To her house
I come,
in vain, it seems,
and turn to go,
when I hear
a sound
that makes
me, too, fall silent,
just standing there,

Larkspur and Hollyhock,
Pink Rose and purple Stock,
Lovely smelling Mignonette,
Lilies not quite opened yet,
Phlox the favorite of bees,
Bleeding Heart and Peonies
Just their names are nice to say,
Softly,
On a summer's day.

Lord it is my chief complaint,
That my love is weak and faint;
Yet I love Thee and adore,--
Oh! for grace to love Thee more!

Love and the Graces evermore do wait
Upon the man that is a Potentate.

High in the pine-tree
The little Turtle-dove
Made a little nursery,
To please her little love.
“Coo,” said the Turtle-dove,
“Coo,” said she;
In the long shady branches
Of the dark pine-tree.

No words for the Way
no thought for afterward
not caring what they'll say
here loving, loved
you look on me, I look on you.

But she who Love long since had swallowed down,
Melts with hid fire; her wound doth inward weep:
The man's much worth, his nation's much renown
Runs in her mind: his looks and words are deep
Fixt in her breast: care weans her eyes from sleep.
The Morn with Phoebus' lamp the earth survey'd
And drew Heav'n's veil through which moist stars did creep,
When thus to her dear sister, sick, she said,
Anna, what frightful dreams my wavering soul invade!

Who is this man that visits our abodes?
How wise! how valiant! what a face he has!

Somewhere far in the years behind
A true heart loved me well:
But Fate was fickle, and I was blind—
It's nothing new to tell
I acted madly we had to part
The dear spring daisies came;
But I had broken a loving heart
And they never seemed the same.

Ah! darling love of the days gone by,
The daisies were lovely then:
They smiled up each to the summer sky;
They never will smile so again.
For I broke the hearts of the loving flowers
When I broke that heart so brave:
They never will smile as in olden hours,
Unless they smile on my grave.

The maiden is in Love's garden,
She has lingered all the week;
Her father and her lover
Far and wide they seek.

“Ask her of yonder shepherd,
Haply he may have seen.”
“Shepherd, have you seen passing
A maiden like a queen?”

“What was the maiden's clothing,
Silk, or woolen brown?”
“She wore a rosy kerchief,
And a white satin gown.”

“She is down there in the valley,
Beside the fountain's brim,
She holds a bird within her hands,
And tells her griefs to him.”

“O birdling, thou art happy,
In my love's hands so dear,

O the birds of bonnie Scotland,
I love them one and all—
The eagle soaring high in pride,
The wren so blithe and small.
I love the cushat in the wood,
The heron by the stream,
The lark that sings the stars asleep,
The merle that wakes their beam.

O the birds of dear old Scotland,
I love them every one—
The owl that leaves the tower by night,
The swallow in the sun.
I love the raven on the rock,
The sea-bird on the shore,
The merry chaffinch in the wood,
And the curlew on the moor.

O the birds of bonnie Scotland,