One sat within a hung and lighted room —
A little shape, with face between his wings,
And in the light made of all golden things
He seemed a warm and living rose abloom;
And one without sobbed in the night and gloom,
And all about him was a pilgrim's weed,
His little hands and cold he held for meed
Of his long waiting, sad as by a tomb:
He entered at the door, the other flew
Out at the casement — and with sudden day
The lamps burned faint, and he who came most new
Was fair, and he who went was wan and gray.

One little minute more, Maud,
— One little whisper more;
I have a word to speak, Maud,
— I never breathed before.
What can it be but love , Maud;
— And do I rightly guess
'Tis pleasant to your ear, Maud?
— O darling! tell me yes!

The burden of my heart, Maud,
— There's little need to tell;
There's little need to say, Maud,
— I've loved you long and well.
There's language in a sigh, Maud,
— One's meaning to express,
And yours — was it for me , Maud?
— O darling! tell me yes!

My eyes have told my love, Maud,

On the sea or in the air
God is with me ev'rywhere,
He will never let me go
For I know He loves me so;
Ev'ry day and ev'ry hour
He will keep me by His pow'r.

Oh, says the linnet, if I sing,
My love forsook me in the spring,
And nevermore will I be seen
Without my satin gown of green.

Oh, says the pretty-feathered jay,
Now my love is fled away
For the memory of my dear
A feather of each sort I'll wear.

Oh, says the sparrow, my love is gone,
She so much that I doted on,
And e'er since for that selfsame thing
I've made a vow I ne'er will sing.

Oh, says the water-wag-my-tail,
I courted a fair one but could not prevail,
I could not with my love prevail,

Oh, open the door, some pity to shew,
Oh, open the door to me, oh!
Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true,
Oh, open the door to me, oh!

Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek,
But caulder thy love for me, oh!
The frost that freezes the life at my heart,
Is nought to my pains fra thee, oh!

The wan moon is setting behind the white wave,
And time is setting with me, oh!
False friends, false love, farewell! for mair
I'll ne'er trouble them, nor thee, oh!

She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide;

Du schones Fischermädchen

Oh lovely fishermaiden,
Come, bring your boat to land;
And we will sit together
And whisper, hand in hand.

Oh rest upon my bosom,
And fear no harm from me.
You give your body daily,
Unfearing to the sea. . . .

My heart is like the ocean
With storm and ebb and flow —
And many a pearly treasure
Burns in the depths below.

O love builds on the azure sea,
And Love builds on the golden sand;
And Love builds on the rose-winged cloud,
And sometimes Love builds on the land.

O, if Love build on sparkling sea,
And if Love build on golden strand,
And if Love build on rosy cloud,
To Love these are the solid land.

O, Love will build his lily walls,
And Love his pearly roof will rear,
On cloud, or land, or mist, or sea, —
Love's solid land is everywhere!

1. O'er waiting harpstrings of the mind There weeps a strain, Low,
2. And wake a whitewinged angel throng Of thought, illumed By
sad, and sweet, whose measures bind The power of pain,
faith, and breathed in raptured song, With love perfumed.

3. Then His unveiled, sweet mercies show
Life's burdens light.
I kiss the cross, and wake to know
A world more bright.

4. And o'er earth's troubled, angry sea
I see Christ walk,
And come to me, and tenderly,
Divinely talk.

5. Thus Truth engrounds me on the rock,
Upon life's shore,

I
"O Time, whence comes the Mother's moody look amid her labours,
As of one who all unwittingly has wounded where she loves?
Why weaves she not her world-webs to according lutes and tabors,
With nevermore this too remorseful air upon her face,
As of angel fallen from grace?"
II

--"Her look is but her story: construe not its symbols keenly:
In her wonderworks yea surely has she wounded where she loves.
The sense of ills misdealt for blisses blanks the mien most queenly,
Self-smitings kill self-joys; and everywhere beneath the sun

O thou, whose eyes were closed in death's pale night,
Ere fate revealed thee to my aching sight;
Ambiguous something, by no standard fixed,
Frail span, of naught and of existence mixed;
Embryo, imperfect as my tort'ring thought,
Sad outcast of existence and of naught;
Thou, who to guilty love first ow'st thy frame,
Whom guilty honour kills to hide its shame;
Dire offspring! formed by love's too pleasing pow'r!
Honour's dire victim in a luckless hour!
Soften the pangs that still revenge thy doom:
Nor, from the dark abyss of nature's womb,