This is the month of sunrise skies
Intense with molten mist and flame;
Out of the purple deeps arise
Colors no painter yet could name:
Gold-lilies and the cardinal-flower
Were pale against this gorgeous hour.

Still lovelier when athwart the east
The level beam of sunset falls:
The tints of wild-flowers long deceased
Glow then upon the horizon walls;
Shades of the rose and violet
Close to their dear world lingering yet.

What idleness, to moan and fret
For any season fair, gone by!
Life's secret is not guessed at yet;

A rose has thorns as well as honey,
I'll not have her for love or money;
An iris grows so straight and fine,
That she shall be no friend of mine;
Snowdrops like the snow would chill me;
Nightshade would caress and kill me;
Crocus like a spear would fright me;
Dragon's-mouth might bark or bite me;
Convolvulus but blooms to die;
A wind-flower suggests a sigh;
Love-lies-bleeding makes me sad;
And poppy-juice would drive me mad:—
But give me holly, bold and jolly,
Honest, prickly, shining holly;
Pluck me holly leaf and berry

Lord, dost Thou look on me, and will not I
Launch out my heart to Heaven to look on Thee?
Here if one loved me I should turn to see,
And often think on him and often sigh,
And by a tender friendship make reply
To love gratuitous poured forth on me,
And nurse a hope of happy days to be,
And mean “until we meet” in each good-bye.
Lord, Thou dost look and love is in Thine Eyes,
Thy Heart is set upon me day and night,
Thou stoopest low to set me far above:
O Lord, that I may love Thee make me wise;
That I may see and love Thee grant me sight;

The truest love that ever heart
Felt at its kindled core
Did through each vein, in quickened start,
The tide of being pour.

Her coming was my hope each day,
Her parting was my pain;
The chance that did her steps delay,
Was ice in every vein.

I dreamed it would be nameless bliss,
As I loved, loved to be;
And to this object did I press
As blind as eagerly.

But wide as pathless was the space
That lay, our lives, between,
And dangerous as the foamy race
Of ocean-surges green.

And haunted as a robber-path

1. Oh, Jesus, my Saviour, I know thou art mine;
2. Thou art my rich treasure, my joy and my love.
For thee all the pleasures of earth I resign.
(None richer possessed by the angels above);
Of objects most pleasing, I love thee the best;
For thee all the pleasures of sense I forego.
Without thee I'm wretched, but with thee I'm blessed.
And wander a pilgrim despisèd below.

3. Thy Spirit first taught me to know I was blind,
And taught me the way of salvation to find.
For when I was sinking in dreadful despair,
My Jesus relieved me and bid me not fear.

I am the soul of the Universe,
In Nature's pulse I beat;
To Doom and Death I am a curse,
I trample them under my feet.

Creation's every voice is mine,
I breathe in its every tone;
I have in every heart a shrine,
A consecrated throne.

The whisper that sings in the summer leaves,
The hymn of the star-lit brook,
The martin that nests in the ivied eaves,
The dove in his shaded nook,

The quivering heart of the blushing flower,
The thick Æolian grass,
The harmonies of the summer shower,
The south wind's soft, sweet mass,

Let C OLERIDGE sing his G ENEVIEVE ,
Who at his sad song could but grieve,
And loved because she pitied;
And K EATS his lovely M ADELINE ,
With rosy mouth and eyes divine,
And lips for kisses fitted;
That with her lover through the night,
Darkness without, within all light,
To far-off countries flitted.
Let T ENNYSON his L ILIAN sing
And lovely O RIANA ,
And scale the skies with tireless wing,
In praise of M ARIANA ,
I sing one lovelier by far,
One pure and gentle as a star,
A modest, young, sweet creature,

Lovely is the night,
The silver moon
Sprinkles dewy light
O'er breathless June.
In her pretty cradle boat
Our lily on the stream
Is drifting to the strand
Where water-lilies float
Near the Isles of Dream
In the Somewhere Land.
Our baby flower is drifting,
Drifting, drifting
To the Isles of Dream
In the Somewhere Land.

In her beauty robes
Of rest and sleep,
Angels keep our babe
In slumber deep.
In her lily-petaled gown,
Our flower on the stream
Is closing like a hand
And drifting, drifting down

Heart of all holiness,
Gladness and glory,
God of all wisdom,
Wondrous the story:
Thou hast ordained me
Mother to be
Of a child of the ages
Born unto Thee.

Now is my spirit
Strong and uplifted,
To Thy great goodness
Holily gifted;
Be Thy bright splendour
Rayed on my child,
Kindness incarnate,
Lowliness mild.

Perfect, ennoble,
Sanctify woman;
Crown her with beauty,
Strengthen, illumine,
Till each love-offering
Humble as mine
Be joy-sacrificial,
Human-divine.

Now shall my body,

Come, my loved one, to the feast
Ere the rosy fringe of dawn
Steal into the slumbering east
And the last faint stars are gone.
Holy, holy is the night,
Blazing with its jewels bright.

Elfin lanterns gem the sea;
Thou than heaven more beauteous art;
Lo, I bring the gift to thee
Wonder-flaming in my heart.
Come, my loved one, ere the light
Banishes the lingering night.

Not where sultry southern skies
Languish over lilied bowers;
Where the artist Nature dyes
Scarlet the pomegranate flowers,