CLXX

Hate whom ye list for I care not.
Love whom ye list and spare not.
Do what ye list and dread not.
Think what ye list and fear not.
For as for me I am not
But even as one that recketh not
Whether ye hate or hate not,
For in your love I dote not.
Wherefore I pray you forget not
But love whom ye list and spare not.

O GAIN that lurk'st ungained in all gain!
O love we just fall short of in all love!
O height that in all heights art still above!
O beauty that dost leave all beauty pain!
Thou unpossessed that mak'st possession vain,
See these strained arms which fright the simple air,
And say what ultimate fairness holds thee, Fair!
They girdle Heaven, and girdle Heaven in vain;
They shut, and lo! but shut in their unrest.
Thereat a voice in me that voiceless was: —
" Whom seekest thou through the unmarged arcane,

I LOVE the sunshine everywhere,
In wood, and field, and glen;
I love it in the busy haunts
Of town-imprisoned men.

I love it when it streameth in
The humble cottage door
And casts the checkered casement shade
Upon the red-brick floor.

I love it where the children lie
Deep in the clovery grass,
To watch among the twining roots
The gold-green beetles pass.

I love it on the breezy sea,
To glance on sail and oar,
While the great waves, like molten glass,
Come leaping to the shore.

TO MY MOTHER .

Mother , Mother, how I loved thee!
And I know thou lov'dst me well;
But the gentle Saviour called thee
Home on high with saints to dwell.

Mother, gentlest of all creatures,
Patient, noble, just serene;
To me thou wert perfect, ideal;
Equal of thine, ne'er was seen.

Thou art gone! but not forgot by
Her who loved thee here on earth,

ON THE DEATH OF A BELOVED SON AND ONLY CHILD .

M Y olive plant, so green and fair;
My budding hope, my dearest care;
My only one! He only knew
Who gave — and, ah! how soon withdrew
The precious gift — how dear I loved
My plant on earth; and though removed
To higher climes and brighter skies,
With mournful tread and weeping eyes
I wander round his early tomb —
But light from heaven dispels the gloom!
An angel voice falls on my ear,
" Whom seek'st thou, weeping mother, here?
He is not here: thy son hath risen —

To be fainthearted, to be bold, to be raging mad,
surly, tender, generous, aloof,
courageous, near death, dead, alive,
loyal, treacherous, cowardly, spirited.

Not to find, beyond your lover, satisfaction or peace.
To look happy, sad, humble, arrogant,
irate, valiant, self-effacing,
satisfied, offended, distrustful.

To turn your face from clear proofs of deceit,
to drink poison as if it were a soothing liquor,
to disregard gain and delight in being injured.

To believe that heaven can lie contained in hell;

As one whose eyes, by gleam of waters caught,
Should find them strewn with pansies, so to me
It chanced that morning, as I bow'd the knee,
Soliciting th' approach of hallow'd thought;
I dream'd not that so dear a tomb was nigh;
My sidelong glance the lucid marble drew,
And, turning round about enquiringly,
I found it letter'd with the names I knew;
Three precious names I knew, and loved withal,
Yea, knew and loved, albeit too briefly known —
Louisa, Henry, and the boy just grown
To boyhood's prime, as each received the call;

My vnkinde Loue, or she that loues me deare,
Neptune will haue cast forth to calme the Seas.
One of these two, or all must perish here:
And therefore now, which shall I saue of these?
Ah! doe I make a question which to saue,
When my desires share but one onely part!
Who should it be but she to whom I haue
Resign'd my life, and sacrific'd my hart?
She, she must liue, the tempests of whose brow
Confound me more then all these stormes can doo,

I.

Hear you not the merry sound?
Gather to the fairy round,
'Tis the hour, 'tis the hour,
When the gentle signs abound, —
When the bud begins to flower,
When the moon, with placid power,
Soothes and lights the happy ground.

II.

Leap you not to that array,
Purest hearts in pleasant play? —
Would you lose, would you lose,
Aught of such a holiday, —
While the songs of such a muse,

Here what remaines of him does ly,
Who was the world's epitomy:
Religion's darling, merchants glory,
Men's delight, and vertue's story
Who, though a Prisoner to the Grave,
A glorious freedome once shall have:
Till when no monument is fit,
But what's beyond our Love or Wit.