E V'RY youth for love's sweet portion sighs,
Ev'ry maiden sighs to win man's love;
Why, alas! should bitter pain arise
From the noblest passion that we prove?

Thou, kind soul, bewailest, lov'st him well,
From disgrace his memory's saved by thee;
Lo, his spirit signs from out its cell:
B E A M AN, NOR SEEK TO FOLLOW M E .

So quietly love came,
I did not hear his name
Thro' the night;
Only silence fell,
Like a starry spell
Of light. . . .

There was no caroling
Of bird or trumpet-flare;
Only on the air
The sudden burst of Spring,
And in my heart a flame,
(So quietly love came!)

Just a few themes,
Love, God, and glory,
Laughter and dreams,
Make all my story.

I croon them idly
In the sunbeams.
How to spread widely
Just a few themes?

Cemeteries are places for departed souls
And bones interred,
Or hearts with shattered loves.
A woman with lips made warm for laughter
Would find grey stones and roving spirits
Too chill for living, moving pulses . . .
And thou, great spirit, wouldst shiver in thy granite shroud
Should idle mirth or empty talk
Disturb thy tranquil sleeping.

A cemetery is a place for shattered loves
And broken hearts. . . .
Bowed before the crystal chalice of thy soul,
I find the multi-colored fragrance of thy mind
Has lost itself in Death's transparency.

We give to chivalry a separate age,
An age of fable, minstrel, & romance,
Of joust and joyance, ladies, knights, & lastly
Love the presiding deity of all:
Within whose temple shine the recorded deeds
Of those that dared & died, but soaring Fame
Has votaries no less numerous than Love's.

Love came to the Unlighted House
When all the world was dark and mute
As some dust-covered, stringless lute;
The bare trees shivered in the cold—
Poor trees that once knew flower and fruit;
On either hand lay heaped the snow
When silently as cravens go,
Love came to the Unlighted House.

Love came to the Unlighted House—
The windows stared like dead men's eyes
Set wide in unexplained surprise
Unkindled by the soul within;
The wide door closed on secrecies;
There came no sign to greet this guest

But true love is a durable fire,
In the mind ever burning,
Never sick, never old, never dead,
From itself never turning.

In March, when the winds begin to love,
and the world begins to crave,
I dream of my lady of the dead.
I go alone to her grave.

I go by the road that threads the woods——
a way that few men know.
I glance behind me, along the road——
for I always fear to go.

Long, long I stand by the sunken mound——
as long as I ever dare.
I often glance about the place,
for I know I should not be there.
Not for myself do I care,

but for the lady who loved me long,
with a love that well she hid——
for laws and lips forbade us ever

They loo na me because I'm poor I' woolen hoes and clouted shoes
For poverty there's little cure But war it ever mine to chuse
I'd chuse the maid i' russet gown And loo's simplicity
Though finer roses bluim in town The kintra maid for me

And I myself wad be na mair Then on[l]ie what I am
mans complaint is sair His breeding na' but sham
Wha' ever tuck me for a knave Wud mar opinions sarely
I've often made a foemans grave And fought for Scotlands Charley

And dear I loo the land o' bruim And the throble bluiming rarely

There was an evil in Pandora's box
Beyond all other ones, yet it came forth
In guise so lovely, that men crowded round
And sought it as the dearest of all treasure.
Then were they stung with madness and despair;
High minds were bowed in abject misery.
The hero trampled on his laurell'd crown,
While genius broke the lute it waked no more.
Young maidens, with pale cheeks, and faded eyes,
Wept till they died. Then there were broken hearts—
Insanity—and Jealousy, that feeds
Unto satiety, yet loathes its food;
Suicide digging its own grave; and Hate,