I hear it is charged against me that I seek to destroy institutions;
But really I am neither for nor against institutions,
(What indeed have I in common with them?—Or what with the destruction of them?)
Only I will establish in the Mannahatta, and in every city of these States, inland and seaboard,
And in the fields and woods, and above every keel little or large, that dents the water,
Without edifices, or rules, or trustees, or any argument,
The institution of the dear love of comrades.

Within a forest, as I strayed
Far down a sombre autumn glade,
I found the god of love;
His bow and arrows cast aside,
His lovely arms extended wide,
A depth of leaves above,
Beneath o'erarching boughs he made
A place for sleep in russet shade.

His lips, more red than any rose,
Were like a flower that overflows
With honey pure and sweet;
And clustering round that holy mouth,
The golden bees in eager drouth
Plied busy wings and feet;
They knew, what every lover knows,
There's no such honey-bloom that blows.

Love's records, written on a heart like mine,
Not Time's last effort can efface a line.

D ANTE A LIGHIERI , Cecco, your good friend
And servant, gives you greeting as his lord,
And prays you for the sake of Love's accord,
(Love being the Master before whom you bend,)
That you will pardon him if he offend,
Even as your gentle heart can well afford.
All that he wants to say is just one word
Which partly chides your sonnet at the end.
For where the measure changes, first you say
You do not understand the gentle speech
A spirit made touching your Beatrice:
And next you tell your ladies how, straightway,

Grown old in Love from Seven till Seven times Seven
I oft have wished for Hell for Ease from Heaven

This passion is but an ember
Of a Sun, of a Fire, long set;
I could not live and remember,
And so I love and forget.

You say, and the tone is fretful,
That my mourning days were few,
You call me over forgetful—
My God, if you only knew!

Soft follower of the early star,
Once more I feel you drawing near.
Come! for my evening is not come
Till you are here.

You make it—as yourself is made—
Of loveliest, sweet, untroubled things,
Fled with love's day. I feel love's night
Fall from your wings.

My love she's bonny hale and young
But O' she's got a saucey tongue
She'll frown and jeer for a the year
And winna listen to a song.

My love she's hale and bonny too
Wi' gay straw hat and ribbons blue
Wi' gown O' green and saucey e'en
And lips that part as saucey too.

My love is scarcely in her teens
She's five years wanting sweet sixteen
A lovely girl wi' teeth O' pearl
But no' so kind she might ha' been.

She wants three month O' seventeen
The maiden in her gown O' green
And yet her size wears womans eyes

In a Roses' bower
Sweet Philomel sat, singing
All her night-long passion to those lovely hearts:

Only the Moon looked on them,
Heard what she sang; and the Roses
Answered, breathing their perfumes back from echoing depths.

The trees they lean'd in their love unto trees,
That lock'd in their loves, and were so made strong,
Stronger than armies; ay, stronger than seas
That rush from their caves in a storm of song.