“Love me, sweet girl! thy love is all I ask!”
“Love thee?” she laughing cries; “I love thee not!”
“Why, then, I'll cease to love thee on the spot,
Since loving thee is such a thankless task!”

Here we meet i' the moon light hour
Here we stand by the sleeping flower
Where dew drops hang as silent shower
On each grass blade a pearl
The moon tells endymions tale
O'er the wild rose hedge i' the grassy vale
While fondly I stand by the mossy rail
And clasp my lovely girl.

In ivy tree sung the dove
O'er the old pond gleams the calm o' love
From the cloudless moon above
Where I clasp my bonny girl
Her heart pants like a new taen bird
This white doe singled from the herd
I kiss and not a thorn leaf's stirred
Each beaded with a pearl.

The gift is small,
The love is all.

It was a gallant troubadour,
A child of sword and song,
That loved a gentle paramour,
And loved her leal and long;
He woo'd her as a knight should woo,
And laying lance in rest,
In listed fields, her colours flew
O'er many a haughty crest.
He loved her as a bard should do,
And taking harp in hand,
In sweetest lays, that lady's praise
He poured o'er many a land:
But all in vain,
His noblest strain
Awoke no kind return;
That lady proud
Smiled on the crowd,
But his true love did spurn.

It was a tristful troubadour,

Love on my heart from heaven fell,
Soft as the dew on flowers of spring,
Sweet as the hidden drops that swell
Their honey-throated chalicing.

Now never from him do I part,
Hosanna evermore I cry:
I taste his savour in my heart,
And bid all praise him as do I.

Without him noughtsoever is,
Nor was afore, nor e'er shall be:
Nor any other joy than his
Wish I for mine to comfort me.

Behold a wonder here,
Love hath received his sight,
Which many hundred year
Hath not beheld the light.

Such beams infused be
By Cynthia in his eyes,
As first have made him see
And then have made him wise.

Love now no more will weep
For them that laugh the while;
Nor wake for them that sleep,
Nor sigh for them that smile.

So powerful is the beauty
That Love doth now behold,
As Love is turned to duty
That 's neither blind nor bold.

This Beauty shows her might
To be of double kind,
In giving Love his sight

How do I love to sit and dream
Of that sweet passion, when I meet
The lady I must love for life!
The very thought makes my Soul beat
Its wings, as though it saw that light
Silver the rims of my black night.

I see her bring a crimson mouth
To open at a kiss, and close;
I see her bring her two fair cheeks,
That I may paint on each a rose;
I see her two hands, like doves white,
Fly into mine and hide from sight.

In fancy hear her soft, sweet voice;
My eager Soul, to catch her words,
Waits at the ear, with Noah's haste

I dreamed my love had set thy spirit free,
Enfranchised thee from Fate's o'ermastering power,
And girt thy being with a scatheless dower
Of rich and joyous immortality;
Of Love, I dreamed my soul had ransomed thee,
In thy lone, dread, incalculable hour
From those pale hands at which all mortals cower,
And conquered Death by Love, like Savitri.
When I awoke, alas, my love was vain
E'en to annul one throe of destined pain,
Or by one heart-beat to prolong thy breath;
O Love, alas, that love could not assuage
The burden of thy human heritage,

Past and
gone now
is the time I awaited,
leaving me
clinging—
anxious for wind
from the pines,
like dewdrops
at break of day.

“O WILL you wear a nosegay
If I should pluck the flowers,
And will it be the dearer
In four-and-twenty hours?”
“Yes, I will wear your nosegay
A day upon my breast,
And then among my treasures
A life-time it will rest.”
They have an old enchantment
Of scents that never wane,
And posies are the sweetest
From Love Lane.

“O will you sing a song, love,
With magic words of mine,
Of prayer, and praise, and pleasure,
The olive and the vine?”
“Yes, I will sing your song, love,
And never may they cease,