I HAVE no fear of thee,
That thou wilt swerve from me;
My feeling is so closely wound
About thy being, through, around,
I cannot fancy how
We two could part: canst thou?

Only in day-dreams do I dream of thee!
By day our Past moves ever by my side,
A mystic Presence of majestic mien,
In samite clad white as its stainless soul, —
And eyes like his who sought the Holy Grail.

By day, by day, O thou beloved and lost!
Under the hidden current of my life
The thought of thee runs ever, tingeing all
With its own color, even as the sky
Lends its own azure to the sleeping lake.

By day, by day, the soft airs breathe thy name;
The strong winds bear it on their mighty wings;

My grandam says to me:
" Judith, which would you rather be,
Light o' love in a lad's heart,
Or true woman, playing her part? "

I said, wild with young desire,
" I will not be a sit-by-the-fire,
No free bird houses him, lark or snipe,
But you sit chimney-side with a pipe. "

I flung my hair back,
And, with head high,
Danced forth out the door,
Lest I should cry.

Well I feared the lad I loved
Loved a blonde lass true,
And what against pale gold
Can a black head do?

She is soft and blue-eyed,

You were not cruel always! Nay,
When I said Come! one year ago:
Could you have lingered by the way?
Did not the very wind seem slow?

Then, had you tarried, I had known
Nor love's delight, nor lost love's pain:
Then, always had I lived alone.
Now, you need never come again.

I.

L OVE can wait!
Being so patient it is strong;
If in this world it wait in vain,
It surely shall not suffer long;
For in some other state,
Some life of larger scope,
It ultimately shall attain
The full fruition of its hope.
This is love's faith; defying fate,
Time, change, neglect and laughter,
It can wait

Where dwelleth Love? oh, tell me where!
In some dim region of delight,
Beyond the dayspring's golden bars,
Above the uttermost bright stars,
Far in the azure Infinite?
Oh, no! not there.

Is it in lands the poets know,
Where lovely shapes go up and down
Through vaulted glooms and flickering gleams,
In the pale, pictured hall of dreams,
To fairy music, faintly blown?
Oh, no! not so.

Dwelt she in happy Arcady,
With the Saturnian race of men,
Ere yet with wisdom, war and gold,

B LANDINA'S nice; Blandina's fat;
Joyous, and sane and sound and sweet,
And handsome too, and all else that
In persons of her years is meet.
Behold Blandina!
She's alive, and testifies
With all the emphasis that lies
In busy hands and dancing eyes
That life's a prize —
That all the mischief that provokes
Doubt in the matter lies in folks,
And that, provided folks are fit,
Life's not a failure — not a bit.

Blandina loves a picture-book,
Blandina dearly loves a boy;
She loves her dinner, loves the cook,

T is love that makes the stars revolve;
'Tis love that makes the world go round.
This, Christmas purpose I resolve
On earth to make love more abound.
On me, dear maid, thy love bestow,
And match my full heart's overflow!

Nor gems nor gear to thee I bring;
Nor gauds nor merchandises rare.
Love's offerings I may not sing,
But love itself I have to spare

Her eyes say Yes, her lips say No.
Ah, tell me, Love, when she denies,
Shall I believe the lips or eyes?
Bid eyes no more dissemble,
Or lips too tremble
The way her heart would go!

Love may be vowed by lips, although
Cold truth, in unsurrendering eyes,
The armistice of lips denies.
But can fond eyes dissemble,
Or false lips tremble
To this soft Yes in No?

The beauty of no woman to my flesh
Is intimate spirit if she be not pale;
I love not roses that are dewy fresh
If on a cheek they tell no passionate tale;
And passion is the after-sunset breath
That withers them, wrinkling their petals white;
Also, since love is next of kin to death,
Let love foreshow the colours of that night.
There is a whiteness of thrice mortal fire,
And of this ardency immaculate,
Which is the seal of perfected desire,
The promise of desires yet passionate,
I would some ardent weariness should speak: