——Bird of the wilderness,
——Blithesome and cumberless,
Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea!
——Emblem of happiness,
——Blest is thy dwelling-place—
O to abide in the desert with thee!

——Wild is thy lay and loud,
——Far in the downy cloud,
Love gives it energy, love gave it birth.
——Where, on thy dewy wing,
——Where art thou journeying?
Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.

——O'er fell and fountain sheen,
——O'er moor and mountain green,
O'er the red streamer that heralds the day,
——Over the cloudlet dim,

Ah, pity love where'er it grows!
See how in me it overflows
In dripping eyes and dropping nose.

So strange a thing is seldom seen:
My age is dull, my love is keen;
Above I'm grey, but elsewhere green.

Aloof, perhaps I court and prate;
But something near I would be at,
Though I'm so old I scarce know what.

Shame checks our first attempts; but then 'tis prov'd,
Sins first dislik'd, are after that belov'd.

Darling, my own dear, ownest love,
Shall I put on a dress of white,
A red, red rose in my raven hair,
And meet you at the gate to-night?

By the garden gate that is arched with elms,
With majestic elms tall,
Where night-birds their sweetest melodies croon,
And so softly their love-mates call.

Say, darling, will you greet me with a kiss,
Will you be my love as of yore?
Will you talk of the bliss of our future days,
And tell me you love me more?

And shall we walk down the garden path,
Under the sparkling star-lit sky,

Comes the New Year; wailing the north winds blow;
In her cold, lonely grave my dead love lies;
Dead lies the stiffened earth beneath the snow,
And blinding sleet blots out the desolate skies;
I stand between the living and the dead;
Hateful to me is life, hateful is death;
Her life was sad, and on that narrow bed
She will not turn, nor wake with human breath.
I kneel between the evil and the good;
The struggle o'er, this one sweet faith have I—
Though life and death be dimly understood,
She loved me; I loved her; love cannot die;

We are all liars, because
the truth of yesterday becomes a lie tomorrow,
whereas letters are fixed,
and we live by the letter of truth.

The love I feel for my friend, this year,
is different from the love I felt last year.
If it were not so, it would be a lie.
Yet we reiterate love! love!

as if it were coin with a fixed value
instead of a flower that dies, and opens a different bud.

O my honey, take me back,
O my dahlin', I'll be true.
I am mo'nin' all day long,
O my honey, I love you.

I have loved you in joy and pain,
In de sunshine and de rain,
O my honey, heah me do,
O my dahlin', I love you.

I have seen men binding their brothers in chains, and crafty traders reaching for the bread that women and children lifted to their mouths;
I have seen suffering go unaided.
I have heard the iron din of war, and have seen the waxen face of early death;
And I have cried in my heart, “The world is hate!”

I have heard birds calling their mates in the still forests, and insects chirping to their loves in the tangled grass of meadows;
I have seen mothers caressing their babes, and aged men supporting with devotion the slow steps of stooping women;

Remember kissing, haste of embrace,
The then too swimming voyage everywhere—
And so bent on return, all's still to see
And learn of: oh, the luxurious futures
We have tasted tastelessly,
Blunting the acute lips with love,
The like desire of another
To be newly baptized in the fresh flood
Of the Unknown.

Round us the flagging flies piqued dully:
Our moments given holiday to fret
On whiling wing, stupid of time
As we of who we were in this soft act
Before the liquid mirror
Of mutuality.

It was a wilful dark,

I love you and you know it—this at least,
This comfort is mine own in all my pain:
You know it and can never doubt again,
And love's mere self is a continual feast.
Not oath of mine nor blessing-word of priest
Could make my love more certain or more plain:—
Life as a rolling moon doth wax and wane
O weary moon, still rounding, still decreased!
Life wanes: and when love folds his wings above
Tired joy, and less we feel his conscious pulse,
Let us go fall asleep, dear Friend, in peace;—
A little while, and age and sorrow cease;