Of life my love a riddle makes,
All sweetness when I please her;
A lily when the whim she takes,
A tiger when I tease her!

With kisses oft of shy surprise,
She smiles in fond love-languor;
Sometimes with frowns and flashing eyes,
She looks superb in anger!

A checkered path of glooms and gleams,
Fate to our feet hath given;
One half our life a jungle seems,
The rest, a little Heaven!

With words as sharp as claws she tears
My heart-strings all unheeding,
Then soothes me with her lily airs,
And music of her pleading.

Better Love's bond should snap with the rending of soul and spirit
Than it should fritter away and part we never knew when.

If I were still that man, worthy to love,
Of whom I have but the remembrance now,
Or if the lady bore another brow,
To hear this thing might bring me joy thereof.
But thou, who in Love's proper court dost move,
Even there where hope is born of grace,—see how
My very soul within me is brought low:
For a swift archer, whom his feats approve,
Now bends the bow, which Love to him did yield,
In such mere sport against me, it would seem
As though he held his lordship for a jest.
Then hear the marvel which is sorriest:—

I lived in Hell the other day
Its fires wrapt me angrily,
But now their horrors fall and fade
Like ghosts that memory has made.

I lived in Hell even today,
How swift the fierce flames die away—
Submerged with kisses, I forget,
With tears upon my pillows yet.

If you love me, love of mine,
Let me feel it day by day!
Never take the light divine
Of your tender love away!
Let me feel it when we meet,
By the joy that fills my heart
Making every moment sweet;
By my sorrow, when we part.

Let me feel that you are mine,
When the autumn leaves alight;
When the suns of summer shine;
When the stars begem the night.
Let me feel it hour by hour,
As the seasons come and go:
When the golden kingcups flower;
When the fields are white with snow.

Let me feel it in your hand;
Let me see it in your eyes:

Woe to the man who having touched a Bride
Elect in heaven, a daughter of the spheres,
To earth descends and quits his angel-peers
And lives as man,—his very soul has died.
He who once wandered by a seraph's side
Through groves unearthly now with terror hears
The wizard music that with passionate tears
He heard of old, by hearing deified.

I marked the voices of vast angel-hosts—
And all with one terrific grim accord
Cried out in Love's name, “Keen-edged is the sword
That through that man's most hapless heart shall smite

Sing me a song of the South, my love,
Of dear old Dixie land;
Where flowers are abloom and skies above
And the climate's pretty grand;
Where the mocking birds and the cuckoos flit
All day from tree to tree.
Make me a song like that, and split
The royalties with me.

Sing me a song of the South, my love,
Of dear old Dixie land;
Where flowers are abloom and skies above
And the climate's pretty grand;
Where the mocking birds and the cuckoos flit
All day from tree to tree.
Make me a song like that, and split
The royalties with me.

This is the month of sunrise skies
Intense with molten mist and flame;
Out of the purple deeps arise
Colors no painter yet could name:
Gold-lilies and the cardinal-flower
Were pale against this gorgeous hour.

Still lovelier when athwart the east
The level beam of sunset falls:
The tints of wild-flowers long deceased
Glow then upon the horizon walls;
Shades of the rose and violet
Close to their dear world lingering yet.

What idleness, to moan and fret
For any season fair, gone by!
Life's secret is not guessed at yet;

A rose has thorns as well as honey,
I'll not have her for love or money;
An iris grows so straight and fine,
That she shall be no friend of mine;
Snowdrops like the snow would chill me;
Nightshade would caress and kill me;
Crocus like a spear would fright me;
Dragon's-mouth might bark or bite me;
Convolvulus but blooms to die;
A wind-flower suggests a sigh;
Love-lies-bleeding makes me sad;
And poppy-juice would drive me mad:—
But give me holly, bold and jolly,
Honest, prickly, shining holly;
Pluck me holly leaf and berry

Lord, dost Thou look on me, and will not I
Launch out my heart to Heaven to look on Thee?
Here if one loved me I should turn to see,
And often think on him and often sigh,
And by a tender friendship make reply
To love gratuitous poured forth on me,
And nurse a hope of happy days to be,
And mean “until we meet” in each good-bye.
Lord, Thou dost look and love is in Thine Eyes,
Thy Heart is set upon me day and night,
Thou stoopest low to set me far above:
O Lord, that I may love Thee make me wise;
That I may see and love Thee grant me sight;