Downward was the wheeling Bear
Driven by the Waggoner:
Men by powerful sleep opprest,
Gave their busy troubles rest;
Love, in this still depth of night,
Lately at my house did light;
Where, perceiving all fast lock'd,
At the door he boldly knock'd.
'Who's that,' said I, 'That does keep
Such a noise, and breaks my sleep?'
'Ope,' saith Love, 'for pity hear;
'Tis a child, thou need'st not fear,
Wet and weary, from his way
Led by this dark night astray.'
With compassion this I heard;
Light I struck, the door unbarr'd;

I think of thee, when golden sunbeams shimmer
Across the sea;
And when the waves reflect the moon's pale glimmer,
I think of thee.

I see thy form, when down the distant highway
The dust-clouds rise;
In deepest night, above the mountain by-way,
I see thine eyes.

I hear thee when the ocean-tides returning
Loudly rejoice;
And on the lonely moor, in stillness yearning,
I hear thy voice.

I dwell with thee: though thou art far removed,
Yet art thou near.
The sun goes down, the stars shine out, ---
Beloved,

'Tis men who say that through all hurt and pain
The woman's love, wife's, mother's, still will hold,
And breathes the sweeter and will more unfold
For winds that tear it, and the sorrowful rain.
So in a thousand voices has the strain
Of this dear patient madness been retold,
That men call woman's love. Ah! they are bold,
Naming for love that grief which does remain.

Love faints that looks on baseness face to face:
Love pardons all; but by the pardonings dies,
With a fresh wound of each pierced through the breast.

Love's more delicate than a flower,
And more precious than my life;
My heart is its permanent home,
And I its vigilant guard!

It's love that drew me on
To the flower bush in Shalamar
From my nest in the thorn shrubs
Growing on desolate land.

Tell me how autumn brings only blight,
Leaving spring to repair the damage,
For while yemberzal blooms in spring,
Autumn brings saffron flowers!

Be like Satyabhama, who knew that God
Can never be weighed with wealth.
Rejecting all her diamonds,

He came from her, and though rough and uncouth,
It seemed her tenderness breathed out of him
As he re-worded her sweet sentences.
Even as a stony place, clothed with sweet flowers,
Seems itself to breathe perfume, and to be
Instinct with tenderness, so, fresh from her,
The roughness of his quality was charmed:
Love makes those lovable that deal with him.

When you are with me I put by the world
In having you. When I can hear and see you,
All else is dark and dumb; or is it, Sweet,
You then are all, and I the dreamer know
No life but yours? But when that you are gone,
All things do image you, they do live then
For me, and in a thousand lights and shadows
A thousand voices echo you, until
Your presence dumbs and darkens them again:
Love has so made you, dearest, one with all
In and without me.

Fried potatoes is a dish
Good as any one could wish:
Cheap it is, and appetizing;
Turn a saint to gormandizing:
Good and cheap and tasty too,
Just the thing for Love's Menu.
Love is dainty, and his food,
Even though common, must be good:
Love hath little to disburse,
So his fare must fit his purse:
Love hath fickle appetite,
We his palate must invite:
Crisp and hot, the price a sou,
Fried Potatoes, Love's Menu.

I shall rest no more on the fragrant mosses
Under great trees where the green bough tosses
Scents of the lime; and the wild rose flinging
Sweets to the breeze with their censer swinging,
I shall count no more, as I linger lazy
Deep in the mead, from the pink-tipped daisy,
'Who loves me well, and who leaves me lonely?
Who loves me not, and who loves me only?'

I shall walk no more by the great sea dreaming
Secret dreams, with the black gull screaming,
Child of the cliff and the wan wave falling,
Songless he cries with no bird-like calling.

Look at
love's marvellous
ways:

if you shoot an arrow
plant it
till no feather shows;
if you hug
a body, bones
must crunch and crumble;
weld,
the welding must vanish.

Love is then
our lord's love

Horses plainly are descry'd
By the mark upon their side:
Parthians are ditinguished
By the mitres on their head:
But from all men else a lover
I can easily discover,
For upon his easy breast
Love his brand-mark hath imprest.