Let us clear a little space,
And make Love a burial place.

He is dead, dear, as you see,
And he wearies you and me,

Growing heavier, day by day,
Let us bury him, I say.

Wings of dead white butterflies,
These shall shroud him, as he lies

In his casket rich and rare,
Made of finest maiden-hair.

With the pollen of the rose
Let us his white eye-lids close.

Put the rose thorn in his hand,
Shorn of leaves—you understand.

Let some holy water fall
On his dead face, tears of gall—

As we kneel by him and say,

I WAS born in Illinois,
Have lived there many days.
And I have Northern words,
And thoughts,
And ways.

But my great-grandfathers came
To the west with Daniel Boone,
And taught his babes to read,
And heard the redbird's tune;

And heard the turkey's call,
And stilled the panther's cry,
And rolled on the blue-grass hills,
And looked God in the eye.

And feud and Hell were theirs;
Love, like the moon's desire,
Love like a burning-mine,
Love like rifle-fire.

I tell tales out of school
Till these Yankees hate my style.

There is no Life or Death,
Only activity
And in the absolute
Is no declivity.
There is no Love or Lust
Only propensity
Who would possess
Is a nonentity.
There is no First or Last
Only equality
And who would rule
Joins the majority
There is no Space or Time
Only intensity,
And tame things
Have no immensity.

Deep in a Rose's glowing heart
I dropped a single kiss,
And then I bade it quick depart,
And tell my Lady this:

“The love thy Lover tried to send
O'erflows my fragrant bowl,
But my soft leaves would break and bend,
Should he send half the whole!”

The moon dips low and the stars grow dim.
In the tower, a lovely girl sleeps in sweet abandon.
Her radiant hair falls tousled.
Her pillow glistens with tears.
It is quiet within the screens.

The sudden cry of the cuckoo shatters love's tender dream
A pale shimmer lights the east as she first awakens.
A thin mist covers the willows.
The flowers are heavy with dew.
Her thoughts become unbearable.

Flower of the May!
What shall I do to make her forget me?
She is so sad that should be so gay.

Ah, jessamine flower!
I toucht her hand and it set me on fire:
What would her lips do for power?

O scarlet sorrel—
She that I love hath so pretty a rage
I love her wildest when she and I quarrel.

Honey of lime!
Loving is easy; but how to end loving!
Ah, that is harder than rhyme!

Wild purple heather,
You who have lain in her bosom this morn
Lie now in mine, and link us together.

1. Come all my fair ones, Come, all my dear ones, Come and
lis ten unto me. “Could you fancy a jolly
sailor lad That has just come from sea? Could you
fancy a jolly sailor lad That has just come from sea?”

2 “No, I dislike them,
No, I despise them,
For they smell so much of tar!
So begone, you sassy sailor lad,
So begone, you Jack tar.”

3 “I have ships on the ocean, love,
I have money in my pocket, love,
I have gold in great store
I would give to a poor country girl
If she would wed Jack Tar.”

4 Soon as she heard him say,

Lo Christ returns! But where is love,
The love he showed for men;
Does he behold it, here on earth,
Returned to earth again?

Lo Christ returns! But where the faith,
Which here on earth he sought;
The faith which overcomes the world,
And mighty works has wrought?

And where is hope, which cheers the soul,
The Spirit's fruit and joy;
Which doth like faith, and hope abide,
And naught can ere destroy?

Ah, where are these? we see them not;
But, Lord, we still believe;
Increase our faith, increase our love,
That we may thee receive.

My God, to do thy will
Caged I can rejoice;
Hearken to my voice:
[']Tis my election still:
Direct my choice,
My God, to do thy will.

I sing the live day long,
Lord, thyself, to please:
Extreme miseries
But make my love more strong;
No one near to tease
I sing the live day long[.]

Thou understandest, Lord,
Syllables of love,
Wise men know not of,
Within the chaste heart stored
Speech all speech above:
Thou understandest, Lord.

Freedom my soul doth fill
Though I am a slave:
Love is all I crave[,]
Affection, holy will

You tell me that another has your heart,
And that until this time you have not known
What love is. And a wedded pair must part
Because an earlier, lesser love has flown.

You tell me this, and I say go your way
And read the answer in the coming years.
Were Wisdom's very self to bid you stay
Her words would fall on unattending ears.

I am not Wisdom's self, but this you'll learn:
New love is never rooted as the old;
And the old passion will revive and burn
Before the ashes of the new are cold.

Two trees that grow together to the sun