Away, through bramble, bush, and trees,
Ere the wingëd joyance fly
Drain the cup unto the lees
Nature gives with loving eye.

Drink with thirsty spirit, drink
The breathing spring; the winds that pass;
Sink with joy delicious, sink,
Deep in moss and dewy grass.

Happy as the sounding horn,
Through the waking woods I'd sweep;
Flattering the fair vales at morn,
Echoing through the cloven steep.

Like the early sunrise bright,
Full of love's divinest sheen,
Would I bathe, O rare delight!
In the rich and youthful green.

Our love is not a fading, earthly flower:
Its wingëd seed dropped down from Paradise,
And, nursed by day and night, by sun and shower,
Doth momently to fresher beauty rise:
To us the leafless autumn is not bare,
Nor winter's rattling boughs lack lusty green.
Our summer hearts make summer's fulness, where
No leaf, or bud, or blossom may be seen:
For nature's life in love's deep life doth lie,
Love,—whose forgetfulness is beauty's death,
Whose mystic key these cells of Thou and I
Into the infinite freedom openeth,
And makes the body's dark and narrow grate

She never comes to me
She promised me a thousand times
That she would dearly dearly love me
That in sickness & in health
Others present others absent
Whilst air was round & heaven above me
She would be present as my life
My holy gentle tender wife

She promised in my secret ear
When none but God & I could hear
That she would cleave to me forever
There was one will between us
There was one heart within us
And God upon his children smiled
As we the hours with love beguiled

And now I am alone
Unheard I moan

Love still is Love, and doeth all things well,
Whether He show me heaven or hell
Or earth in her decay
Passing away
On a day.

Love still is Love, tho' He should say, “Depart,”
And break my incorrigible heart,
And set me out of sight
Widowed of light
In the night.

Love still is Love, is Love, if He should say,
“Come,” on that uttermost dread day;
“Come,” unto very me,
“Come where I be,
Come and see.”

Love still is Love, whatever comes to pass:
O Only Love, make me Thy glass,
Thy pleasure to fulfil
By loving still

Love knows best what to do with love:
As the tree knows best what to do with the fruit,
As the field knows best what to do with the harvest,
As the river knows best what to do with the tides,
As the sun knows best what to do with the light,
As today knows best what to do with tomorrow,
So does love know best what to do with love.
Love knows best what to do with love—
Knows better than the priest, knows better than the laws, what to do with love—
Yes, knows better than parents and counsellors what to do with love:

The tear which thou upbraidest
Thy falsehood taught to flow;
The misery which thou madest
My cheek hath blighted so:
The charms, alas! that won me,
I never can forget,
Although thou hast undone me,
I own I love thee yet.

Go, seek the happier maiden
Who lured thy love from me;
My heart with sorrow laden
Is no more priz'd by thee:
Repeat the vows you made me,
Say, swear thy love is true;
Thy faithless vows betray'd me,
They may betray her too.

But no! may she ne'er languish
Like me in shame and wo;

My love is as endless
as the waves of the Sea of Ariso
that, driven by fierce winds,
never cease their breaking

Hang there, my garlands, by the hall,
The tear-stained wreaths that now I bring,
Nor let your blossoms lightly fall
Bedewed with grief, love's offering.

And when the door is opened wide
And she I crave at last appears,
Pour on her head your mournful tide,
Her golden locks shall drink my tears.

Beautie's no other but a lovely Grace
Of lively colours, flowing from the face.

Her Breasts my hands, her lips my kisses hold,
Her neck is forage for my passion bold;
But there all ends; no further may I go
Nor ever shall the joy of victory know.
Two queens she serves, a double victim I,
For one is Love and one is Chastity.