Two lovers by the old front gate,
So young and all alone!
The village clock tolls: Late! Late! Late!
Twelve times in solemn tone.
“No! No!”
A deep voice says aloud,
“Sweetheart, don't go
Till the moon goes under a cloud.”

The Queen of Night rides high in space,
Serenely bright and fair;
Her kisses gild the young swain's face,
The maiden's glossy hair.
'Tis late,
And all their vows are vowed:
Why wait, and wait,
Till the moon goes under a cloud?

The fair girl's dewy lips repeat:
“Good night is not good-by.”

Oh, let the old love wake again:
It only sleeping lies;
Oh, let the old light break again
From out your dusky eyes.
Dear Heart, I've wandered lonely
To many a haven fair,
And found them sunless only
Because you were not there.

Oh, let us haste to say again
Our pledges fond and low,
And let us feel love's day again
Within our bosoms glow.
Sweetheart, do you not feel it,
The tenderness of youth?
Your eyes—your eyes reveal it,
And they are God's own truth!

Oh, let your dear head rest again

Cool is the water in the cup I pass
For thy cool lips' refreshment; but alas,
This, where my lips have lingered after thine,
Is no cool water but a burning wine.

Love laid his hands on my two hands
And straightway I was strong;
He held my eyes within his eyes
That they might see no wrong;
His kisses fell upon my lips
And left them filled with song.

The meanest task my hands may do
For Love's sake now is meet;
The meanest thing my eyes may see
Grows wondrous and complete;
And since my songs are all of him,
Love, must not they be sweet?

I LOOKED from out my window once
And saw Love standing there;
No cloak had he to cover him,
His dimpled feet were bare,
And fast and chill the snowflakes fell
On his ambrosial hair.

He lifted up to mine a face
Filled with celestial light;
Fond, fond with pity grew my heart
To see his hapless plight,
And down I sped to offer him
Warm shelter for the night:—

“Come in, come in, thou tender child,
A wanderer from thine own!
Hath all the world abandoned thee,
That thou art thus alone?
Come in, come in! that I straightway

One night upon mine ancient enemy
I closed my door,
And lo! that night came Love in search of me—
Love I had hungered for—
And finding my door closed, went on his way,
And came no more.

Pray you take counsel of this penitent,
And learn thereof:
Set your door wide whatever guests be sent,
Your graciousness to prove;
Better to let in many enemies
Than bar out Love.

I WHO yesterday was young,
Now am old instead;
All of youth a glad song sung,
All a story said.
It was love who sang the song,
Love the story told.
Ah, but we remember long,
We, grown old.

Only yesterday I quaffed
Life's enkindling wine;
Only yesterday I laughed
Youth's light laugh divine.
It was love who played the host,
Brimmed the cup of gold.
Ah, but we remember most,
We, grown old.

Only yesterday my eyes
Held Love's marvelings;
Nay, it is not Time that flies—
Love alone has wings.

She sends her love! My heart prepare
To cleave the last, thin band of air
Where slothful spirits hesitate
And sluggish souls deliberate,—
Then back to sordid earth repair.

We'll leave this atmosphere of care
And zones of ether penetrate—
For doth the word not clearly state,
“She sends her love”?

Yea! Jubilant our path shall fare
To that far Aiden none may dare,
Save those, the passing fortunate,
To whom—O rare and charming fate—
She sends her love!

You never saw so wee a child,
Like changeling, like elf,
You never dreamed so slight a thing
As her grown self.

She wasn't like Winifred,
Not much like Anne,
She was more like Kenneth,
Still more like Dan.

But, oh, she was woman child.
And doll-toy
Would make her eyes bluer,
And stain her cheeks with joy.

Oh, I can tell you
That her heart was good,
She loved all the flowers,
Back in the wood.

She loved the wood-flowers,
And in their wreaths dressed,—
It's true she loved Indian pipes
And lady-slippers best.

May is here, now May is here,
May is here and all aflower,
May with its roses laden,
And many a fair maiden,
May is here and all aflower;
May with its wealth of flowers,
And with love's soft hours,
May is here and all aflower.