Lute! breathe thy lowest in my Lady's ear,
Sing while she sleeps, “Ah! belle dame, aimez-vous?”
Till, dreaming still, she dream that I am here,
And wake to find it, as my love is, true;
Then, while she listens in her warm white nest,
Say in slow music,—softer, tenderer yet,
That lute-strings quiver when their tone 's at rest,
And my heart trembles when my lips are set.

Stars! if my sweet love still a-dreaming lies,
Shine through the roses for a lover's sake;
And send your silver to her lidded eyes,
Kissing them very gently till she wake;

Though I die
for love
I will not
bewail my fate—
if only in turn
she will think fondly
of me
as one gone to smoke

Make channels for the streams of love,
Where they may broadly run,
And love has overflowing streams
To fill them every one.

But if at any time we cease
Such channels to provide,
The very founts of love for us
Will soon be parched and dried.

For we must share, if we would keep,
That blessing from above;
Ceasing to give, we cease to have,—
Such is the law of love.

In the path from the past to the future—
in the years between age and youth—
I met three angels hand in hand
(A flower-lit meadow—a sunkissed land)—
Love—Joy—Truth

From my heart rise thanks to heaven—
From my eyes the glad tears fall!
Love that changes from day to day—
Joy that ranges yet still doth stay—
Truth that is all in all

Thou , more than all endeared to this glad heart
By gentle smiles, and patience under pain,
I bless my God and thee, for all thou art,
My crowning joy, my richest earthly gain!
To thee is due this tributary strain
For all the well-observed kind offices
That spring spontaneous from a heart, imbued
With the sweet wish of living but to please;
Due for thy liberal hand, thy frugal mind,
Thy pitying eye, thy voice for ever kind,
For tenderness, truth, confidence—all these;
My heaven-blest vine, that hast thy tendrils twined

Belovéd you are
Caviar of Caviar
Of all I love you best
O my Japanese bird nest

No herring from Norway
Can touch you for flavor. Nay
Pimento itself
Is flat as an empty shelf
When compared to your piquancy
O quince of my despondency.

'Tis pity, ev'ry maiden knows,
Just as she cools, Love warmer grows;
But, if the chill be too severe,
Trust me, he'll wither in a tear.

Thus will the spring-flow'r bud and blow,
Wrapp'd round in many a fold of snow;
But, if an ice-wind pierce the sky,
'Twill drop upon its bed, and die!

They say no Love's so deep—so pure,
As that where Death has set his seal
It is not so!—at least I'm sure
Death could not add to what I feel!

No! no!—descended from the skies
And breathing Heaven upon the heart
Love—real—true Love, never dies
The immortal soul's least mortal part!

All other passions bear a stain
Which shews they are not from above:
Of Earth—to Earth they turn again—
From Heaven—to Heaven returns true Love!

There may be times when his bright face
With thoughts pale cast is sicklied o'er

You squeeze me in your arms the while your eyes
Hungrily seek, fierce woman, on my face
Close-hid deceits, brief mocking smiles, to trace:
For you have guessed that you have lost your prize.

But I care not, for all my enterprise
Is sending such thoughts through your brain achase;
For thereby do I gain the crowning grace
Of all your splendid savage witcheries.

Seize me and keep me ever for your own,
So that my love flames in you like a star:
But if you dim its ray, be sure some one
Shall lure me from your side, and out afar:

A Gentle eye with a spell of its own,
A meaning glance and a sudden thrill;
A voice—sweet music in every tone;
A steadfast heart and a resolute will;

A graceful form and a cheering smile,
Ever the same, and always true.
I have heard of this for a long, long while—
I have seen it, known it, loved it too.