I

First I asked the honeybee,
Busy in the balmy bowers;
Saying, "Sweetheart, tell it me:
Have you seen her, honeybee?
She is cousin to the flowers -
All the sweetness of the south
In her wild-rose face and mouth."
But the bee passed silently.

II

Then I asked the forest bird,
Warbling by the woodland waters;
Saying, "Dearest, have you heard?
Have you heard her, forest bird?
She is one of music's daughters -
Never song so sweet by half
As the music of her laugh."
But the bird said not a word.

III

Next I asked the evening sky,
Hanging out its lamps of fire;
Saying, "Loved one, passed she by?
Tell me, tell me, evening sky!
She, the star of my desire -
Sister whom the Pleiads lost,
And my so...

I love the night when the moon streams bright
    On flowers that drink the dew--
When cascades shout as the stars peep out,
    From boundless fields of blue;
But dearer far than moon or star,
    Or flowers of gaudy hue,
Or murmuring trills of mountain-rills,
    I love, I love, love--you!

I love to stray at the close of the day,
    Through groves of forest-trees,
When gushing notes from song-birds' throats
    Are vocal in the breeze.
I love the night--the glorious night--
    When hearts beat warm and true;
But far above the night, I love,
    I love, I love, love--you!

Pearl Iridescent! Pearl of the sea!
Shimmering, glimmering Pearl of the sea!
White in the sun-flecked Silver Sea,
White in the moon-decked Silver Sea,
White in the wrath of the Silver Sea,--
Pearl of the Silver Sea!
Lapped in the smile of the Silver Sea,
Ringed in the foam of the Silver Sea,
Glamoured in mists of the Silver Sea,--
Pearl of the Silver Sea!
Glancing and glimmering under the sun.
Jewel and casket all in one,
Joy supreme of the sun's day dream,
Soft in the gleam of the golden beam,--
Pearl of the Silver Sea!
Splendour of Hope in the rising sun,
Glory of Love in the noonday sun,
Wonder of Faith in the setting sun,--
Pearl of the Silver Sea!

Gaunt and grim to the outer world,
Jewel and casket all impearled
With the kis...

Small is my secret--let it pass--
    Small in your life the share I had,
Who sat beside you in the class,
    Awed by the bright superior lad:
        Whom yet with hot and eager face
        I prompted when he missed his place.

For you the call came swift and soon:
    But sometimes in your holidays
You meet me trudging home at noon
    To dinner through the dusty ways,
        And recognized, and with a nod
        Passed on, but never guessed--thank God!

Truly our ways were separate.
    I bent myself to hoe and drill,

Yea, with an honest man to mate,
    Fulfilling God Almighty's will;
        And bore him children. But my prayers
        Were yours--and, only after, theirs.

While you--still loftier, more remote,
   ...

(THE TALE)

Cometh the Wind from the garden, fragrant and full of sweet singing--
Under my tree where I sit cometh the Wind to confession.

"Out in the garden abides the Queen of the beautiful Roses--
Her do I love and to-night wooed her with passionate singing;
Told I my love in those songs, and answer she gave in her blushes--
She shall be bride of the Wind, and she is the Queen of the Roses!"

"Wind, there is spice in thy breath; thy rapture hath fragrance Sabaean!"

"Straight from my wooing I come--my lips are bedewed with her kisses--
My lips and my song and my heart are drunk with the rapture of loving!"

(THE SONG)

The Wind he loveth the red, red Rose,
And he wooeth his love to wed:
Sweet is his song
The Summer long
As he kisse...

The summer webs that float and shine,
    The summer dews that fall,
Tho' light they be, this heart of mine
    Is lighter still than all.
It tells me every cloud is past
    Which lately seemed to lour;
That Hope hath wed young Joy at last,
    And now's their nuptial hour!

With light thus round, within, above,
    With naught to wake one sigh,
Except the wish that all we love
    Were at this moment nigh,--
It seems as if life's brilliant sun
    Had stopt in full career,
To make this hour its brightest one,
And rest in radiance here.

Of A Virginia Slave Mother To Her Daughters Sold Into Southern Bondage.


Gone, gone, sold and gone
To the rice-swamp dank and lone.
Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings
Where the noisome insect stings
Where the fever demon strews
Poison with the falling dews
Where the sickly sunbeams glare
Through the hot and misty air;
Gone, gone, sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

Gone, gone, sold and gone
To the rice-swamp dank and lone
There no mother's eye is near them,
There no mother's ear can hear them;
Never, when the torturing lash
Seams their back with many a gash
Shall a mother's kindness bless them
Or a mother's arms caress them.
Gone, g...

Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,
And like enough thou know’st thy estimate,
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;
My bonds in thee are all determinate.
For how do I hold thee but by thy granting?
And for that riches where is my deserving?
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
And so my patent back again is swerving.
Thy self thou gav’st, thy own worth then not knowing,
Or me to whom thou gav’st it, else mistaking;
So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,
Comes home again, on better judgement making.
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter,
In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.

        My heart is what it was before,
            A house where people come and go;
        But it is winter with your love,
            The sashes are beset with snow.

        I light the lamp and lay the cloth,
            I blow the coals to blaze again;
        But it is winter with your love,
            The frost is thick upon the pane.

