Too late I bring my heart, too late 'tis yours;
Too late to bring the true love that endures;
Too long, unthrift, I gave it here and there,
Spent it in idle love and idle song;
Youth seemed so rich, with kisses all to spare -
Too late! too long!

Too late, O fairy woman; dreams and dust
Are in your hair, your face is dimly thrust
Among the flowers; and Time, that all forgets,
Even you forgets, and only I prolong
The face I love, with ache of vain regrets -
Too late! too long!

Too long I tarried, and too late I come,
O eyes and lips so strangely sealed and dumb:
My heart - what is it now, beloved, to you?
My love - that doth your holy silence wrong?
Ah! fairy face, star-crowned and chrismed with dew -
Too late! too long!

As dew leaves the cobweb lightly
Threaded with stars,
Scattering jewels on the fence
And the pasture bars;
As dawn leaves the dry grass bright
And the tangled weeds
Bearing a rainbow gem
On each of their seeds;
So has your love, my lover,
Fresh as the dawn,
Made me a shining road
To travel on,
Set every common sight
Of tree or stone
Delicately alight
For me alone.

O deare Life, when shall it bee
That mine eyes thine eyes shall see,
And in them thy mind discouer
Whether absence haue had force
thy remembrance to diuorce
From the image of thy louer?

Or if I my self find not,
After parting aught forgot,
Nor debar'd from Beauties treasure,
Let not tongue aspire to tell
In what high ioyes I shall dwell;
Only thought aymes at the pleasure.

Thought, therefore, I will send thee
To take vp the place for me:
Long I will not after tary,
There vnseene, thou mayst be bold,
Those faire wonders to behold,
Which in them my hopes do cary.

Thought, see thou no place forbeare,
Enter brauely euerywhere,
Seize on all to her belonging;
But if thou wouldst garded be,
Fearing her beames, take with...

The splendors of a southern sun
    Caress the glowing sky;
O'er crested waves, the colors glance
    And gleaming, softly die.
A gentle calm from heaven falls
    And weaves a mystic spell;
A glowing grace that charms the soul--
    Whose glory none can tell.

Oh, warm sweet treasures of a sun
    Of endless fire and love;
Those dying embers are the flames
    From heavenly fires above.
Unto the water's edge they creep
    And bathe the seas in red;
Then die like shadows on the deep
    With glory cold and dead.

A ship--a lone, dark wanderer
    Upon the southern seas,
Speeds like a white-faced messenger
    Before the dying breeze.
Her masts are tipped with amethyst,
    A splendor all untold;
A crimson mantle wraps h...

    Sorrowful pleading on her face is written
    With love commingled, and my heart throbs fast,
    Flooded with currents of a deep emotion
    Stirred by the memory of that awful past.
    Note the sad gaze of him who bends above her,
    What say his eyes in answer to her own?
    What did he think as tenderly he kissed her?
    What was the meaning of his whispered tone?
    Spoke he of honor's claim poor love's outweighing,
    Or did her circling arms so well enfold
    That the white kerchief wearing-badge of safety -
    He passed the lurking foe with spirit bold.

    Ah, they are vanished now - the maid and lover,
    Their history the wisest cannot tell.
    Mayhap upon that night of cruel slaughter,
    Eager to meet the zealot's hate he fell.

Lyke some choise booke thou arte toe mee,
Bound all so daintilie;
And 'neath the covers faire
Are contents true and rare.
Ne wolde I looke
Ne reade inne any other booke
If I belyke could find therein the charte
And indice to thy hearte.
The Great Wise Authour made but one
Of this edition, then was don;
And were this onlie copie mine,
Then wolde I write therein, "My Valentyne."

As thro' the hedge-row shade the violet steals,
And the sweet air its modest leaf reveals;
Her softer charms, but by their influence known,
Surprise all hearts, and mould them to her own.

    The playful way thy wanton hair
        Was tossing in the wind;
    Thy girlish, vain vexation
        Is treasured in my mind.

    Held in my heart each sacred spot,
        O'er which we roamed at will:
    The rose that bloomed upon thy breast
        Blooms in my memory still.

    Still do I see thy sunny smile,
        In sportive dimples traced,
    Like truant beams of morning light
        By flitting fairies chased.

    Thy merry, maiden laughter still
        Is ringing in my ear,
    As silver streams in sylvan shades
        Make music sweet to hear.

The soaring lark is blest as proud
When at heaven's gate she sings;
The roving bee proclaims aloud
Her flight by vocal wings;
While Ye, in lasting durance pent,
Your silent lives employ
For something more than dull content,
Though haply less than joy.

Yet might your glassy prison seem
A place where joy is known,
Where golden flash and silver gleam
Have meanings of their own;
While, high and low, and all about,
Your motions, glittering Elves!
Ye weave, no danger from without,
And peace among yourselves.

Type of a sunny human breast
Is your transparent cell;
Where Fear is but a transient guest,
No sullen Humours dwell;
Where, sensitive of every ray
That smites this tiny sea,
Your scaly panoplies repay
The loan with ...

1

Oh say not, sweet Anne, that the Fates have decreed
The heart which adores you should wish to dissever;
Such Fates were to me most unkind ones indeed, -
To bear me from Love and from Beauty for ever.


2.

Your frowns, lovely girl, are the Fates which alone
Could bid me from fond admiration refrain;
By these, every hope, every wish were o'erthrown,
Till smiles should restore me to rapture again.


3.

As the ivy and oak, in the forest entwin'd,
The rage of the tempest united must weather;
My love and my life were by nature design'd
To flourish alike, or to perish together.


