(1)

She is the sky
Of the sun!
She is the dart
Of love!

She is the love
Of my heart!
She is a rune!
She is above

The women
Of the race of Eve
As the sun
Is above the moon!

(2)

Lovely and airy
The view from the hill
That looks down
Ballylea!

But no good sight
Is good, until
By great good luck
You see

The Blossom
Of the Branches
Walking towards you,
Airily!

THE LOVER SPEAKS

The gold of Evening into grayness fades;
And now the Twilight spreads her sheltering plumes
 And shields me with her shades,
 E'en as some brooding dove's
Are folded o'er her nestlings which she loves,
 Far in the forest glooms.

The crescent dreams in branches of the fir,
And o'er the woodland path the stars arise
 To light the way for her;
 The wild grass rustles near;
And then a step,—and all my heaven is here,—
 Love, with her longing eyes!

Thou most rare Brown Bird on thine Eden-tree,
All heaven-sweet to me
Cometh thy song of Love's high royalty
And Love's deep loyalty,
And Love's sweet-pleading loneliness in thee.

Our one-star yonder uttereth her light,
Her silver call to Night,
Who, wavering between the Dark and Bright,
On-cometh with timid flight,
As one that could not choose 'twixt wrong and right!

O, never was a night so dark as I!
But thou has sent a sigh
Of love, as a star would send a beam, to fly
Downward from out the sky

The Day was dying; his breath
Wavered away in a hectic gleam —
And I said, if Life's a dream, and Death
And Love and all are dreams — I'll dream.

A Mist came over the Bay
Like as a Dream would over an eye —
The Mist was white and the Dream was grey
And both contained a human cry —

The burthen whereof was " Love, "
And it filled both Mist and Dream with pain,
And the hills below and the skies above
Were touched and uttered it back again.

The Mist broke: down the rift
A kind ray shot from a holy star.

Nay, Romney, nay—I will not hear you say
Those words again: “I love you, love you, sweet!”
You are profane—blasphemous. I repeat,
You are no actor for so grand a play.

You love with all your heart? Well, that may be;
Some cups are fashioned shallow. Should I try
To quench my thirst from one of those, when dry—
I who have had a full bowl proffered me—

A new bowl brimming with a draught divine,
One single taste thrilled to the finger-tips?
Think you I even care to bathe my lips
With this poor sweetened water you call wine?

A cloud of crystal, veined with gold
Slow drifting in the rosy west
Is not more lovely to behold
Than thou art, — and thy father's breast,
While fond affection holds her seat,
Will keep that image of thy grace,
Thy buoyant form, thy gentle face,
Thy spirit, ever blythe and sweet, —
In frolic and in love complete!
And so, dear child, — though mountains rise
Between us, and our brooding skies
Are alien, — wheresoe'er thou art,
Thy constant home is in thy father's heart.

Seeming empty to the eye,
Yet within this magic space,
Mantled all in golden grace,
Many costly gems do lie.
Like the blessings angels shed
From the wafture of their wings
Are these ghosts of lovely things, —
Love, and hope, and pleasure dead.
Guard these treasures of the Past!
Soon the shadows dim the day;
All the world will pass away, —
These alone remain at last.

Hey, rose, just born
Twin to a thorn;
Was't so with you, O Love and Scorn?

Sweet eyes that smiled,
Now wet and wild;
O Eye and Tear—mother and child.

Well: Love and Pain
Be kinsfolk twain:
Yet would, Oh would I could love again.

Oh! a heart it loves, it loves thee,
That never loved before,
Oh! a heart it loves, it loves thee,
That heart can love no more.

As the rose was in the bud, love,
Ere it opened into sight,
As yon star, in drumlie daylight,
Behind the blue was bright, —

So thine image in my heart, love,
As pure, as bright, as fair,
Thyself unseen, unheeded,
I saw and loved it there.

Oh! a heart it loves, it loves thee,
As heart ne'er loved before;
Oh! a heart it loves, loves, loves thee,
That heart can love no more.

O soft is the ringdove's eye of love
When her mate returns from a weary flight;
And brightest of all the stars above
Is the one bright star that leads the night.

But softer thine eye than the dove's by far,
When of friendship and pity thou speakest to me;
And brighter, O brighter, than eve's one star,
When of love, sweet maid, I speak to thee.