        I know a winter when it comes:
            The leaves are listless on the boughs;
        I watched your love a little while,
            And brought my plants into the house.

        I water them and turn them south,
            I snap the dead brown from the stem;
        But it is winter with your love,--
            I only tend and water them.

        There was a time I stood and watc...

A solemn thing it was, I said,
A woman white to be,
And wear, if God should count me fit,
Her hallowed mystery.

A timid thing to drop a life
Into the purple well,
Too plummetless that it come back
Eternity until.

There runs a crisscross pattern of small leaves
Espalier, in a fading summer air,
And there Ophelia walks, an azure flower,
Whom wind, and snowflakes, and the sudden rain
Of love's wild skies have purified to heaven.
There is a beauty past all weeping now
In that sweet, crooked mouth, that vacant smile;
Only a lonely grey in those mad eyes,
Which never on earth shall learn their loneliness.
And when amid startled birds she sings lament,
Mocking in hope the long voice of the stream,
It seems her heart's lute hath a broken string.
Ivy she hath, that to old ruin clings;
And rosemary, that sees remembrance fade;
And pansies, deeper than the gloom of dreams;
But ah! if utterable, would this earth
Remain the base, unreal thing it is?
Better be out of sight of p...

Evening, and all the birds
In a chorus of shimmering sound
Are easing their hearts of joy
For miles around.

The air is blue and sweet,
The few first stars are white,
Oh let me like the birds
Sing before night.

The women folk are like to books--
Most pleasing to the eye,
Whereon if anybody looks
He feels disposed to buy.

I hear that many are for sale--
Those that record no dates,
And such editions as regale
The view with colored plates.

Of every quality and grade
And size they may be found--
Quite often beautifully made,
As often poorly bound.

Now, as for me, had I my choice,
I'd choose no folio tall,
But some octavo to rejoice
My sight and heart withal.

As plump and pudgy as a snipe--
Well worth her weight in gold,
Of honest, clean, conspicuous type,
And just the size to hold!

With such a volume for my wife,
How should I keep and con?
How like a dream should speed my life
Unto its colophon!

...

Sweet baby, sleep! what ails my dear,
What ails my darling thus to cry?
Be still, my child, and lend thine ear
To hear me sing thy lullaby.
    My pretty lamb, forbear to weep;
    Be still, my dear; sweet baby, sleep.

Thou blessed soul, what canst thou fear?
What thing to thee can mischief do?
Thy God is now thy father dear,
His holy Spouse, thy mother too.
    Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
    Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Though thy conception was in sin,
A sacred bathing thou hast had;
And, though thy birth unclean hath been,
A blameless babe thou now art made.
    Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
    Be still, my dear; sweet baby, sleep,

While thus thy lullaby I sing,
For thee great blessings ripening be;

I

Il pleut doucement sur la ville.--RIMBAUD

Tears fall within mine heart,
As rain upon the town:
Whence does this languor start,
Possessing all mine heart?

O sweet fall of the rain
Upon the earth and roofs!
Unto an heart in pain,
O music of the rain!

Tears that have no reason
Fall in my sorry heart:
What! there was no treason?
This grief hath no reason.

Nay! the more desolate,
Because, I know not why,
(Neither for love nor hate)
Mine heart is desolate.


II

COLLOQUE SENTIMENTAL

Into the lonely park all frozen fast,
Awhile ago there were two forms who passed.

Lo, are their lips fallen and their eyes dead,
Hardly shall a man hear the words they said.

In...

The night is long
    And there are no stars, -
        Let me but dream
        That the long fields gleam
With sunlight and song,
Then I shall not long
    For the light of stars.

Let me but dream, -
    For there are no stars, -
        Dream that the ache
        And the wild heart-break
Are but things that seem.
Ah! let me dream
    For there are no stars.

Gif a lassie spurn a laddie
Wi' her needless Nays,
Thraves will pet the hapless plaidie
Wi' their loving ways;
So if Kirsty blaw him cauldly
As a winter day,
Bess and Belle will bless him bauldly
Wi' the breath of May.

Prudery still affects the valley,
Shady and alane,
Meeting souls that loveward sally,
Icy as a stane.
On the mountain true Love singeth,
Liberty is there;
Dalliance wingeth, Pleasure springeth,
From her waving hair.

On the peaks abide the pleasures,
Young and sweet and free,
Yoked with Youth's immortal treasures,
Love and Liberty;
So, the hilltops seek while soaring,
Eaglet of Love's sky;
Light adorned and Light adoring,
Bask, and burn and die.

A stream to mingle with your favorite Dee
Along the Vale of Meditation flows;
So styled by those fierce Britons, pleased to see
In Nature's face the expression of repose,
Or, haply there some pious Hermit chose
To live and die, the peace of Heaven his aim,
To whome the wild sequestered region owes
At this late day, its sanctifying name.
Glyn Cafaillgaroch, in the Cambrian tongue,
In ourse the Vale of Friendship, let this spot
Be nam'd, where faithful to a low roof'd Cot
On Deva's banks, ye have abode so long,
Sisters in love, a love allowed to climb
Ev'n on this earth, above the reach of time.