She was a maid of high degree,
And quite severely proper.
Each man she met, so proud was she,
Would love, despair, then drop her.

But there remained without demur,
When all the rest forsook her,
An amateur photographer,
And finally he took her.

How much do you love me, a million bushels?
Oh, a lot more than that, Oh, a lot more.

And tomorrow maybe only half a bushel?
Tomorrow maybe not even a half a bushel.

And is this your heart arithmetic?
This is the way the wind measures the weather.

It trembled off the keys,—a parting kiss
So sweet,—the angel slept upon his sword
Asthrough the gate of Paradise we swept,—
Partakers of creation's primal bliss!
—The air was heavy with the breath
Of violets and love till death.—
Forgetful of eternal banishment—
Deep down the dusk of passion-haunted ways,
Lost in the dreaming alchemies of tone,—
Drenched in the dew no other wings frequent,
Our thirsting hearts drank in the breath
Of violets and love in death.—
There was no world, no flesh, no boundary line,—

When bright Roxana treads the green,
In all the pride of dress and mien,
Averse to freedom, love, and play,
The dazzling rival of the day;
None other beauty strikes mine eye,
The lilies droop, the roses die.

But when, disclaiming art, the fair
Assumes a soft engaging air;
Mild as the opening morn of May,
Familiar, friendly, free and gay,
The scene improves where'er she goes,
More sweetly smile the pink and rose.

O lovely Maid! propitious hear,
Nor deem thy shepherd insincere;
Pity a wild illusive flame,

At a little grass-hut in the valley of the river,
Where a cloud seems born from a viney wall,
You will love the bamboos new with rain,
And mountains tender in the sunset.
Cranes drift early here to rest
And autumn flowers are slow to fade. . . .
I have bidden my pupil to sweep the grassy path
For the coming of my friend.

What state more sweete, more pleasant or more hie,
Then loues delight, where hartes doe ioyntly ioye?
If vyle suspect, feare and ielosie,
With gawling grudge did not the same annoy.
Yet where this sowre, with sweete somedeale doth blende,
Loues perfection oft it doth amende.

For thirst the water sauourie makes to seeme,
And after fasting, meate is had in price:
He knowes not peace, nor can thereof esteeme,
That in the warres hath neuer broke the Ice.
Hope is reuiude, and shakes of sorrowes past,
When seruice long doth reape rewarde at last.

Your voice, that once was wont to go before us,
Calling our steps, as Pan his flocks in Spring,
Faltered at clash of War's discordant chorus
And ceased to sing.

Though, thro' the night of turmoil and of sorrow,
No ling'ring melody has touched our ear,
Yet have we waited, knowing that the morrow
Should find you near.

The morning breaks! and from your lonely dwelling
You haste to greet us! Echoing sweet and strong,
We hear, with outstretch'd arms and bosom swelling,
The old, glad song.

Æternall love! what 'tis to love thee well,
None, but himselfe, who feeles it, none can tell.
But oh, what to be lov'd of thee as well,
None, not himselfe, who feeles it, none can tell.

M Y Love, I have no fear that thou shouldst die;
Albeit I ask no fairer life than this,
Whose numbering-clock is still thy gentle kiss,
While Time and Peace with hands enlockëd fly;
Yet care I not where in Eternity
We live and love, well knowing that there is
No backward step for those who feel the bliss
Of Faith as their most lofty yearnings high:
Love hath so purified my being's core,
Meseems I scarcely should be startled, even,
To find, some morn, that thou hadst gone before;
Since, with thy love, this knowledge too was given,

In the quiet summer twilight,
Midst the glowing crimson bars
That the fading sunlight painted,
Glimmered out two beauteous stars.

Both were bright, but one was peerless,
And I fondly named it thine;
As they seemed to love each other,
Fancy called the pale one mine.

Lovingly they shone together,
Making heaven around them bright,
While the silent hours went trooping
Through the solemn halls of night.

Till a leaden cloud came over,
Like a messenger of doom,
And concealed the brightest jewel
In the foldings of its gloom.