How long did the sun's round passionate mouth
Kiss that rose's lips, I wonder?
How long did the amorous wind from the south
Try to press her petals asunder?

How long did the honey-bee flit to and fro
Ere she threw her red vest apart,
And showed a glory of gold and snow
Hoarded beside her heart?

Longer far have I yearned for thy love,
And flown round thy folded blossom.
Will pity or passion never move
The proud disdain of thy bosom?

Love me! I loved thee long ago:
Love me! the land is sunny:

Thy Spirit's deeper beauties shine
Thy body's outward beauty through,
And by thine eyes we can divine,
As by a lamp before a shrine,
The lovely inner soul of you.

Were thy heart soft, as Thou art faire,
Thou wert a wonder, past compare.
But frozen Love and feirce Disdaine
By their Extreames thy Graces staine.
Cold coynesse quenches the still fires
Which glowe in Lovers' warme desires;
And scorne, like the quick Light'ning's blaze,
Darts Death against affection's gaze.
O Heavens, what prodigy is this
When Love in Beauty buryed is!
Or that Dead Pitty thus should bee
Tomb'd in a Living Cruelty.

Fear no more the wingèd boy,
He has spent on me his quiver,
Tortures me in cruel joy,
Burns my heart nor leaves me ever,
Cast aside his plumage vain,
Never more to fly again.

If Leander's lips I meet
All my thoughts to Xanthus turn,
If 'tis Xanthus that I greet
For Hippomenes I burn,
If Hippomenes be nigh
To Leander back I fly.

Full possession has no charms;
What I have not, that I love.
Taking all men to my arms
There I win my treasure trove.
Blame me, maidens, if you will,
You that love one lover still.

An angel watched the world rejoicing:
The flowers sang in the morning light;
The blue sea sang its tender love-song
To golden-girdled stars at night.
All seemed so full of peace and gladness—
Till lo! a sudden ice-cold breath
Passed over hill and wave and meadow:
A stern voice whispered, “I am Death!”

Alas! in all that angel's dreaming
His loving heart had never dreamed
That only for one single moment
The fairy blossoms sang and gleamed.
He turned, and in despairing sadness
Would have resought the heavens above,

To sea those pirate craft again have gone,
Euphro and Thaïs and Boïdion.
Such harpies once as vexed King Diomede,
Stripping their victims naked in their greed.
Agis they've wrecked and Cleophon as well,
Antagoras of them a tale can tell.
Fly then Love's corsairs, fly these frigates bold,
More deadly they than Siren maids of old.

Pour out and pour and pour again,
And ‘Heliodora’ cry;
Let that dear word be our refrain,
As fast the wine cups fly.

Three spirits fair in her combined
Have come from heaven above,
And we in her one body find
Allurement, Grace, and Love.

Leaving the bower of love, I seek the scene
Where thought's mailed servants in their stout array
Drive with straight swords the opposing clouds between:
Oh, at the dawning of a stormy day
That breaks tempestuous over wastes of grey
We are living—yet within high thought's domain
Are there not many gracious words to say?
What if the singer's robe with sanguine stain
Be wet, voice hoarsened from the battle-rain,
Shall he not find more rest and sweeter after
When to his heart thy white form he doth strain,

When youth is gone, and love is gone,
What lights the woodland way?
October's sunset, chill and wan;
The light of Autumn grey.
When youth is gone, and love is fled,
For us the world might well be dead!

When youth is gone,—as dead leaves go
Along the autumnal blast,—
Then first ourselves we seem to know
What all shall know at last;
The autumn weariness of life,
Past love and labour, zeal and strife.

When love is gone,—as blossoms fade,
Fade swiftly one by one,—
Our tired hearts tremble, as cold shade
Replaces summer sun.