As often as I murmur here
My half-formed melodies,
Straight from her osier mansion near,
The Turtledove replies:
Though silent as a leaf before,
The captive promptly coos;
Is it to teach her own soft lore,
Or second my weak Muse?

I rather think, the gentle Dove
Is murmuring a reproof,
Displeased that I from lays of love
Have dared to keep aloof;
That I, a Bard of hill and dale,
Have carolled, fancy free,
As if nor dove nor nightingale
Had heart or voice for me.

If such thy meaning, O forbear,

Let them have your laughter, give me only
All the withheld tears, the broken glory,
All the depth and silence of your spirit;
What have I to do with your exalting?
I can simply touch your fragrant garlands
Timidly, and wonder why you let me.

Always when I ask you why you let me
You seem half afraid, and tell me only
That I am the goddess of your garlands
And my fingers touch them into glory
Loftier than all the world's exalting,
Warm still with the murmur of a spirit.

O if I could hover with my spirit,

As long as nothing rash or mad thou doest for love of me,
No lover, sir! art thou of mine, and I am nought to thee!

The Spring is come and winters gone
And nature all ears tingle
Sweet Nanny's put her bonnet on
For flowers wild i' the pingle
The birds are building every where
Wi hair and bents and mosses
On white thorn, black thorn, dog rose brere
Mid sheep and cows and horses

2

My love is in her gown o' green
Walking and talking still
Among the hills and hollows seen
By the old water Mill
Her face is comely as a queen
Her auburn curls hang down
Oer shoulders white as snow I ween
Set off by her green gown.

3

Dust develops
from inside
as well as
on top when
objects stop
being used.
No unguent
can soothe
the chap of
abandonment.
Who knew
the polish
and balm in
a person's
simple passage
among her things.
We knew she
loved them
but not what
love means.











From Poetry Magazine, September 2006. Used with permission.

One day a fowler-lad was out after birds in a coppice, when he espied perching upon a box-tree bough the shy retiring Love. Rejoicing that he had found what seemed him so fine a bird, he fits all his lime-rods together and lies in wait for that hipping-hopping quarry. But soon finding that there was no end to it, he flew into a rage, cast down his rods, and sought the old ploughman who had taught him his trade; and both told him what had happened and showed him where young Love did sit.

For ever on Mikane's crest,
That soars so far away,
The rain it rains in ceaseless sheets,
The snow it snows all day.

And ceaseless as the rain and snow
That fall from heaven above,
So ceaselessly, since first we met,
I love my darling love.

I

The storm that snapped our fate's one ship in twain
Hath blown my half o' the wreck from thine apart.
O Love! O Love! across the gray-waved main
To thee-ward strain my eyes, my arms, my heart.
I ask my God if e'en in His sweet place,
Where, by one waving of a wistful wing,
My soul could straightway tremble face to face
With thee, with thee, across the stellar ring —

Well, then! my gentle, Night-piece Maid,
Must we still love, in Masquerade?
Is it ordain'd, by Fate, and Thee,
I ne'er that Magic Face shall see?
Unfit shall Noon, as Midnight, prove
To bring to Light the Nymph I love?
Still, of Relief, shall I despair,
And sigh before an absent Fair?

What! shall I kiss, embrace and toy,
Yet never know who gives the Joy?
A Fairy Maid! shall I caress,
Whom, I do not, and do, possess?

I'll not take Oldfield to my Arms,

1.

From place to place, you know not why,
You haste with hurrying feet.
A gentle word the breezes sigh;
You turn in wonder sweet.

The dear one that you left behind
Has called you soft and low:
" In thee alone my joy I find;
Come back, I love thee so! "

But further, further, driven and tost,
You needs must haste and flee;
What you so dearly loved and lost,