Child of the frightened face,
Trying to understand
The little bit of love
Under your hand,

Holding the little love
Under fingers that crush
That which is soft as the
Throat of a thrush,

Holding your hand upon
The wonder of the thing,
Crushing out the song that
Wanted to sing:

Child of the frightened face,
Why do your fingers try
To kill the little love?
Soon it would die.

Charm of my life, my dearest care,
Never, O never here I swear,
Within my cradling arms has lain
Your like, nor ever will again.
Give me your willing lips that I
May taste the honey of the vine,
And give me when I ask for wine
The cup in which your kisses lie.

And if--ah, if--my sweetest sweet,
With love as true my love you greet,
A greater joy than mortals know
Within my heart will flame and grow;
O not so rapt in godlike bliss
In his high halls is Jove indeed
When in his arms young Ganymede
Snuggles and lifts warm lips to kiss.

Can I not come to Thee, my God, for these
So very-many-meeting hindrances,
That slack my pace; but yet not make me stay?
Who slowly goes, rids (in the end) his way.
Cleere Thou my paths, or shorten Thou my miles,
Remove the barrs, or lift me o're the stiles:
Since rough the way is, help me when I call,
And take me up; or els prevent the fall.
I kenn my home; and it affords some ease,
To see far off the smoaking Villages.
Fain would I rest; yet covet not to die,
For feare of future-biting penurie:
No, no, (my God) Thou know'st my wishes be

Bury it, and sift
Dust upon its light, —
Death must not be left,
To offend the sight.

Cover the old love —
Weep not on the mound —
Grass shall grow above,
Lilies spring around.

Can we fight the law,
Can our natures change —
Half-way through withdraw —
Other lives exchange?

You and I must do
As the world has done,
There is nothing new
Underneath the sun.

Fill the grave up full —
Put the dead love by —
Not that men are dull,
Not that women lie, —

1. The birds of the forest are calling for thee And the
shades and the glades are lonely; Summer is there with her blossoms
fair, And you are absent only. No
bird that nests in the green-wood tree But sighs to greet you and
kiss you, All the violets yearn, yearn for your safe return, But
most of all I miss you.
2. The fawn that you tamed has a look in its eyes That doth
say " We are too long parted; " Songs that are trolled by our comrades
old Are not now as they were light hearted. The
wild rose fades in the leafy shades Its ghost will find you and

I've known fancies turn into dreaming,
but never believed a dream could be like this:
she was fair, fair, immaculate,
she was pure, pure perfection,
as she sat, intimate, by hibiscus cushions,
as she turned back the joy-of-love quilt,
and her elegant footsteps were so lovely,
her whispered words most enchanting.
What I describe didn't seem to happen fast,
but then, strangely, became a momentary thing,
and I woke to nothingness,
aware that all is empty illusion.

Yes, she's a good dog,
lived four or five years
within his crimson gates,

fur sweet-smelling,
feet quite clean,
master affectionate.

Then by chance she
took a nip
and bit a well-loved guest

Now she no longer sleeps
upon his red silk rugs.

Awake, my heart, to be loved, awake, awake!
The darkness silvers away, the morn doth break,
It leaps in the sky: unrisen lustres slake
The o'ertaken moon. Awake, O heart, awake!

She too that loveth awaketh and hopes for thee;
Her eyes already have sped the shades that flee,
Already they watch the path thy feet shall take:
Awake, O heart, to be loved, awake, awake!

And if thou tarry from her, — if this could be, —
She cometh herself, O heart, to be loved, to thee;
For thee would unashamed herself forsake:

At first awhile sits he,
With calm, unruffled brow;
His features then I see,
Distorted hideously, —
An owl's they might be now.
What is it, askest thou?
Is't love, or is't ennui?
'Tis both at once, I vow.

As in the cool-air'd road I come by,
--in the night,
Under the moon-clim'd height o' the sky,
--in the night,
There by the lime's broad lim's I did staÿè,
While in the air dark sheädes wer at plaÿè
Up on the window-glass, that did keep
Lew vrom the wind my true love asleep,
--in the night.

While in the grey-wall'd height o' the tow'r,
--in the night,
Sounded the midnight bell wi' the hour,
--in the night,
There come a bright-heäir'd angel that shed
Light vrom her white robe's zilvery thread,