[To Anne de Vignelles, her attendant and confidant.]

Marie . Hast thou ne'er in dreams
Seen fairer sights than ever day revealed?
Anne . Even so.
Marie . And when the sun's rekindled beams
Awoke thee from that blissful trance of night,
Seemed not his glorious face a very cloud,
Contrasted with the splendours of thy sleep?
Anne . Why ask?
Marie . To show thee we may sometimes see
More things, and lovelier too, than our eyes rest on.
Anne . And have you seen such?
Marie . Aye; so deeply, too,

Was there love once? I have forgotten her.
Was there grief once? grief yet is mine.
Other loves I have, men rough, but men who stir
More grief, more joy, than love of thee and thine.

Faces cheerful, full of whimsical mirth,
Lined by the wind, burned by the sun;
Bodies enraptured by the abounding earth,
As whose children we are brethren: one.

And any moment may descend hot death
To shatter limbs! pulp, tear, blast
Beloved soldiers who love rough life and breath
Not less for dying faithful to the last.

Come now, O Death,
While I am proud,
While joy and awe are breath,
And heart beats loud!

While all around me stand
Men that I love,
The wind blares aloud, the grand
Sun wheels above.

Naked I stand to-day
Before my doom,
Welcome what comes my way,
Whatever come.

What is there more to ask
Than that I have? —
Companions, love, a task,
And a deep grave!

Come then, Eternity,
If thou my lot;
Having been thus, I cannot be
As if I had not.

Naked I wait my doom!
Earth enough shroud!

At the cross-roads I halt
And stand stock-still. . . .
The linked and flickering constellations climb
Slowly the spread black heaven's immensity.

The wind wanders like a thought at fault.

Within the close-shuttered cottage nigh
I hear — while its fearful, ag'd master sleeps like the dead —
A slow clock chime
With solemn thrill
The most sombre hour of time,
And see stand in the cottage's garden chill
The two white crosses, one at each grave's head. . . .

O France, France, France! I loved you, love you still;

Part III.

1

I waken'd in the twilight with
A fever at my brain;
All my veins were running fire
With blind desire and pain
Of something that three seasons long
Within my heart had lain.

2

So cruel that first I heeded not
A faint, alluring tune,
Trilling round me everywhere
In the jewell'd air of June,
As far and wide o'er the darkling sky

Thro' Thee, full oft the fond Alexis moans,
Seeking the melancholly Cypress Grove,
To swell the Zephyrs with his louder Groans,
And talk to Solitude of hapless Love;
Inviting Eccho 's pity-pleading Strains
To catch his Sorrows, and reward his Pains.

Emulation, and desire June 18 72

Oh blessed souls now sweetly lodg'd above
How at you always drench'd & drown'd in love
What plesure, doth unto you still arive
Whilst you in boundlese, seas of love doe dive
Love is the book, in which you always spell
Such wonders, as none else can paralell
Whilst you into love misterys, doe pry
What heights, and depths, of love doe you espy
You allways sing, the songs of love, and praise
From whence, your halalujahs you doe raise
The work is love, in which you ar employ'd

Love.

If thou, thy goods givst to the poor
and wantst this grace of love
Thou'lt never get within the door
where dwells, the god above.

True love is boundlese in desires
untill it terminate
Upon the object, itt admires
breaking through ev'ry lett.

True love is conjugall, and chast
Its lasting, firm, & sure
Unto its object, it doth hast
none from itt, can alure.

It takes no rest, but seekes about
and will not be content
Untill itt find the object out

An experience Concerning afliction october 26 71

This day I met, with triels sharp
Which made my soull to bleed
(but god did come, and chear my hart)
Of it their was great need.

That sin might be mortified
And grace be made alive
That I doe cretures might be dead
And in thy love; might dive.

Aflictions give, what thou seest good
So love may mix my cup
Thou wilt theirby my sins up root
And shortly take me up.

Thou hast made me, this day to see
My foolish Childishnese
In that I would a carver bee

Of faith, and Love.

faith, and love, are a comly pair
These two goe both togather
Nothing will part, thesse graces rare
Till death thesse two, doe sever

Then love, like Ruth, shall to us cleave
And, to heaven with us soare
When faith shall of us, take her leave
'Cause, we need her no more

Is he not said, in god to dwell
That hath made love his nest
Oh hapy, blessed, citadell
Oh sweet, & pleasing, rest