The hart he loves the high wood,
The hare she loves the hill;
The knight he loves his bright sword,
The lady loves her will.

Thee have I sought, divine Humility,
—Within, without!
And Science did I take as guide to thee;
—She showed me Doubt.

Then did I turn to Art: “Be thou my friend,
—My pride destroy.”
She sang of Glory that should never end
—And taught me Joy.

“Nature, be thou my monitress!” I cried
—In accents clear.
She shook the very base of human pride,
—And whispered, “Fear.”

Lastly of Love did I beseech this grace,
—To come to thee;
Love turned on me a dark and dreadful face,
—'Twas Jealousy.

My faith had gone, my hope was well-nigh dead,

Not mine from thee, loved heart, to feel such tide
As this mine own doth pour thee;
Still shall I not go all unsatisfied:
Enough that I adore thee.

And if thou never wakest to my song,
Not weakly shall it falter;
Proudly I pace Love's lonely courts along
Unto their inmost altar.

Ah, some day, if, within thy pleasant sleep,
Faint echoes of me find thee,
White heart, may dreams be not too fair or deep
Or soothing to unbind thee!

Perchance even then, responding to that sound,
Thou 'lt hail and overtake me,

Love was a flow'r that craved the tenderest care,
Sweet, fragile Love that tended grows more fair,
A petalled fragrance dreamy like dim skies
Illumining life more than the bright sunrise.
A shimmering blossom full of golden dower,
Love was a flower.

Cold sea-winds blew along the amber shore
Where white flow'rs glisten'd on the bank no more …
For withered buds bent on a barren bough,
Our poor, untended Love has perished now.
'Twas born eternal, but it lived an hour,
Love was a flower.

in summer let's buy blue lampshades
to see your and our lovely fingers
in the star city is an angel with seashell fingernails
a selfish, shabby angel
that's you
in the shade of waves of acacia leaves
a true manicure is performed
but.

ah, touch the nails and you'll get scarred.

this was also a simple, pencil-sketched angel.

Heart ! my heart! what means this feeling?
What oppresseth thee so sore?
What strange life is o'er me stealing!
I acknowledge thee no more.
Fled is all that gave thee gladness,
Fled the cause of all thy sadness,
Fled thy peace, thine industry—
Ah, why suffer it to be?

Say, do beauty's graces youthful,
Does this form so fair and bright,
Does this gaze, so kind, so truthful,
Chain thee with unceasing might?
Would I tear me from her boldly,
Courage take, and fly her coldly,
Back to her I'm forthwith led
By the path I seek to tread.

It is already Autumn, and not in my heart only,
The leaves are on the ground,
Green leaves untimely browned,
The leaves bereft of Summer, my heart of Love left lonely.

Swift, in the masque of seasons, the moment of each mummer,
And even so fugitive
Love's hour, Love's hour to live:
Yet, leaves, ye have had your rapture, and thou, poor heart, thy Summer!

As a most happy mother feels the stir
Of that new life which quickens with her life,
And knows that virtue has gone forth from her
To doubly sanctify the name of wife;
Yet, for her joy's sake, and because her pride
Is too unutterably sanctified,
And all the heaven of heavens within her breast
Too dearly and too intimately possessed,
Speaks not a word, but folds her new delight
With a rapt silence, comforting as night;
So, when I felt the quickening life that came
To bid my life's long-slumbering currents move,
I set the seal of silence on your name,

Once I smiled when I saw you, when I saw you smile I was glad,
And the joy of my heart was as foam that the sea-wind shakes from the sea;
But the smile of your eyes grows strange, and the smile that my lips have had
Trembles back to my heart, and my heart trembles in me.

Once you laughed when you met me, when you met me your voice was gay
As the voice of a bird in the dawn of the day on a sun-shiny tree;
But the sound of your voice grows strange, and the words that you do not say
Thrill from your heart to mine, and my heart trembles in me.

Child, in those gravely-smiling eyes,
What memory sits apart and hears
A litany of low replies,
Love's music, in a lover's ears?

Love in your heart, a guest unsought,
Unfeared, and never known for Love,
Softer than music to the thought,
Sings in an unknown tongue of love.