
Still let me perish there!

Elegance floats about thee like a dress,
    Melting the airy motion of thy form
Into one swaying grace, and loveliness,
    Like a rich tint that makes a picture warm,
Is lurking in the chesnut of thy tress,
    Enriching it, as moonlight after storm
Mingles dark shadows into gentleness.
    A beauty that bewilders like a spell
Reigns in thine eye's clear hazel, and thy brow
    So pure in vein'd transparency doth tell
How spiritually beautiful art thou -
    A temple where angelic love might dwell.
Life in thy presence were a thing to keep,
Like a gay dreamer clinging to his sleep.

        Goosey, goosey, gander,
        Where shall I wander?
    Up stairs, down stairs,
        And in my lady's chamber;
    There I met an old man
        That would not say his prayers;
    I took him by the left leg,
        And threw him down stairs.

Faint amorist, what, dost thou think
To taste Love's honey, and not drink
One dram of gall? or to devour
A world of sweet, and taste no sour?
Dost thou ever think to enter
Th' Elysian fields, that dar'st not venture
In Charon's barge? a lover's mind
Must use to sail with every wind.
He that loves and fears to try,
Learns his mistress to deny.
Doth she chide thee? 'tis to show it,
That thy coldness makes her do it:
Is she silent? is she mute?
Silence fully grants thy suit:
Doth she pout, and leave the room?
Then she goes to bid thee come:
Is she sick? why then be sure,
She invites thee to the cure:
Doth she cross thy suit with "No?"
Tush, she loves to hear thee woo:
Doth she call the faith of man
In question?    Nay, she loves thee than...

Singing, as if enamour'd, she resum'd
And clos'd the song, with "Blessed they whose sins
Are cover'd." Like the wood-nymphs then, that tripp'd
Singly across the sylvan shadows, one
Eager to view and one to 'scape the sun,
So mov'd she on, against the current, up
The verdant rivage. I, her mincing step
Observing, with as tardy step pursued.

Between us not an hundred paces trod,
The bank, on each side bending equally,
Gave me to face the orient. Nor our way
Far onward brought us, when to me at once
She turn'd, and cried: "My brother! look and hearken."
And lo! a sudden lustre ran across
Through the great forest on all parts, so bright
I doubted whether lightning were abroad;
But that expiring ever in the spleen,
That doth unfold it, and this during st...

Once when my life was young,
I, too, with Spring's bright face
By mine, walked softly along,
Pace to his pace.

Then burned his crimson may,
Like a clear flame outspread,
Arching our happy way:
Then would he shed

Strangely from his wild face
Wonderful light on me -
Like hounds that keen in chase
Their quarry see.

Oh, sorrow now to know
What shafts, what keenness cold
His are to pierce me through,
Now that I'm old.