Had I but known when first I saw thee there,
Slender of form and happy in thy smile,
Would I have oped my hungry heart to bear
The burden now it carries all the while?
For but a child I lightly held thee then,
Nor cared to wake the starlight in thy eyes,
Nor dreamed this glad unrest. O where and when
Did love first spring from out the bourne of sighs?
Was it the touch of thy soft hand, the chords
Of love were wakened by, or thy warm breath
O'er gladsome smile or tender-spoken words,
That crowned my heart with this soul-passioned wreath,

The starlight crowns thee when thou standest there,
The shadows clothe thee in their robes of gray,
The night-winds sighing thru thy dusky hair
Echo the music of a vibrant day.
Such is the glory and the sight of thee
That filled my eyes this happy hour gone by,
Such is the glamour and the light of thee,
The lasting burden of love's ancient cry.
And that I love thee so I shall be singing,
(Dark are thy eyes and golden is thy smile),
Carols of joy to distant heavens ringing,
(Pure is thy soul and free thy heart from guile).

There shall be a song for both of us that day,
Though fools say you have long outlived your songs,
And when perhaps because your hair is grey
You go unsung, to whom all praise belongs,
And no men kiss your hands, your fragile hands
Folded like empty shells on lonely sands.
And you that were dawn whereat men shouted once,
Are sunset now, with but one worshipper.
Then to your twilight heart this song shall be
Sweeter than those that did your youth announce,
For your brave, beautiful spirit is lovelier
Than once your lovely body was to me.

Who shall to th' elect's charge ought lay,
Since God hath justified?
Who shall condemn by any way,
Since Christ the Surety died?

Who can adjudge their souls to hell,
Since he, who in their stead
Has suffer'd, seal'd their blood so well,
By rising from the dead?

Yea, now he lives and sits above,
Still interceding there.
What can divide us from his love,
Or tempt us to despair?

Shall persecution, or distress,
A separation make?
Shall famine, sword, or nakedness,
Love's bond asunder break?

In London far from grass or tree
Our love took form;
Far-off from wild song of the sea
In storm.

Not where the forest's silent bride,
The white moon, dreams,
Nor where the iris glows beside
The streams:

Not by green bank or scented mound,
By burn or mere,
My sad eyes caught thy glance and found
Thee dear.

In London, city of ceaseless gloom,
Grim sunless place,
I found one girlish flower in bloom,—
Thy face.

In London, where no stars are seen,
For all light dies,
I found two stars of deathless sheen,—
Thine eyes.

Gulls on the wind!
Crying! Crying!
Are you the ghosts
Of Erin's dead?
Of the forlorn
Whose days went sighing
Ever for Beauty
That ever fled?
Ever for Light
That never kindled?
Ever for Song
No lips have sung?
Ever for Joy
That ever dwindled?
Ever for Love that stung?

Mother, my love is going hence
In distant lands to be,
But from my mind he cannot go:
Who will bring him back to me?
Who will bring him back to me?

Mother, it came into my heart,
In dream it came to me,
That my dear love was going hence,
To the islands of the sea;
But from my mind he cannot go:
Who will bring him back to me?
Who will bring him back to me?

Mother, it struck upon my heart,
In dream it came to me,
That my dear love was going hence
Unto a far country,
Even in Aragon to dwell;
But from my mind he cannot go:

The love of man for woman and woman for man,
It is not often love …

When the married couple kiss do they drink the music of each other's souls,
Are they moved to unspeakable reverence and adoration,
Would they renounce the world for the good of the beloved?

No, kisses are become to them a routine and a duty:
They find each other's bodies at midnight as they find breakfast in the morning:
And they fill the idle hours with games, shows, rides and liquor,
All to escape from one another …

I have thoughts of a love that might be;

The Garden that I love is full of Light;
—It lies upon the sloping of a hill,
Where Dawn first stirs the curtains of the Night,
—And the breeze whispers when the Noon is still.

The garden that I love is full of Peace;
—The voices of the vale are faint and far,
The busy murmurs of the highway cease,
—And silently, at evening, comes the Star.

The garden that I love is full of Dreams;
—Visions of joy gone by, and bliss that waits,
Beyond the furthest verge of sunset gleams,
—With the wide opening of the Golden Gates.

Baby loves to play with me,
Peek-a-boo! Peek-a-boo!
She goes and hides behind a tree,
I see you! I see you!

Baby is so very wee,
Hiding's easy as can be!