O know to end, as to begin;
A minute's loss in love is sin.
These homours will the night outwear
In their own pastimes here;
You do our rites much wrong
In seeking to prolong
These outward pleasures:
The night hath other treasures
Than these, though long concealed,
Ere day to be revealed.
Then know to end, as to begin;
A minute's loss in Love is sin.
(from Masque of Hymen)

What but the love of God could have softened
And made forgiving the people of Spoon River
Toward me who wronged the bed of Thomas Merritt
And murdered him beside?
Oh, loving hearts that took me in again
When I returned from fourteen years in prison!
Oh, helping hands that in the church received me
And heard with tears my penitent confession,
Who took the sacrament of bread and wine!
Repent, ye living ones, and rest with Jesus.

Oh my love's like the red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June;
My love's like the melody
That's sweetly played in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonny lass,
So deep in love am I;
And I can love thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only love,
Oh fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my love,
Though 'twere ten thousand mile.

A Rhyme of good Death's inn!
My love came to that door;
And she had need of many things,
The way had been so sore.

My love she lifted up her head,
“And is there room?” said she;
“There was no room in Bethlehem's inn
For Christ who died for me.”

But said the keeper of the inn,
“His name is on the door.”
My love then straightway entered there:
She hath come back no more.

I want to see him
but even in dreams I don't dare—
morning after morning
I'm more ashamed to see
how love has changed my looks

I LOVE thee—I love thee!
'Tis all that I can say;—
It is my vision in the night,
My dreaming in the day;
The very echo of my heart,
The blessing when I pray:
I love thee—I love thee!
Is all that I can say.

I love thee—I love thee!
Is ever on my tongue;
In all my proudest poesy
That chorus still is sung;
It is the verdict of my eyes,
Amidst the gay and young:
I love thee—I love thee!
A thousand maids among.

I love thee—I love thee!
Thy bright and hazel glance,
The mellow lute upon those lips,

Love unreturn'd, how ere the flame
Seeme great and pure, may still admitt
degrees of more, and a new name
and strength acceptance gives to itt.

Till then, by honor ther's noe tie
layd on itt, that it ne're decay,
the minds last act by constancy
ought to be seald, and not the way.

Did ought but loves perfection bind
who should assigne at what degree
of love, fayth ought to fix the mynd
and in what limitts wee are free.
Soe hardly in A single harte
is any love conceived
that fancye still supplyes one part
supposing itt received.

The forest flutters with a breath of May;
The sun slants softly thro' a mist of greens:
Upon my arm a gentle beauty leans;
Through labyrinths of swaying leaves we stray;

Like the sweet Spring, we, too, are fresh and gay,
And envy not the lot of kings and queens:
To veil our love no pale care intervenes.
There is no night to our love's perfect day.

We walk and dream and dream again, and see
The brown birds watching as in mute surprise.
Languid, we feel blue scraps of mellow skies
Blend with our sense in silent harmony.

1. Sweet rivers of redeeming love Lie just before my eyes,
Had I the pinions of a dove, I'd to those regions rise;
2. While I'm imprisoned here below, In anguish, pain and smart,
Sometimes those troubles I forego, When love sustains my heart;
I'd rise superior to my pain, With joy outstrip the wind,
In darkest shadows of the night, Faith mounts the upper sky,
I'd cross proud Jordan's swelling flood, And leave the world behind. hind.
I then behold my heart's delight, And would rejoice to die. die.

3. A few more days or years at most
My troubles will be o'er;

Time was you heard the music of a sigh,
And Love awoke; and with it Song was born,—
Song glad as young birds carol in the morn,
And tender as the blue and brooding sky,
When all the earth feels Spring's warm witchery,
And with fresh flowers her bosom doth adorn;
And lovers love, and cannot love forlorn,
Since Love is of the gods, and may not die.

In after years may come some wildering light,—
Some sweet delusion, followed for a space,—
Such fitful fire-flies flash athwart the night,
But fade before the shining of that face