Admit , thou darling of mine eyes,
I have some idol lately framed,
That under such a false disguise
Our true loves might the less be famed:
Canst thou, that knowest my heart, suppose
I'll fall from thee, and worship those?

Remember, dear, how loth and slow
I was to cast a look or smile,
Or one love-line to misbestow,
Till thou hadst changed both face and style:
And art thou grown afraid to see
That mask put on thou mad'st for me?

I dare not call those childish fears,
Coming from love, much less from thee;

I met her, as we had privily planned,
Where passing feet beat busily:
She whispered: ‘Father is at hand!
He wished to walk with me.’

His presence as he joined us there
Banished our words of warmth away;
We felt, with cloudings of despair,
What Love must lose that day.

Her crimson lips remained unkissed,
Our fingers kept no tender hold,
His lack of feeling made the tryst
Embarrassed, stiff, and cold.

A cynic ghost then rose and said,
‘But is his love for her so small
That, nigh to yours, it may be read
As of no worth at all?

Oh, why wast thou my love?
And why was I thy lover?
I keep blue skies above:
But thou—dull earth for cover.
Then what had Fate to prove,
Save, oh!—the far remove
Of what for me was once thy love
From what remains thy lover?

Thou know'st the place where purple rocks receive
The deepened silence of the pausing stream;
And myrtles and white olives interweave
Their cool grey shadows with the azure gleam
Of noontide; and pale temple columns cleave
Those waves with shafts of light (as through a dream
Of sorrow, pierced the memories of loved hours—
Cold and fixed thoughts that will not pass away)
All chapleted with wreaths of marble flowers,
Too calm to live,—too lovely to decay.
And hills rise round, pyramidal and vast,
Like tombs built of blue heaven, above the clay

The black-winged gull
of love is flying—
hurl of the waters'
futile might!

Tirelessly
his deft strokes plying
he skims free in the licking
waves' despite—

There is no lying
to his shrill mockery
of their torment

To love is heaven, and not to love is hell.—
To give sweet love away
Eternally and boundlessly is well.
For this alone I pray!

I ask the power of loving without bound:
No limit there should be.
If thine arms, love, may never close me round,
Let my arms cover thee!

Let my strong love and limitless embrace
Of fiery fervent heart
Be ever round about thee,—in each place;
Blessing, where'er thou art.

Let me on earth and through all worlds to be
Be just the one who so
Completely loved that he saw nought but thee;

All Nature hath its voice.—The meadows have their message.
The river leaping down the rocky narrow passage
Hath its own voice and heart.
Each star hath its own voice, each sun its speech excelling;
The fountain its soft voice of mystery upward welling.
Tongued is the lightning's dart.

Each poet hath his word.—Some in triumphant measure
Sing of the reign of sweet old-world Saturnian pleasure:
Some thunder like the sea.
I sing of Love, Love, Love. I give the world for token
The message that strong Love with sweetness never broken
Himself has given to me.

White cloud-wonders waver and wander,
White mists rising and falling yonder
Are like chill fingers laid upon my heart;
Ever the nightingale's plaint grows fonder—
Can it be true that you and I must part?

Red, red roses hang in a cluster,
Red lips glow in the wine-cup's lustre;
Stay me, before I go, with wine and bread!
Round me an army of shadows muster
And weave a veil of darkness for my head.

Will o' the wisp before me flying,
Pale sad faces like faint flames dying—
I walk alone beside a spectral mere;
Ghostly voices about me crying

Wake up, Jacob, day is abreaking, I'm on my way;
O, wake up, Jacob, day is abreaking I'm on my way.
O! way. I want to go to heaven when I die,
Do love de Lord!
I want to go to heaven when I die,
Do love de Lord!
O! Lord

Got some friends on de oder shore,
Do love de Lord!
I want to see 'em more an' more,
Do love de Lord!
Wake up, Jacob, &c.

Fresh as the foam of torrents from the snow,
Dark, soft as footsteps in the woods below,
Complete as sunlight falling from above,
New as young vine-leaves, is our virgin love.