It seems a dream the infant love
That tamed my truant will,
But 'twas a dream of happiness,
And I regret it still!

Its images are part of me,
A very part of mind—
Feelings and fancies beautiful
In purity combined!

Time's sunset lends a tenderer tinge
To what those feelings were,
Like the cloud-mellow'd radiance
Which evening landscapes bear:

They wedded are unto my soul,
As light is blent with heat,
Or as the hallowed confluence
Of air with odours sweet.

Though she, the spirit of that dream,
Lacks of the loveliness

Cold blows the winter wind: 't is Love,
Whose sweet eyes swim with honeyed tears,
That bears me to thy doors, my love,
Tossed by the storm of hopes and fears.

Cold blows the blast of aching Love;
But be thou for my wandering sail,
Adrift upon these waves of love,
Safe harbor from the whistling gale!

In the meadow—what in the meadow?
Bluebells, buttercups, meadowsweet,
And fairy rings for the children's feet
In the meadow.

In the garden—what in the garden?
Jacob's-ladder and Solomon's-seal,
And Love-lies-bleeding beside All-heal
In the garden.

There's a wideness in God's mercy,
Like the wideness of the sea;
There's a kindness in His justice,
Which is more than liberty.

There is welcome for the sinner,
And more graces for the good;
There is mercy with the Saviour;
There is healing in His blood.

For the love of God is broader
Than the measure of man's mind;
And the heart of the Eternal
Is most wonderfully kind.

If our love were but more simple,
We should take Him at His word;
And our lives would be all sunshine
In the sweetness of our Lord.

Then Daphnis strikes the note of one that plaineth,
Whose Love is not the Love he hoped to find;
A Love which after blandishment disdaineth
To bless the heart too readily resigned.
Slight snares indeed are they which Eros feigneth,
For well he knows that lover's eyes are blind,
But none the captured beast more keenly paineth
Than Love's entrapment cruelly unkind.
All things have grief at times. When high winds shake it,
The grove is grieved with plaintive murmurings;
So grieves the woodland bird when fowlers take it,
To feel the net encompassing its wings;

Of the Father's love begotten Ere the worlds began to be,
He is Alpha and Omega, He the source, the ending he,
Of the things that are, that have been, And that future years shall see.

This is he whom heav'n-taught singers Sang of old with one accord,
Whom the Scriptures of the prophets Promised in their faithful word;
Now he shines, the long-expected; Let creation praise its Lord.

O ye heights of heav'n, adore him Angel hosts, his praises sing;
All dominions, bow before him, And extol our God and King;

At setting day and rising morn,
—Wi' soul that still shall love thee,
I'll ask o' Heaven thy safe return,
—Wi' a' that can improve thee.
I'll visit aft the birken bush
—Where first thou kindly tauld me
Sweet tales o' love, and hid my blush,
—Whilst round thou didst infauld me.

To a' our haunts I will repair,
—By greenwood, shaw, or fountain,
Or where the summer day I'd share
—Wi' thee upon yon mountain:
There will I tell the trees an' flooers,
—From thoughts unfeigned an' tender;
By vows you're mine, by love is yours
—A heart that cannot wander.

God made the earth exceeding good.
He clothed the hill, or clothed the wood,
In verdurous raiment fresh and fair.
He filled the earth with living things:
With flashing of innumerous wings
He filled the sunlit heights of air.

He filled the hollow sea with life.
Strange sea-flowers in the far depths thrive,
And wondrous fishes, scarlet-scaled,
Dart like small flying suns along;
And where the eager tides wax strong
Rushes the salmon, silver-mailed.

God made the day, and made the night.
He made the sun's engrossing light

For now, love thou, I rede, Christ, as I thee tell:
And with Angels take thy stead; that joy look thou nought sell!
In earth thou hate, I rede, all that thy love may fell:
For Love is stalworth as the death, Love is hard as hell.

Love is a light burden, Love gladdeth young and old;
Love is without pine, as lovers have me told;
Love is a ghostly wine, that makes men big and bold:
Of Love shall he nothing tyne that it in heart will hold.

But fleshly love shall fare as doth the flower in May
And lasting be no more than one hour of a day,

Thy life has not been wasted. Thou hast taught
Truths beyond thought,
Sweet sacred truths beyond my dream, to me.
Truths not one other woman could have told
Thy lips unfold.
Blind was I. Thou hast taught my soul to see.
For this I owe
Thanks infinite. For this I love thee so,
That thou hast shown me woman's heart indeed,—
So fair and sweet,
So far beyond a poet's dreams of it,
So far above man's common thoughtless creed.

Ah! never think thy life is wasted, dear.
It blossoms here;
'Twill blossom tenfold when thy work is done,