I AM athirst, but not for wine;
The drink I long for is divine,
Poured only from your eyes in mine.

I hunger, but the bread I want,
Of which my blood and brain are scant,
Is your sweet speech, for which I pant.

I am a-cold, and lagging lame,
Life creeps along my languid frame;
Your love would fan it into flame.

Heaven's in that little word—your love!
It makes my heart coo like a dove,
My tears fall as I think thereof.

I WOULD I were the glow-worm, thou the flower,
That I might fill thy cup with glimmering light;
I would I were the bird, and thou the bower,
To sing thee songs throughout the summer night.

I would I were a pine tree deeply rooted,
And thou the lofty, cloud-beleaguered rock,
Still, while the blasts of heaven around us hooted,
To cleave to thee and weather every shock.

I would I were the rill, and thou the river;
So might I, leaping from some headlong steep,
With all my waters lost in thine for ever,

I WAS again beside my Love in dream:
Earth was so beautiful, the moon was shining;
The muffled voice of many a cataract stream
Came like a love-song, as, with arms entwining,
Our hearts were mixed in unison supreme.

The wind lay spell-bound in each pillared pine,
The tasselled larches had no sound or motion,
As my whole life was sinking into thine—
Sinking into a deep, unfathomed ocean
Of infinite love—uncircumscribed, divine.

Night held her breath, it seemed, with all her stars:
Eternal eyes that watched in mute compassion

Thou walkest with me as the spirit-light
Of the hushed moon, high o'er a snowy hill,
Walks with the houseless traveller all the night,
When trees are tongueless and when mute the rill.
Moon of my soul, O phantasm of delight,
Thou walkest with me still.

The vestal flame of quenchless memory burns
In my soul's sanctuary. Yea, still for thee
My bitter heart hath yearned, as moonward yearns
Each separate wave-pulse of the clamorous sea:
My Moon of love, to whom for ever turns
The life that aches through me.

Dost thou remember ever, for my sake,
When we two rowed upon the rock-bound lake?
How the wind-fretted waters blew their spray
About our brows like blossom-falls of May
One memorable day?

Dost thou remember the glad mouth that cried—
“Were it not sweet to die now side by side,
To lie together tangled in the deep
Close as the heart-beat to the heart—so keep
The everlasting sleep?”

Dost thou remember? Ah, such death as this
Had set the seal upon my heart's young bliss!
But, wrenched asunder, severed and apart,

Thou walkest with me as the spirit-light
 Of the hushed moon, high o'er a snowy hill,
Walks with the houseless traveller all the night,
 When trees are tongueless and when mute the rill.
Moon of my soul, O phantasm of delight,
 Thou walkest with me still.

The vestal flame of quenchless memory burns
 In my soul's sanctuary. Yea, still for thee
My bitter heart hath yearned, as moonward yearns
 Each separate wave-pulse of the clamorous sea:
My Moon of love, to whom for ever turns
 The life that aches through me.

Breath you now, while Io Hymen
To the Bride we sing:
O how many joyes, and honors,
From this match will spring!
Ever firme the league will prove,
Where only goodnesse causeth love.
Some for profit seeke
What their fancies most disleeke:
These love for vertues sake alone:
Beautie and youth unite them both in one.

CHORUS.

Live with thy Bridegroome happy, sacred Bride;
How blest is he that is for love envi'd.

The Maskers second dance .

A Song .
1
Advance your Chorall motions now,
You musick-loving lights;
This night concludes the nuptiall vow,
Make this the best of nights:
So bravely Crowne it with your beames,
That it may live in fame,
As long as Rhenus or the Thames
Are knowne by either name.
2

Once move againe, yet nearer move
Your formes at willing view;
Such faire effects of joy and love

II Shepherdess .

Tell me Thirsis, tell your anguish,
Why you sigh, and why you languish;
When the nymph whom you adore
Grants the blessing of possessing,
What can love and I do more?
What can love, what can love and I do more? Shepherd .

Think it's love beyond all measure
Makes me faint away with pleasure;
Strength of cordial may destroy,
And the blessing of possessing
Kills me with excess of joy. Shepherdess .

Thirsis, how can I believe you?
But confess, and I'll forgive you.

The golden tresses of a ladie faire
At first beginning were of this my love:
But now at last unto my dubble care,
To be the end of my sad life I prove.
Then did my doubtfull spirit live in hope,
But now he feares, despairing as it were,
Because he doth perceive in sudden broke
His hope, which dying hart did helpe and beare:
Since that the Haire, that Alpha me did binde
In love, of life Omega I doo finde.