Near the banks of that lone river,
Where the water-lilies grow,
Breathed the fairest flower that ever
Bloomed and faded years ago.

How we met and loved and parted,
None on earth can ever know—
Nor how pure and gentle-hearted
Beamed the mourned one years ago!

Like the stream with lilies laden,
Will life's future current flow,
Till in heaven I meet the maiden
Fondly cherished years ago.

Hearts that love like mine forget not;
They're the same in weal or wo;
And that star of memory set not
In the grave of years ago.

I NEVER have been false to thee!—
The heart I gave thee still is thine;
Though thou hast been untrue to me,
And I no more may call thee mine!
I 've loved, as woman ever loves,
With constant soul in good or ill:
Thou 'st proved as man too often proves,
A rover—but I love thee still!

Yet think not that my spirit stoops
To bind thee captive in my train!—
Love's not a flower at sunset droops,
But smiles when comes her god again!
Thy words, which fall unheeded now,
Could once my heart-strings madly thrill!
Lovely golden chain and burning vow

Blossoms culled, more posies bloom,
Pansies plucked, more pansies grow,
Streams that feed insatiate seas,
Still gain volume as they flow.

Souls that share their gifts with all,
Garner love to share again—
They radiate their fragrance, like
Full-blown roses after rain.

Think not that from defect of love arise
These anxious questionings, tormenting fears;
Though dim your image in your lover's eyes,
Oh, argue not disloyalty from tears!

No; it is love's excess. The barren moon
With cloudless luster fills a winter night;
While storm-clouds lower all a sultry noon,
Veiling the orb that wrought them by his might.

If I have spoken
Of my love, it is to the slow stream
That hearkens when I lean
Above it; if I have spoken
Of my love, it is to the wind
That laughs and whispers in the leaves;
If I have spoken of my love, it is to the bird
That passes singing
With the wind;
If I have spoken,
The echo heard.

If I have loved with a great love,
In sad or joyous wise,
It was your eyes;
If I have loved with a great love,
It was your mouth so grave and sweet,
It was your mouth;
If I have loved with a great love,

Now, some there are who whisper love,
And some there are who shout it;
And there are others—see above—
Who merely talk about it.

It's well enough fine words to spill,
Whate'er the lady's station;
But something more is asked for, Bill,
Than highflown conversation.

Young Romeo could talk all day;
Than his no words are warmer.
But when it came to loving—say,
That boy was some performer!

Though ladies fair, of every sort,
Admire a chaste expression,
Don't talk yourself clear out of court,
But exercise discretion.

If love's a folly, what am I,
Who love beyond expression?
If 'tis a crime to be in love,
How great is my transgression!

Then cruel charmer, O! be kind,
And pass my final sentence,
For I am weary of my chains,
And languish for repentance.

Less hate and greed
Is what we need
And more of service true;
More men to love
The flag above
And keep it first in view.

Less boast and brag
About the flag,
More faith in what it means;
More heads erect,
More self-respect,
Less talk of war machines.

The time to fight
To keep it bright
Is not along the way,
Nor 'cross the foam,
But here at home
Within ourselves—to-day.

'Tis we must love
That flag above
With all our might and main;
For from our hands,
Not distant lands,
Shall come dishonor's stain.

When you and I are asleep, my love,
Under the carven stone;
Who will there be left to weep, my love,
Of all that we have known?
But the lark will sing as clear and free,
As she springs from her nest by the alder-tree,
And the robin carol his hearts desire,
Above us in the red-rose brier.

Though your voice is low and weak, my dear,
There is love-light in your eye!
Though the roses fade from your cheek, my dear,
Love's roses never die!
Buts it's oh, for the long and lasting sleep,
Where the wild-wood honeysuckles creep!

Upon a lady my love is lente,
Withoutene change of any chere—
That is lovely and continent
And most at my desire.

This lady is in my herte pight;
Her to love I have gret haste.
With all my power and my might
To her I make mine herte stedfast.

Therfor will I non other spouse
Ner none other loves, for to take;
But only to her I make my vowes,
And all other to forsake.

This lady is gentill and meke,
Moder she is and well of all;
She is never for to seke,
Nother too grete ner too small.

Redy she is night and day,