Love he to morrow, who lov'd never;
To morrow, who hath lov'd, persever.
The Spring appears, in which the Earth
Receives a new harmonious Birth;
When all things mutual Love unites;
When Birds perform their nuptial rites;
And fruitful by her watry Lover,
Each grove its tresses doth recover;
Loves Queen to morrow, in the shade
Which by these verdant trees is made,
Their sprouting tops in wreaths shall bind,
And Myrtles into Arbours wind;
To morrow rais'd on a high throne,
Dione shall her Laws make known.
Love he to morrow, who lov'd never;

The Goddesse bade the Nymphs remove
Unto the shady Myrtle grove;
The boy goes with the maids, yet none
Will trust, or think love tame is grown,
If they perceive that any where
He Arrows doth about him bear.
Go fearlesse Nymphs, for love hath laid
Aside his Armes, and tame is made.
His weapons by command resign'd,
Naked to go he is enjoyn'd:
Lest he hurt any by his craft,
Either with flame, or bow, or shaft.
But yet take heed young Nymphs, beware
You trust him not, for Cupid's fair,
Lest by his beauty you be harm'd;

The Angel that presided o'er my birth
Said, "Little creature, formed of Joy and Mirth,
Go love without the help of any thing on earth.-3

My beloved spake, and said unto me,
Rise up, my love, my fair one and come away.
For, lo, the winter is past,
the rain is over and gone;
the flowers appear on the earth;
the time of the singing of birds is come,
and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land;
the fig tree putteth forth her green figs,
and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell.
Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.

Chalk-white, light dazzled on the stone,
And there a weed, a finger high,
Bowed its silvery head with every
Breath of wind that faltered by.

Twice lovely thing! For when there drifted
A cloud across the radiant sun,
Not only that had it forsaken,
Its tiny shadow too was gone.

Care flieth,
Hope and fear together,
Love dieth
In the Autumn weather.

For a friend
Even care is pleasant;
When fear doth end
Hope is no more present:
Autumn silences the turtle dove;—
In blank Autumn who could speak of love?

And shall Love cease? Ask thine own heart, O Woman,
Thy heart that beats restlessly on for ever!
All earthly things shall pass away and human,
But Love's divine: annihilated never,
It binds and nought shall sever.

Oh! it is Love makes the world habitable,
Love is a foretaste of our promised Heaven;
Though sometimes robed in white, sometimes in sable,
It still is Love, and still some joy is given,
Although the heart be riven.

And who would give Love's joy to 'scape its paining?
Yea, who would lose its sorrow and its gladness?

Lord, grant us eyes to see and ears to hear,
And souls to love and minds to understand,
And steadfast faces toward the Holy Land,
And confidence of hope, and filial fear,
And citizenship where Thy saints appear
Before Thee heart in heart and hand in hand,
And Alleluias where their chanting band
As waters and as thunders fill the sphere.
Lord, grant us what Thou wilt, and what Thou wilt
Deny, and fold us in Thy peaceful fold:
Not as the world gives, give to us Thine own:
Inbuild us where Jerusalem is built

O Lord, I am ashamed to seek Thy Face
As tho' I loved Thee as Thy saints love Thee:
Yet turn from those Thy lovers, look on me,
Disgrace me not with uttermost disgrace;
But pour on me ungracious, pour Thy grace
To purge my heart and bid my will go free,
Till I too taste Thy hidden Sweetness, see
Thy hidden Beauty in the holy place.
O Thou Who callest sinners to repent,
Call me Thy sinner unto penitence,
For many sins grant me the greater love:
Set me above the waterfloods, above
Devil and shifting world and fleshly sense,

Bury thy sorrows, and they shall rise
As souls to the immortal skies,
And there look down like mothers' eyes.

But let thy joys be fresh as flowers,
That suck the honey of the showers,
And bloom alike on huts and towers.

So shall thy days be sweet and bright;
Solemn and sweet thy starry night,
Conscious of love each change of light.

The stars will watch the flowers asleep,
The flowers will feel the soft stars weep,
And both will mix sensations deep.

With these below, with those above,
Sits evermore the brooding dove,