Oh, were the white waves,
Far on the glimmering sea
That the moonshine laves,
Dream flowers drifting to me—
I would cull them, love, for thee.

One calm and cloudless winter night,
Under a moonless sky,
Whence I had seen the gracious light
Of sunset fade and die,

I stood alone a little space,
Where tree nor building bars
Its outlook, in a desert place,
The best to see the stars.

No sound was in the frosty air,
No light below the skies;
I looked above, and unaware
Looked in Medusa's eyes:—

The eyes that neither laugh nor weep,
That neither hope nor fear,
That neither watch nor dream nor sleep,
Nor sympathize nor sneer;

The eyes that neither spurn nor choose,

Thee will I love, my God and King
Thee will I sing,
My strength and tower:
For evermore thee will I trust,
O God most just
Of truth and power;
Who all things hast
In order placed,
Yea, for thy pleasure hast created;
And on thy throne
Unseen, unknown,
Reignest alone
In glory seated.

Set in my heart thy love I find;
My wandering mind
To thee thou leadest:
My trembling hope, my strong desire
With heavenly fire
Thou kindly feedest.
Lo, all things fair
Thy path prepare.
Thy beauty to my spirit calleth,
Thine to remain

Hurried seal of soft affection,
Tenderest pledge of future bliss,
Dearest tie of soft connection,
Love's first snow-drop, virgin kiss.

Speaking silence, dumb confession,
Passions' birth, and infant's play,
Dovelike fondness, chaste concession,
Brightest dawn of happiest day.

Knight of my maiden love,
Stalwart and manly—
Ever my yearning heart searcheth for thee;
Searcheth the busy crowd;
Hearken its babble loud;
Yearning in secret, thy dear face to see.

Knight of my maiden love,
Stalwart and manly—
Tender thy words were, and tender thy mien;
Deep in my loving heart,
Thee, hath I set apart—
Prince of my fancy, and lord of my dream.

Knight of my maiden love,
Stalwart and manly—
Calm and composed in thy presence I seem;
This is my sex decree—
Maidens must modest be;

God made my lady lovely to behold;—
Above the painter's dream he set her face,
And wrought her body in divinest grace;
He touched the brown hair with a sense of gold,
And in the perfect form He did enfold
What was alone as perfect, the sweet heart;
Knowledge most rare to her He did impart,
And filled with love and worship all her days.
And then God thought Him how it would be well
To give her music, and to Love He said,
“Bring thou some minstrel now that he may tell
How fair and sweet a thing My hands have made.”

My dear love died last night;
Shall I clothe her in white?
My passionate love is dead,
Shall I robe her in red?
But nay, she was all untrue,
She shall not go drest in blue;
Still my desolate love was brave,
Unrobed let her go to her grave.

There's a doctor livin' in your town.
There's a lawyer and an Indian, too.
Neither doctor, lawyer, or Indian chief
Could love you any more than I do.
There's a barr'l of fish in the ocean
And a lot of little birds in the blue.
Neither fish nor fowl,
Says the wise old owl,
Could love you any more than I do.
No, no, no, it couldn't be true
That anyone else could love you like I do.

1. I'm gonna warn all the dead-eye dicks
That you're the chick with the slickest tricks,
And ev'ry tick of my ticker ticks
For you, follow through.

When a smooth wind runs on the far green sea,
This coward thought of mine feels pleasantly,
And lost to poetry itself, can lie
Wrapt in a wistful quietness of eye.
But when the deeps are moved, and the waves come
Shuddering along, and tumbling into foam,
I turn to earth, which trusty seems, and staid,
And love to get into a green wood shade;
In which the pines, although the winds be strong,
Can turn the bluster to a sylvan song
A wretched life a fisherman's must be,
His home a ship, his labour in the sea,
And fish, the slippery object of his gain:—

Love, you were dying and one came and drew
The story of your sickness and your pain—
Forlorn you stooped; lover nor loved you knew,
Sucking the salt of sorrow, grain on grain.
You saw my grief for you, thus quite undone
How as at day of judgment you appealed
And sent for an old picture by the sun
As he saw you years ago in a green field—
A vision of your beauty very clear
Of open lip, yet something flashed between
That held and awed and made the face appear
As a shell under water, secret, keen.
O Catholic, sweet face, O gift, O truth