All things are best when first begun,
A love that 's guessed, a race unrun,
And those bright notes that in the brain
Fall brief, beginnings of the rain,
Just two or one
That splash, and to the dust belong,
And might have been a rush of song.

In a deep mountain lake there sailed a swan,
Far, far away from any human soul;
And daily swam with her a speckled trout,
Who only left her when deep thunder rolled—
Sinking far down where that swan could not dive,
So that she tasted bitterest pangs of love
And drooped upon the water like to die.
And when that trout came near with the blue sky
She brightened over the water like a sail
Set for the harbour after a winter gale.
No solitary ship sailing a land-locked sea
With her own shadow, and no lonely cloud
In water moored, abandoned by the wind,

Loves first warm gushes still their charms reveal
& that bright day when mary first was met
Whose smiles are with me & I almost feel
With thee as bending oer her bosom yet
Heaving confusd its palpitations wild.

For Syrian fields preparing,
Dunois the young and bold,
While trumpet-calls were blaring
And drums impatient rolled,
Two boons the best and rarest
At Mary's shrine implored:
“To love the maiden fairest,
To bear the bravest sword!”

True faith outvalues daring;
Dunois was sword and shield,
His liege's banner bearing
On many a bloody field.
Still faithful, fearless, prayed he,
In camp or march or fight:
“Be mine the fairest lady,
Be hers the bravest knight!”

“And now we are victorious,
Dunois,” declared his lord;

When Beauty fills the lover's eyes,
And lives like doubtful weather,
Her bosom seems to sleep with love;
They lie like birds together.

Love finds them angels ready made,
So beautiful and blooming;
But Time comes in, though half afraid,
And rudely calls them woman.

Time, like a robber, every year
Takes all the fame he gives;
While Beauty only goes away,
And Virtue only lives.

Come , my Corinna, let us try
Which loves you best, of you, and I;
I know you oft have in your glasse,
Seene the faint shaddow of your face,
And, consequently, then became
A wond'ringe lover as I am;
Though not so great a one, for what
You saw, was but a glimpse of that
So sweet, so charminge Majestie,
Which I in its full luster see:
But, if you then had gaz'd upon
Your selfe, as your reflection,
And seene those eys for which I dye,
Perhapps you'd beene as sick, as I.
Thus, Sweetest, then it is confest!
That, of us lovers, I love best;

On me to rest, my bird, my bird:
The swaying branches of my heart
Are blown by every wind toward
The home whereto their wings depart.

Build not your nest, my bird, on me;
I know no peace but ever sway:
O lovely bird, be free, be free,
On the wild music of the day.

But sometimes when your wings would rest,
And winds are laid on quiet eves:
Come, I will bear you breast to breast,
And lap you close with loving leaves.

Blest is the man who loves and after early play
Whereby his limbs are supple made and strong,
Retiring to his house, with wine and song
Toys with a fair boy on his breast the livelong day!

There is a channel called love
Through the dark way;
Behold! we feel, see wild mass of trees
And blindness to bind us.

The numbness that God has wrought—
We, his exuberant children;
O soul, how many plays in love are sought!
An author's maimed, countless thrill gains.

Halt! spot we own is drawing nearer.
Do you dare to enter at dawn
Where the clouds settle in the north—
And find the way where trembling is dearer?

Well! through the path I strove;
I know not who followed.
I found that I and the liquid air—

Let time and chance combine, combine,
—Let time and chance combine;
The fairest love from heaven above,
—That love of yours was mine,
My dear,
—That love of yours was mine.

The past is fled and gone, and gone,
—The past is fled and gone;
If naught but pain to me remain,
—I'll fare in memory on,
My dear,
—I'll fare in memory on.

The saddest tears must fall, must fall,
—The saddest tears must fall;
In weal or woe, in this world below,
—I love you ever and all,
My dear,
—I love you ever and all.