False Love, too long thou hast delayed,
Too late I make my choice;
Yet win for me that precious maid,
And bid my heart rejoice,
Then shall mine eyes shoot youthful fire,
My cheek with triumph glow,
And other maids that glance desire,
Which I on one bestow.

Make her with smile divinely bland
Beam sunshine o'er my face,
And Time shall touch with gentlest hand
What she hath deigned to grace;
O'er scanty locks full wreaths I'll wear;
No wrinkled brow to shade,
For joy will smooth the furrows there,
Which earlier griefs have made.

This yearning heart (Love! witness what I say)
Enshrines thy form as purely as it may,
Round which, as to some spirit uttering bliss,
My thoughts all stand ministrant night and day
Like saintly Priests, that dare not think amiss.

Down by the sea, where the cliff is high,
There, where the oleanders blow,
We walked at evening, you and I,
Speech was eager, and steps were slow;
You were my love,—and I told you so

Doubt came down like a breath that blew
Straight from the far horizon snow:
Eyes reproachfully turning, you,—
“Men are ever alike, I know;—
To mistrust that I love,—when I told you so!”

It is over now, and I might have known,
From the very first, how the day must go:—
He was the better man, I'll own:—
So I spoke once more, and your Yes was No;

O! darkly fair!—yet beautifully bright,
I know not how to call thee, sweet unknown!
Whether a Tropic Day or Arctic Night
Or the soft Twilight of a temperate Zone.

Although I have but seen thee from afar,
And haply never may behold thee near,
Let me adore thee as a lovely star,
Altho' my words may never reach thine ear!

No hopeless ship-wrecked mariner could watch
Through dim, death-glazing eyes for morning's ray,
More eagerly, than I have striv'n to catch
That movement of thy lattice, once a day!

Nor always once!—day after day has past

Let not the jesting bitter gods
Who sit so goldenly aloof from us
Mock us too deeply,
Let them not boast they hold alone
The reins of pleasure, the delight of lust—
We also, we that are but air and dust,
Moistening that dust a little with old wine
And kindling that air with fire of love
Have burned an hour or two with blossoming pangs,
And, leaning on soft breasts made keen with love
And murmuring fierce words of rending bliss,
Have gathered turn by turn unto our lips
The twin wild roses of delight,
The quick flower-flames that sear into the soul

I lost my Love,
I lost my Love
Because she came too rich to me.
How could I dream
Her need was of
A love as rich again from me?

And now her dear,
Dark eyes light up;
Her hands caress another's hair.
For me there is
Not any hope;
But thoughts that, O,
Enrich Despair!

Venus I called you when our love began:
And I was right; and you Pandemian.

HOW DID YOU COME to me, my sweet?
From the land that no man knows?
Did Mr. Stork bring you here on his wings?
Were you born in the heart of a rose?

Did an angel fly with you down from the sky?
Were you found in a gooseberry patch?
Did a fairy bring you from fairyland
To my door—that was left on a latch?

No—my darling was born of a wonderful love,
A love that was Daddy's and mine.
A love that was human, but deep and profound,
A love that was almost divine.

Do you remember, sweetheart, when we went to the zoo,

A HEAVEN-BORN goddess is sweet love:
Will she descend to common cares,
And breathe our dusty, earthly airs
In narrow paths, nor pine to rove?

She'll want soft carpets for her feet;
She'll want rich jewels in her hair,
From out her windows landscapes rare,
And in must float all perfumes sweet.

She'd weary of a petty round
Of household tasks that every day
Fritter and fret the life away,—
Though husband worshipped, children crowned.

Yes, heart that thought the heavens to scale,
And pluck a star from her bright zone,

The wind sings ‘Alleluia,’ and the sea
Shines in the moonlight like a silver sword;
The waves shout ‘Alleluia,’ full and free
With joyous sounds—‘We hail thy Mother, Lord.’

O night in May: thy air is full of love—
Of love and triumph for our Lady fair;
Behold, her crescent hangs the world above,
And all her stars adorn her mantle rare.

A bridal veil of moonbeams touches earth—
The bridal veil of her, the Spouse of God ;
The sparkling river sings a song of mirth,
And flower-faces smile upon the sod.