In March, when the winds begin to love,
and the world begins to crave,
I dream of my lady of the dead.
I go alone to her grave.

I go by the road that threads the woods——
a way that few men know.
I glance behind me, along the road——
for I always fear to go.

Long, long I stand by the sunken mound——
as long as I ever dare.
I often glance about the place,
for I know I should not be there.
Not for myself do I care,

but for the lady who loved me long,
with a love that well she hid——
for laws and lips forbade us ever

They loo na me because I'm poor I' woolen hoes and clouted shoes
For poverty there's little cure But war it ever mine to chuse
I'd chuse the maid i' russet gown And loo's simplicity
Though finer roses bluim in town The kintra maid for me

And I myself wad be na mair Then on[l]ie what I am
mans complaint is sair His breeding na' but sham
Wha' ever tuck me for a knave Wud mar opinions sarely
I've often made a foemans grave And fought for Scotlands Charley

And dear I loo the land o' bruim And the throble bluiming rarely

There was an evil in Pandora's box
Beyond all other ones, yet it came forth
In guise so lovely, that men crowded round
And sought it as the dearest of all treasure.
Then were they stung with madness and despair;
High minds were bowed in abject misery.
The hero trampled on his laurell'd crown,
While genius broke the lute it waked no more.
Young maidens, with pale cheeks, and faded eyes,
Wept till they died. Then there were broken hearts—
Insanity—and Jealousy, that feeds
Unto satiety, yet loathes its food;
Suicide digging its own grave; and Hate,

The rose and the lily, the moon and the dove,
Once loved I them all with a perfect love.
I love them no longer, I love alone
The Lovely, the Graceful, the Pure, the One
Who twines in one wreath all their beauty and love,
And rose is, and lily, and moon and dove.

Bend after bend, the long embankment,
lined with fallen flowers;
trees upon the eastern mountain
linked with lovely homes.
In one of them, a man opens a window
to get a better view;
smiling, he points where breezes ripple
the petals on the water.

As once, at midnight deep, I lay with sleepless eyes,
These words between the moth and light did me surprise.
The moth kisses the flame, and says, with tender sigh:
“Dear radiance! I rejoice from love for thee to die.
My love, thou diest not, yet anxious groans and strong
Break loudly from thy heart, through all the darkness long!”
The bright flame says, “O moth! whom love to me attracts,
Know that I also burn with love for this sweet wax.
Must I not groan, as more my lover melting sinks,
And from his life my fatal fire still deeper drinks?”

That Love last long; let it thy first care be
To find a Wife, that is most fit for Thee.
Be She too wealthy, or too poore; be sure,
Love in extreames, can never long endure.

Lovely fairy! Charming sprite!
Kindly listen and appear,
Whether bathed in dewdrops bright,
Or in chrystal riv'lets clear.

Howe'er divine, the mortal youth
Yet hopes thy gentleness to move,
With the soft energy of truth,
And the prevailing voice of love.

Put down your pen, said love, and start again,
The pen has done for love all that the pen can do,
The pen has done all things but live, yet life is love.
Now I demand of you confirming deeds,
Demand the notes so long accrued—their pay in full,
The notes of prophet voices and poet rhymes and echoing formulas,
The notes of sinais, meccas, sepulchers and crosses,
In lieu of dead postponements long decreed.

“G IVE me a fillet, Love,” quoth I,
“To bind my Sweeting's heart to me,
So ne'er a chance of earth or sky
Shall part us ruthlessly:
A fillet, Love, but not to chafe
My Sweeting's soul, to cause her pain;
But just to bind her close and safe
Through snow and blossom and sun and rain:
A fillet, boy!”
Love said, “Here's joy.”

“Give me a fetter, Life,” quoth I,
“To bind to mine my Sweeting's heart,
So Death himself must fail to pry
With Time the two apart:
A fetter, Life, that each shall wear,
Whose precious bondage each shall know.