I love all shining things —
the lovely moon,
The silver stars at night,
gold sun at noon.
A glowing rainbow in
a stormy sky,
Or bright clouds hurrying
when wind goes by.

I love the glow-worm's elf-light
in the lane,
And leaves a-shine with glistening
drops of rain,
The glinting wings of bees,
and butterflies,
My purring pussy's green
and shining eyes.

I love the street-lamps shining
through the gloom,

I LATELY lived in quiet ease,
— An' never wished to marry, O!
But when I saw my Peggy's face,
— I felt a sad quandary, O!
Though wild as ony Athol deer,
— She has trepanned me fairly, O!
Her cherry cheeks an' een sae clear
— Torment me late an' early, O!
— — O, love, love, love!
— — — Love is like a dizziness;
— — It winna let a poor body
— — — Gang about his biziness!

To tell my feats this single week
— Wad mak a daft-like diary, O!
I drave my cart out owre a dike,
— My horses in a miry, O!

I have praised many loved ones in my song,
And yet I stand
Before her shrine, to whom all things belong,
With empty hand.

Perhaps the ripening future holds a time
For things unsaid;
Not now; men do not celebrate in rhyme
Their daily bread.

I have a tree, a graft of love,
That in my heart has taken root;
Sad are the buds and blooms thereof,
And bitter sorrow is its fruit;
Yet, since it was a tender shoot,
So greatly hath its shadow spread,
That underneath all joy is dead,
And all my pleasant days are flown,
Nor can I slay it, nor instead
Plant any tree, save this alone.

Ah, yet, for long and long enough
My tears were rain about its root,
And though the fruit be harsh thereof,
I scarcely looked for better fruit
Than this, that carefully I put

I dream'd we both were in a bed
Of Roses, almost smothered:
The warmth and sweetnes had me there
Made lovingly familiar:
But that I heard thy sweet breath say,
Faults done by night, will blush by day:
I kist thee (panting,) and I call
Night to the Record! that was all.
But ah! if empty dreames so please,
Love, give me more such nights as these.

I dreamed I stood upon a little hill,
And at my feet there lay a ground, that seemed
Like a waste garden, flowering at its will
With buds and blossoms. There were pools that dreamed
Black and unruffled; there were white lilies
A few, and crocuses, and violets
Purple or pale, snake-like fritillaries
Scarce seen for the rank grass, and through green nets
Blue eyes of shy pervenche winked in the sun.
And there were curious flowers, before unknown,
Flowers that were stained with moonlight, or with shades
Of Nature's wilful moods; and here a one

I dreamed I held
A sword against my flesh.
What does it mean?
It means I shall see you soon.

To love somebody
Who doesn't love you
Is like going to a temple
And worshipping the behind
Of a wooden statue
Of a hungry devil.

I do not love to wed,
Though I do like to woo;
And for a maidenhead
I'll beg and buy it too.

I'll praise and I'll approve
Those maids that never vary;
And fervently I'll love,
But yet I would not marry.

I'll hug, I'll kiss, I'll play,
And, cock-like, hens I'll tread,
And sport in any way
But in the bridal bed.

For why? that man is poor
Who hath but one of many,
But crown'd he is with store
That, single, may have many.

Why, then, say what is he,
To freedom so unknown,
Who, having two or three,

— I DO not love thee! — no! I do not love thee!
And yet when thou art absent I am sad;
— And envy even the bright blue sky above thee,
Whose quiet stars may see thee and be glad.

— I do not love thee! — yet, I know not why,
Whate'er thou dost seems still well done, to me:
— And often in my solitude I sigh
That those I do love are not more like thee!

— I do not love thee! — yet, when thou art gone,
I hate the sound (though those who speak be near)
— Which breaks the lingering echo of the tone
Thy voice of music leaves upon my ear.

I BRING you all my olden days,
— My childhood's morning glow;
I love you down the meadow ways
— Where early blossoms blow:
And up deep lanes of long-gone-by,
— Shining with dew-drops yet, —
I wander still, till you and I
— Over the world are met.

I bring you all my lonely days,
— My heart that hungered so;
I love you through the wistful haze
— Of autumns burning low;
And on pale seas, beneath wan sky,
— By weary tides beset,
I voyage still, till you and I
— Over the world are met.