It was the lovely moon—she lifted
Slowly her white brow among
Bronze cloud-waves that ebbed and drifted
Faintly, faintlier afar.
Calm she looked, yet pale with wonder,
Sweet in unwonted thoughtfulness,
Watching the earth that dwindled under
Faintly, faintlier afar.
It was the lovely moon that lovelike
Hovered over the wandering, tired
Earth, her bosom gray and dovelike,
Hovering beautiful as a dove. . . .
The lovely moon:—her soft light falling
Lightly on roof and poplar and pine—
Tree to tree whispering and calling,

H ESPER , dear Hesper, golden lovely light,
Of Venus,—presence in the dark blue night,—
Only less lovely than the moon as far
As thou art bright to every other star;
Hail, loved one; and as she begins to-day
To go down early, hold me from above
Thy light, and let me be supplied by thee:—
I come not forth to steal or to way-lay;
I go to sup with one that waits for me;—
I love; and lovers should be helped with love.

There is a little naked child at the door,
His name is Beauty, and he cries,
“Behold, I am born, put me where I can live.”
The old World comes to the door,
And thrusting out a lip, says only this,
“It is true that you are born, but how were you conceived?”

There is an owl upon an elder-tree,
Who opening an eye, says only this.
“That is a lovely child!”
The old World said again,
“Yes! but how was he conceived?”

There is a gust of free wind,
And high cloud voices call.
“What can you ask of Love but conception?
Men are born of blest love,

a shooting star—
in love with someone, not knowing
where it will lead me

Can you forego me? Treat me like a thing
More trivial than a flower, and less dear?
Think for a while. Can you forego the spring,
Forfeit the one mad weather of the year?
I press between you and each yesterday;
Smelling of wind, of white brier in the dew,
From the grave's edge, and from the shrill, trodden way,
I that am ghost, reach to the ghost in you.
Foregoing spring, you thus can forego me,
And bare of me, of spring you shall go bare.
Leave me or choose me. Yet it matters not.
I shall possess you as the root the tree;

In vain a thousand slaves have try'd
To overcome Clarinda's pride;
Pity pleading,
Love persuading,
When her icy heart is thaw'd
Honour chides, and straight she 's aw'd.

Foolish creature! follow Nature,
Waste not thus your prime;
Youth 's a treasure,
Love 's a pleasure,
Both destroy'd by Time.

Tempest and terror below; but Christ the Almighty above.
Tho' the depth of the deep overflow, tho' fire run along on the ground,
Tho' all billows and flames make a noise,—and where is an Ark for the dove?—
Tho' sorrows rejoice against joys, and death and destruction abound:
Yet Jesus abolisheth death, and Jesus Who loves us we love;
His dead are renewed with a breath, His lost are the sought and the found.
Thy wanderers call and recall, Thy dead men lift out of the ground;
O Jesus, Who lovest us all, stoop low from Thy Glory above:

Little mouse:
Are you
some rat's little child?
I won't love you if you are.

Keep you these calm and lovely things,
And float them on your clearest water;
For one would not disgrace a King's
Transformed, beloved and buoyant daughter.

And with her goes this sprightly swan,
A bird of more than royal feather,
With alban beauty clothed upon:
O keep them fair and well together!

As fair as was that doubled Bird,
By love of Leda so besotten,
That she was all with wonder stirred,
And the Twin Sportsmen were begotten!

They spake me fair and said: “Forgo this pain,
This grief of love.” They counselled me in vain;
Loving my grief, I count it little gain
With grief to part.

I never thought to give in such meek wise
My heart away to one whose distant eyes
Scorn my salutes, nor see me with surprise
Standing apart.

O hard of heart, give back the life I gave
In greeting to thee,—greet me, thou, and save
Me, weary for thy presence, from the grave,
O hard of heart!