Where all is black,
Love is the light for creatures looking in
Behind her red rose blush and lily skin;
A lamp that yet we lack.

Thy fan is as a butterfly
Upon thy fingers lighted
Since nowhere else it could espy
A rose to take its loving eye
Until thy hand it sighted.

I hoped that he would love me,
And he has kissed my mouth,
But I am like a stricken bird
That cannot reach the south.

For though I know he loves me,
To-night my heart is sad;
His kiss was not so wonderful
As all the dreams I had.

O Earth! Earth! Earth heare thou my voice, and be
Loving, and gentle for to cover me;
Banish'd from thee I live; ne'r to return,
Unlesse thou giv'st my small Remains an Urne.

Come away, love, come away
Where the men do gather hay;—
In the fruitful fields remote
Join with mine thy merry note,
In the toilsome pleasures where
Plenty drives away all care!
On the hills the flocks do browse,
And the dogs the echoes rouse;
All is life, and all is joy,
Where all hands do find employ.

Come away, love, come away
Where the men do gather hay;—
In the fruitful fields remote
Join with mine thy merry note,
In the toilsome pleasures where
Plenty drives away all care!
On the hills the flocks do browse,

Fast-anchor'd eternal O love! O woman I love!
O bride! O wife! more resistless than I can tell, the thought of you!
Then separate, as disembodied or another born,
Ethereal, the last athletic reality, my consolation,
I ascend, I float in the regions of your love O man,
O sharer of my roving life.

Would you from love escape? then beauty shun,
For though we can't encounter, we may run;
Who trusts himself to see it is undone.

Love, often your delicate fingers beckon,
And always I follow.
Oh, if I could stay, and possess your beauty
Beckoning always!

I SOUGHT my love in yonder flower,
Appearing like an angel star;
I sought her vainly, hour by hour,
Though she be fair as angels are.

I sought my love by yonder tree,
All musical with summer birds;
And sweet the songs, but not for me:
They could not give her sweeter words.

I sought her when the stars gleam'd west,
By stream that glides the veined round;
And I saw heaven in its breast,
And thought at last my love was found!

But, ah! each hope inconstant pass'd;
Nor flower, nor tree, nor streamlet's fall:

If you are you—
Then God is good,
Less merciful, less wise
Can scarce be He who made our mould
And doth our sum comprise;
His absolute must wide include
Our greater as His less,
Nor work of His surpass His will
In power to love and bless.

If you are you—
God must be God,
And guessing from your heart He made,
I hail you omen of His love
And cease to be afraid.