Beautiful mortals of the glowing earth
And children of the season crowd together
In showers and sunny weather
Ye beautiful spring hours
Sunshine and all together
I love wild flowers

The rain drops lodge on the swallows wing
Then fall on the meadow flowers
Cowslips and enemonies all come with spring
Beaded with first showers
The skylarks in the cowslips sing
I love wild flowers

Blue-bells and cuckoo's in the wood
And pasture cuckoo's too
Red yellow white and blue
Growing where herd cows meet the showers
And lick the morning dew

Love was true to me,
True and tender;
I who ought to be
Love's defender
Let the cold winds blow
Till they chilled him;
Let the winds and snow
Shroud him—and I know
That I killed him.

Years he cried to me
To be kinder;
I was blind to see
And grew blinder.
Years with soft hands raised
Fondly reaching,
Wept and prayed and praised,
Still beseeching.

When he died I woke,
God! how lonely,
When the grey dawn broke
On one only.
Now beside Love's grave
I am kneeling;
All he sought and gave

He had a falcon on his wrist,
A hound beside his knee,
A jewelled rapier at his thigh;
Quoth he: “Which may she be?
My chieftain cried: ‘Bear forth, my page,
This ring to Lady Clare;
Thou'lt know her by her sunny eyes
And golden lengths of hair.’
But here are lovely damsels three,
In glittering coif and veil,
And all have sunny locks and eyes,—
To which unfold the tale?”

Out spake the first: “O pretty page,
Thou hast a wealthy lord;
I love to see the jewels rare
Which deck thy slender sword!”

He stood beside her in the dawn—
And she his Dawn and she his Spring.
From her bright palm she fed her fawn,
Her swift eyes chased the swallow's wing;
Her restless lips, smile-haunted, cast
Shrill silver calls to hound and dove;
Her young locks wove them with the blast.
To the flushed azure shrine above
The light boughs o'er her golden head
Tossed emerald arm and blossom palm;
The perfume of their prayer was spread
On the sweet wind in breath of balm.

“Dawn of my heart,” he said, “O child,
Knit thy pure eyes a space with mine:

How moving, man and woman singing in one body!
She only hopes for divine aid, her heart out on the waves.
In the crazed anguish of the autumn wind, love's grass lies exposed;
ten thousand leagues of misty waves, the depth of her tears' traces.

I hear that the peonies are magnificent
in the famous gardens now
and that rich families will be enjoying them
until spring is almost gone.
What a shame! I too am a man who loves to look at flowers
but I am much too busy, watering my vegetable patch!

Love comes back to his vacant dwelling,—
—The old, old Love that we knew of yore!
—We see him stand by the open door,
With his great eyes sad, and his bosom swelling.

He makes as though in our arms repelling,
—He fain would lie as he lay before;—
Love comes back to his vacant dwelling,—
—The old, old Love that we knew of yore!

Ah, who shall keep us from over-spelling
—That sweet forgotten, forbidden lore!
—E'ndash as we doubt in our hearts once more,
With a rush of tears to our eyelids welling,
Love comes back to his vacant dwelling.

1. Say “au revoir,” . . . . but not “good-bye,” . . . . For parting brings . . . . a bitter
sigh; The past is gone, . . . . though mem'ry gives One clinging
thought . . . . the future lives; Our duty first, . . . . love must not
lead, . . . . What might have been, . . . . had fate decreed; 'Twere better
far . . . . . had we not met, . . . . I loved you then, . . . . I love you yet. . . .
2. The waters glide, . . . . the oars lie still, . . . . A rippling laugh, . . . a word at
will: Where angels fear, . . . . fools dare to tread, Shall live for

I just found out about love
And I like it,
I like it;
I like what love has been doing to me.
I hold you close in my arms
And I like it,
I like it;
Oh, what a wonderful future I see.
It's a one-time only,
It's a lifetime deal,
And I know it's real,
I can tell by the way that I feel.
Right now I'm livin' it up
And I like it,
I like it.
Hey, you! Give me a clue,
What's love doin' to you?
Looks like
You could be liking it, too.

From the third heaven I downe am come,
Loves powerfull Queene, to visit Rome;
To visit you, deare Latian plaines,
Glad hills, lovd walls, where soft peace raigns;
Where those Heroick Soules that are
So lovd in peace, so feard in war,
Had both a cradle and an urne.
Once more I back to earth returne,
Quitting the highest spheare for you,
And Paphos and Cythera too.
Yet would I not be idle here,
But as my selfe, Loves Queene, appeare.
I come to wake the sleeping fire
In coldest breasts, or new inspire,
And to revenge the pride of those