4.

Then say not, sweet Anne, that the Fates have decreed
Your lover should bid you a lasting adieu:
Till Fate can ordain tha...

I saw her crop a rose
Right early in the day,
And I went to kiss the place
Where she broke the rose away
And I saw the patten rings
Where she oer the stile had gone,
And I love all other things
Her bright eyes look upon.
If she looks upon the hedge or up the leafing tree,
The whitethorn or the brown oak are made dearer things to me.

I have a pleasant hill
Which I sit upon for hours,
Where she cropt some sprigs of thyme
And other little flowers;
And she muttered as she did it
As does beauty in a dream,
And I loved her when she hid it
On her breast, so like to cream,
Near the brown mole on her neck that to me a diamond shone
Then my eye was like to fire, and my heart was like to stone.

There is a small green place
Where cowsl...

Tenderly, day that I have loved, I close your eyes,
And smooth your quiet brow, and fold your thin dead hands.
The grey veils of the half-light deepen; colour dies.
I bear you, a light burden, to the shrouded sands,

Where lies your waiting boat, by wreaths of the sea's making
Mist-garlanded, with all grey weeds of the water crowned.
There you'll be laid, past fear of sleep or hope of waking;
And over the unmoving sea, without a sound,

Faint hands will row you outward, out beyond our sight,
Us with stretched arms and empty eyes on the far-gleaming
And marble sand. . . .
Beyond the shifting cold twilight,
Further than laughter goes, or tears, further than dreaming,
There'll be no port, no dawn-lit islands! But the drear
Waste darkening, and, at length, flame u...

Si è debile il filo a cui s' attene.

HE GRIEVES IN ABSENCE FROM LAURA.


    The thread on which my weary life depends
So fragile is and weak,
If none kind succour lends,
Soon 'neath the painful burden will it break;
Since doom'd to take my sad farewell of her,
In whom begins and ends
My bliss, one hope, to stir
My sinking spirit from its black despair,
Whispers, "Though lost awhile
That form so dear and fair,
Sad soul! the trial bear,
For thee e'en yet the sun may brightly shine,
And days more happy smile,
Once more the lost loved treasure may be thine."
This thought awhile sustains me, but again
To fail me and forsake in worse excess of pain.

Time flies apace: the silent hours and swift
So urge his journey on,

I see your red-gold hair and know
How white the hidden skin must be,
Though sun-kissed face and fingers show
The fervour of the noon-day glow,
The keenness of the sea.

My longing fancies ebb and flow,
Still circling constant unto this;
My great desire (ah, whisper low)
To plant on thy forbidden snow
The rosebud of a kiss.

The scarlet flower would spread and grow,
Your whiteness change and flush,
Be still, my reckless heart, beat slow,
'T is but a dream that stirs thee so!)
To one transparent blush.

Catching the sunbeams, oh, wee dimpled child,
    Gleefully laughing because they are bright;
Knowing, ah! never, my beautiful pet,
    Ne'er can our fingers imprison the light.

Beautiful sunshine, oh! fair is the light
    Falling on earth from the heavens above;
Beautiful childhood, oh! glad is the sight
    Filling the world with its measure of love.

Playing with sunbeams, oh, all of us, pet,
    Toy with the treasures, so shining and bright;
Catching the sunshine we never may hold,
    Trying like you, to imprison the light.

Sunbeams that glitter and sparkle and shine--
    Life is so full of the beautiful light;
Gilding the wings of each fleet-footed day
    Only to fade in the shadows of night.

Playing with sunbeams, oh! all of us...

When the dark ivy the thorn-tree is mounting,
Sweet shielding in summer the nest of the dove,
There lies the sweet spot, by the side of the fountain,
That's dear to all sweetness that dwells upon love:
For there setting sunbeams, ere even's clouds close 'em,
Once stretch'd a long shadow of one I adore;
And there did I meet the sweet sighs of the bosom
Of one ever dear, though I meet her no more.

And who with a soul, and a share of warm feeling,
And who with a heart that owns love for the fair,
Can pass by the spot where his first look was stealing,
Or first fondness ventur'd love-tales to declare?
Ah, who can pass by it, and notice it never?
Can long days forget on first fondness to call?
Sure time kindles love to burn brighter than ever,
And nature's first c...

I love to see the sun go down
    Behind the western hill;
I love to see the night come on,
    When everything is still.

I love to see the moon and stars
    Shine brightly in the sky;
I love to see the rolling clouds
    Above my head so high.

I love to see the little flowers
    That grow up from the ground;
To hear the wind blow through the trees,
    And make a rustling sound.

I love to see the sheep and lambs
    So happy in their play;
I love to hear the small birds sing
    Sweetly, at close of day.

I love to see them _all_, because
    They are so bright and fair;
And He who made this pleasant world
    Will listen to my prayer.

Lesbia hath a beaming eye,
    But no one knows for whom it beameth;
Right and left its arrows fly,
    But what they aim at no one dreameth.
Sweeter 'tis to gaze upon
    My Nora's lid that seldom rises;
Few its looks, but every one,
    Like unexpected light, surprises!
        Oh, My Nora Creina, dear,
    My gentle, bashful Nora Creina,
            Beauty lies
            In many eyes,
    But love in yours, My Nora Creina.

Lesbia wears a robe of gold,
    But all so close the nymph hath laced it,
Not a charm of beauty's mould
    Presumes to stay where nature placed it.
Oh! my Nora's gown for me,
    That floats as wild as mountain breezes,
Leaving every beauty free
    To sink or swell as Heaven pleases.
        Yes, my Nor...