Flower of the May!
What shall I do to make her forget me?
She is so sad that should be so gay.

Ah, jessamine flower!
I toucht her hand and it set me on fire:
What would her lips do for power?

O scarlet sorrel—
She that I love hath so pretty a rage
I love her wildest when she and I quarrel.

Honey of lime!
Loving is easy; but how to end loving!
Ah, that is harder than rhyme!

Wild purple heather,
You who have lain in her bosom this morn
Lie now in mine, and link us together.

1. Come all my fair ones, Come, all my dear ones, Come and
lis ten unto me. “Could you fancy a jolly
sailor lad That has just come from sea? Could you
fancy a jolly sailor lad That has just come from sea?”

2 “No, I dislike them,
No, I despise them,
For they smell so much of tar!
So begone, you sassy sailor lad,
So begone, you Jack tar.”

3 “I have ships on the ocean, love,
I have money in my pocket, love,
I have gold in great store
I would give to a poor country girl
If she would wed Jack Tar.”

4 Soon as she heard him say,

Lo Christ returns! But where is love,
The love he showed for men;
Does he behold it, here on earth,
Returned to earth again?

Lo Christ returns! But where the faith,
Which here on earth he sought;
The faith which overcomes the world,
And mighty works has wrought?

And where is hope, which cheers the soul,
The Spirit's fruit and joy;
Which doth like faith, and hope abide,
And naught can ere destroy?

Ah, where are these? we see them not;
But, Lord, we still believe;
Increase our faith, increase our love,
That we may thee receive.

My God, to do thy will
Caged I can rejoice;
Hearken to my voice:
[']Tis my election still:
Direct my choice,
My God, to do thy will.

I sing the live day long,
Lord, thyself, to please:
Extreme miseries
But make my love more strong;
No one near to tease
I sing the live day long[.]

Thou understandest, Lord,
Syllables of love,
Wise men know not of,
Within the chaste heart stored
Speech all speech above:
Thou understandest, Lord.

Freedom my soul doth fill
Though I am a slave:
Love is all I crave[,]
Affection, holy will

You tell me that another has your heart,
And that until this time you have not known
What love is. And a wedded pair must part
Because an earlier, lesser love has flown.

You tell me this, and I say go your way
And read the answer in the coming years.
Were Wisdom's very self to bid you stay
Her words would fall on unattending ears.

I am not Wisdom's self, but this you'll learn:
New love is never rooted as the old;
And the old passion will revive and burn
Before the ashes of the new are cold.

Two trees that grow together to the sun

Silver stars above me,
Sun above me, shine!
Lady, if you love me,
Be my valentine.

And, my dear, if in you
Leaps no answering flame,
Those things will continue
Shining just the same.

Silver stars above me,
Sun above me, shine!
Lady, if you love me,
Be my valentine.

And, my dear, if in you
Leaps no answering flame,
Those things will continue
Shining just the same.

A word was spoken—a breath of frost
Struck love with an icy chill;
Two hearts went limping, joy was lost
And wandered lone on a tempest hill.
The flowers of the soul their petals shed;
Music was silent and art fell dead.

COME , Holy Spirit! Come, enflame
Our lukewarm Hearts with sacred Fire:
May all our Passions, to Thy Name,
In Transports most refin'd, aspire.

May Love sublime our Hearts possess,
From every selfish Mixture free,
Fir'd with the Charms of Holiness,
The Beauty of Divinity.

We see the Beauty of Thy Grace,
That saves rebellious Worms from Hell:
But ah! the Charms of Holiness
We dimly see, and faintly feel.

Selfish and mercenary Views
Are with our purest Passions mixt:
A nobler Passion, Oh! infuse,
On Holiness supremely fixt.

Elvira, by love's grace
There goeth before you
A clear radiance
Which maketh all vain souls
Candles when noon is.

The loud clangor of pretenders
Melteth before you
Like the roll of carts passing,
But you come silently
And homage is given.

Now the little by-path
Which leadeth to love
Is again joyful with its many;
And the great highway
From love
Is without passers.

Botta! the Muse of History with thy pen
Sheds beauty, light, and wisdom on her pages,
Reviving thus, even in our days again,
Part of the Roman, Greek and Tuscan sages;
Their love of freedom, and their skill in men—
Hatred of force and fraud—the lore of ages—
With style's best virtue graced—most lovely when
Truth scorns both Demagogue's and Tyrant's wages.
There is a fascination in thy story
Beyond mere music from a Syren's tongue,
As though exulting in her ancient glory
Above the tale entranced, Ausonia hung,
Demanding back from Time now faint and hoary,