I dreamed my love came in my sleep,
Lowlands, Lowlands, away, my John.
His eyes were wet as he did weep,
My Lowlands, away!

I shall never kiss you again, he said,
Lowlands, Lowlands, away, my John!
For I am drowned in the Lowland seas.
My Lowlands, away!

No other man shall think me fair,
Lowlands, Lowlands, away, my John!
My love lies drowned in the windy Lowlands,
My Lowlands, away!

For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love,
Or chide my palsy, or my gout,
My five grey hairs, or ruined fortune flout;
With wealth your state, your mind with arts improve,
Take you a course, get you a place,
Observe his Honor, or his Grace;
Or the king's real, or his stamped face
Contemplate; what you will, approve,
So you will let me love.

Alas, alas, who's injured by my love?
What merchant's ships have my sighs drowned?
Who says my tears have overflowed his ground?
When did my colds a forward spring remove?

Folk need a lot of loving in the morning;
The day is all before, with cares beset—
The cares we know, and they that give no warning;
For love is God's own antidote for fret.

Folk need a heap of loving at the noontime—
In the battle lull, the moment snatched from strife—
Halfway between the waking and the croontime,
While bickering and worriment are rife.

Folk hunger so for loving at the nighttime,
When wearily they take them home to rest—
At slumber song and turning-out-the-light time—
Of all the times for loving, that's the best.

But a little while ago
All the ground was white with snow;
Trees and shrubs were dry and bare,
Not a sign of life was there;
Now the buds and leaves are seen,
Now the fields are fresh and green,
Pretty birds are on the wing,
With a merry song they sing!
There's new life in everything!
How I love the pleasant spring!

Am I emptied, Lord, of self?
Search this sinful heart of mine;
Bring the hidden secrets out
To the view of love divine.

Probe my motives, thoughts, and plans,
Attitudes, and loves, and will;
Until I see, as Thou dost see,
Self poured out, so Thou canst fill.

Fill with love—thus Thou canst bless
Others through this house of clay
Yielded, fruitful, in Thy will,
Following in Thy perfect way.

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charactery,
Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starred face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love;-- then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think

Love reigns! All life is good! The Earth
Is decked in summer hue,
Song birds are caroling beneath
A canopy of blue;
But suddenly the clouds roll up,
And rush to meet the sun,
The sky in fury, lowers over,
The leaves are on the run,
The angry clouds blot out the day
And heavy drops fall fast;
A blinding flash, the thunders crash,
The North-wind blows his blast;
The happy birds, in utter rout,
Now flee with cries of fear,
The sweet day flies, before our eyes,
In a drizzle cold and drear.

And thus with life! One hour the heart

O, SAW ye the lass wi' the bonny blue een?
Her smile is the sweetest that ever was seen;
Her cheek like the rose is, but fresher, I ween;
She's the loveliest lassie that trips on the green.
The home of my love is below in the valley,
Where wild-flowers welcome the wandering bee;
But the sweetest of flowers in that spot that is seen
Is the maid that I love wi' the bonny blue een.

When night overshadows her cot in the glen,
She'll steal out to meet her loved Donald again;
And when the moon shines on the valley so green,

I sing of a woman and summer
Of hot days within my limbs
July of months and blazing woman
Who comes before me, burning, burning
Whose eyes stir sulfer seas inside
To collide with the shores of silence.
I sing of a woman and summer
The woman loves another:
I burn as a lonely taper
In blackest night.

Where the beach is flat and flowing,
Wavelets coming, wavelets going,
There the small Mer-children play,
In silver night, in golden day,—
They need never go away.

As we love the sight of ocean,
Sound and color, light and motion,
All mer-children, understand,
Love the stretches of warm sand—
Dearly love to play on land.

As each earth-born son and daughter
Loves the feeling of the water,
Rippling, rolling, here and there,
Over small feet brown and bare—
So the Mer-child loves the air.

Large ones catch the tails of small ones,