They loved one another, yet neither
Would tell the other so;
With love they were almost heartbroken,
Yet each looked on each as a foe.

They parted at last—and sometimes,
Though only in dreams, they met;
They had long been dead, those lovers,
But themselves searce knew it yet.

They think that I'm heart-broken
With lover's grief profound,
And at last I myself believe it
Like all the world around.

Small child with big eyes, bethink thee,
Did I not always say
That I never could tell how I loved thee,
That love ate my heart away?

But alone in my chamber only
Did I dare to utter such cry;
Alas! I was always silent,
Whenever thou wast by.

For then there were evil angels
By whom I was tongue-tied too;
And alas! there are evil angels
Who still are working me woe.

The years are coming and going,
Generations sleep 'neath the grass,
But the love that burns within me
Will surely never pass.

Once more would I behold thee,
And as on my knee I fell,
With my latest breath would I tell thee,
“Madam, I love you well.”

I stood and stared at her portrait
With fixed and dreamy pain,
And the well-loved face most strangely
Began to live again.

About her lips was playing
The wonder of her smile;
And with tears of love and yearning
Her eyes were bright the while.

My tears began to gather,
And down my cheeks flowed free.
And oh! I cannot yet believe
That thou art lost to me.

Ah, Lily, I love thee so madly
As thou standest in dreams mid the grass,
And look'st in the streamlet so sadly,
And murmurest “Ah” and “Alas.”

Away with thy love and thy coaxing,
I know how deceitful thou art!
Thy tenderest words are but hoaxing,
For my cousin, the Rose, has thy heart.

Away, through bramble, bush, and trees,
Ere the wingëd joyance fly
Drain the cup unto the lees
Nature gives with loving eye.

Drink with thirsty spirit, drink
The breathing spring; the winds that pass;
Sink with joy delicious, sink,
Deep in moss and dewy grass.

Happy as the sounding horn,
Through the waking woods I'd sweep;
Flattering the fair vales at morn,
Echoing through the cloven steep.

Like the early sunrise bright,
Full of love's divinest sheen,
Would I bathe, O rare delight!
In the rich and youthful green.

Our love is not a fading, earthly flower:
Its wingëd seed dropped down from Paradise,
And, nursed by day and night, by sun and shower,
Doth momently to fresher beauty rise:
To us the leafless autumn is not bare,
Nor winter's rattling boughs lack lusty green.
Our summer hearts make summer's fulness, where
No leaf, or bud, or blossom may be seen:
For nature's life in love's deep life doth lie,
Love,—whose forgetfulness is beauty's death,
Whose mystic key these cells of Thou and I
Into the infinite freedom openeth,
And makes the body's dark and narrow grate

She never comes to me
She promised me a thousand times
That she would dearly dearly love me
That in sickness & in health
Others present others absent
Whilst air was round & heaven above me
She would be present as my life
My holy gentle tender wife

She promised in my secret ear
When none but God & I could hear
That she would cleave to me forever
There was one will between us
There was one heart within us
And God upon his children smiled
As we the hours with love beguiled

And now I am alone
Unheard I moan

Love still is Love, and doeth all things well,
Whether He show me heaven or hell
Or earth in her decay
Passing away
On a day.

Love still is Love, tho' He should say, “Depart,”
And break my incorrigible heart,
And set me out of sight
Widowed of light
In the night.

Love still is Love, is Love, if He should say,
“Come,” on that uttermost dread day;
“Come,” unto very me,
“Come where I be,
Come and see.”

Love still is Love, whatever comes to pass:
O Only Love, make me Thy glass,
Thy pleasure to fulfil
By loving still

Love knows best what to do with love:
As the tree knows best what to do with the fruit,
As the field knows best what to do with the harvest,
As the river knows best what to do with the tides,
As the sun knows best what to do with the light,
As today knows best what to do with tomorrow,
So does love know best what to do with love.
Love knows best what to do with love—
Knows better than the priest, knows better than the laws, what to do with love—
Yes, knows better than parents and counsellors what to do with love: