This is my letter to the world,
That never wrote to me,—
The simple news that Nature told,
With tender majesty.

Her message is committed
To hands I cannot see;
For love of her, sweet countrymen,
judge tenderly of me!

First did I fear, when first my love began,
Possessed in fits by watchful jealousy;
I sought to keep what I by favor wan,
And brooked no partner in my love to be.
But tyrant sickness fed upon my love,
And spread his ensigns, dyed with color white;
Then was suspicion glad for to remove,
And, loving much, did fear to lose her quite.
Erect, fair sweet, the colors thou didst wear;
Dislodge thy griefs, the short'ners of content;
For now of life, not love, is all my fear,
Lest life and love be both together spent.
Live by, fair love, and banish thy disease,

From lands where Love for ever dreams
?Thy soft eyes took their light;
No moon with quite such magic gleams,
?Nor any star by night.
There is a light that from the soul
?Flows forth, and that is thine;
The only light that can control
?So wild a heart as mine!
Thou bindest all my heart in chains,
?Sweet chains, as sweet as strong;
Love sometimes for one moment reigns,
?But thou hast reigned so long!
In truth I now begin to see
?That we shall never part,
But that God's vast eternity
?Will link us, heart to heart.

Where are the poems gone, of our first days?
Locked on the page
Where we for ever learn our first embrace.
Love come of age
Takes words as said, but never takes for granted
His holy luck, his pledge
That what is truly loved is truly known.
Now in that knowledge
Love unillusioned is not love disenchanted.

Gifts of one who loved me,—
'T was high time they came;
When he ceased to love me,
Time they stopped for shame.

Love hath a name of Death:
He gives a breath
And takes away.
Lo we beneath his sway
Grow like a flower;
To bloom an hour,
To droop a day,
And fade away.

By parental kindness sheltered,
Ne'er the little child had seen
One whose form of lifeless beauty
Wore Death's sad and solemn mien;
Till a youthful, loved companion
Soared to seek an angel's home,
And the little girl was lifted
To behold her lifeless form.

Then the child, no death-scene fearing,
Gazed upon the flowers around,
Wondering that from lips so lovely
Came no pleasant, wonted sound;
Bent she o'er the tiny coffin,—
Sunshine all her face abroad,—
Kissed the cheek of marble coldness,
Whispering, “Give my love to God!”

A LONG the lane beside the mead
—Where cowslip-gold is in the grass
I matched the milkmaid's easy speed,
—A tall and springing country lass:
But though she had a merry plan
—To shield her from my soft replies,
Love played at Catch-me-if-you-Can
———In Mary's eyes.

A mile or twain from Varley bridge
—I plucked a dock-leaf for a fan,
And drove away the constant midge,
—And cooled her forehead's strip of tan.
But though the maiden would not spare
—My hand her pretty finger-tips,
Love played at Kiss-me-if-you-Dare
———On Mary's lips.

He did a deed, a gracious deed—
He ministered to men in need;
He bound a wound, he spoke a word
That God and every angel heard.

He did a deed, a loving deed—
Oh, souls that suffer and that bleed,
He did a deed, and on his way
A bird sang in his heart all day.

Love hath his poppy-wreath,
—Not Night alone.
I laid my head beneath
—Love's lilied throne:
Then to my sleep he brought
—This anodyne—
The flower of many a thought
—And fancy fine:
A form, a face, no more;
—Fairer than truth;
A dream from death's pale shore;
—The soul of youth:
A dream so dear, so deep,
—All dreams above,
That still I pray to sleep—
—Bring Love back, Love!