And to the Father of Eternal days,
And fairest things, that fairer yet will be,
Shall I no song of adoration raise,
While Passion's world, and Life's great agony,
Are one dread hymn, dread Progresser! to thee?
Thou, Love, are Progress! And be thine the praise
If I have ever lov'd thy voice divine,
And o'er the sadness of my slander'd lays
Flings its redeeming charm a note of thine.
Oh, Gentlest Might Almighty! if of mine
One strain shall live, let it thy impress bear;
And please wherever humble virtues twine
The rose and woodbine with the thorns of care,

What doth it cover? Mystery and Thee.
Life Everlasting, and All-vital Sleep,
That Mystery is, and evermore will be.
Thou art all passions, all in one, dark Fear!
All passions of all men, the bond and free,
Whether they love, or hate, or laugh, or weep;
For all would have, and all who have would keep.
Then, lift the veil, and thy own features see
Beneath it, thou strong servant of Love's might!
Taught by the Progresser to show Man here
God's face in goodness only, and the right:
Reading his Name in darkness which is light;
And ever summoning the infinite

The morning of the last day of the year
Instructs me that my course is nearly run.
I thank thee that I see another sun,
Father of Seasons! that I still am here
To do thy will; and that the dawn is near
Of a New Life for me. What have I won
In worthy strife? What good work unbegun
Awaits me? Father, I must soon appear
Before thee, to be sentenc'd. If I strove
In kindness, I am safe. What is our own?
That only which we build for thee and thine.
Who shall reap love, unless he sow in love?
If I have labour'd for myself alone,

“So careful of the Type she seems;”
She mends what Man so foully makes:
Searching for five minute misprints
In a forest of mistakes.

If I (in form) dictated this
You will agree, at any rate,
Some things are here which you believe
And I did not dictate.

As you were better than a friend
In more than friendship we agree—
Friendship at best may be a bond:
And Truth has made us free.

Who enters by that Door alone,
However, dubious or afraid
For that one hour is that one Mind
For which the world was made . . .

O hurry where by water among trees
The delicate-stepping stag and his lady sigh,
When they have but looked upon their images,—
O that none ever loved but you and I!

Or have you heard that sliding silver-shoed
Pale silver-proud queen-woman of the sky,
When the sun looked out of his golden hood?—
O that none ever loved but you and I!

O hurry to the ragged wood, for there
I'll hollo all those lovers out and cry—
O my share of the world, O yellow hair!
No one has ever loved but you and I.

Can you love my dear lassie the hills o' wild thyme
Where I made a Ballad in true lovers rhyme
Do you love the wild Common that neer was in furrow
Where I courted you truly to wed you tomorrow.

Do ye love the win bushes my ain bonny Bessey
Where the rude scenes o' nature still keeps her ain dress
Do ye love the wild Common where first I loved thee
Then come bonny Bess and gae walking wi me.

Where the wheat-ear is building her nes[t] i' the gorse
Where the orchis is blooming over beds o' green moss
And the Rabbit and Pheasant are bob[b]ing about

In woods and desart bounds
A beast abroad doth roame,
So loving sweetnesse and the honey combe,
It doth despise the armes of bees and wounds.
I by like pleasure led,
To prove what heavens did place
Of sweet on your faire face,
Whilst therewith I am fed,
Rest carelesse, beare of love, of hellish smart,
And how those eyes afflict and wound my heart.

The wind blew out from Bergen from the dawning to the day,
There was a wreck of trees and fall of towers a score of miles away,
And drifted like a livid leaf I go before its tide,
Spewed out of house and stable, beggared of flag and bride.
The heavens are bowed about my head, shouting like seraph wars,
With rains that might put out the sun and clean the sky of stars,
Rains like the fall of ruined seas from secret worlds above,
The roaring of the rains of God none but the lonely love.
Feast in my hall, O foemen, and eat and drink and drain,

Dear urge no more that killing cause
Of our divorce;
Love is not fetter'd by such laws,
Nor bows to any force:
Though thou deniest I should be thine,
Yet say not thou deserv'st not to be mine.

Oh rather frown away my breath
With thy disdain,
Or flatter me with smiles to death;
By joy or sorrow slain,
'Tis lesse crime to be kill'd by thee,
Then I thus cause of mine own death should be.

Thy self of beauty to devest
And me of love,
Or from the worth of thine own breast
Thus to detract, would prove
In us a blindnesse, and in thee

Silly boy, 'tis full moon yet, thy night as day shines clearly;
Had thy youth but wit to fear, thou couldst not love so dearly.
Shortly wilt thou morn when all thy pleasures are bereaved;
Little knows he how to love that never was deceived.

This is thy first maiden flame, that triumphs yet unstained;
All is artless now you speak, not one word yet is feigned;
All is heaven that you behold, and all your thoughts are blesséd;
But no spring can want his fall, each Troilus hath his Cressid.

Thy well-ordered locks ere long shall rudely hang neglected;