Grown old in Love from Seven till Seven times Seven
I oft have wished for Hell for Ease from Heaven

This passion is but an ember
Of a Sun, of a Fire, long set;
I could not live and remember,
And so I love and forget.

You say, and the tone is fretful,
That my mourning days were few,
You call me over forgetful—
My God, if you only knew!

Soft follower of the early star,
Once more I feel you drawing near.
Come! for my evening is not come
Till you are here.

You make it—as yourself is made—
Of loveliest, sweet, untroubled things,
Fled with love's day. I feel love's night
Fall from your wings.

My love she's bonny hale and young
But O' she's got a saucey tongue
She'll frown and jeer for a the year
And winna listen to a song.

My love she's hale and bonny too
Wi' gay straw hat and ribbons blue
Wi' gown O' green and saucey e'en
And lips that part as saucey too.

My love is scarcely in her teens
She's five years wanting sweet sixteen
A lovely girl wi' teeth O' pearl
But no' so kind she might ha' been.

She wants three month O' seventeen
The maiden in her gown O' green
And yet her size wears womans eyes

In a Roses' bower
Sweet Philomel sat, singing
All her night-long passion to those lovely hearts:

Only the Moon looked on them,
Heard what she sang; and the Roses
Answered, breathing their perfumes back from echoing depths.

The trees they lean'd in their love unto trees,
That lock'd in their loves, and were so made strong,
Stronger than armies; ay, stronger than seas
That rush from their caves in a storm of song.

Sky scanned the mind and found behind
Holes in the mind, more mind behind,
Clouds to provide appearances of thought.

‘Dear Sister!’ it cried,
‘One kiss!’
The bland outrage
Spread over both as one,
Whispering ‘This is heaven.’

‘Oh, no,’ said the populations
Getting out of bed into slippers,
‘What lovely weather!
To-day is Sunday!’

Love that is dead and buried, yesterday
Out of his grave rose up before my face;
No recognition in his look, no trace
Of memory in his eyes dust-dimmed and grey.
While I, remembering, found no word to say,
But felt my quickened heart leap in its place;
Caught afterglow, thrown back from long-set days,
Caught echoes of all music passed away.
Was this indeed to meet?—I mind me yet
In youth we met when hope and love were quick,
We parted with hope dead, but love alive:
I mind me how we parted then heart-sick,

My mother's gone a-wandering
Away to yonder town;
My father in the alehouse
Is safely settled down;
There's not a girl to gossip;
There's not a lad at home:
I'm all alone and waiting—
So come, my darling, come!
Tell me what I'm doing
By the fire-light here,
All for you, love, all for true love,
All for luck, my dear.

I told a lady's fortune
In that big house hard by
No Gipsy could have done it
More cleverly than I;
I promised that she'd marry
A lord with heaps of gold;
She filled my hand with silver,

Bid me not sing: think of the gifts I gave
To love and thee; require me not to sing!
They who crown poets now must pass me by:
I have no claim to wear the bays they bring.
To please thy mood one day I broke my lute,
And now forever is my music mute.

Bid me not sing: since when thy mouth met mine,
“Love, love,” the only words my lips can say.
Lost is the cunning of my worshipped art;
Among my peers I must walk dumb alway.
For thee I counted song a worthless thing.
My heart will break if now thou bidst me sing!