Passive, and yet it is not passive.
There is no word to tell that droop of the head,
That turned-away rapt face, those outstretched arms:
Relinquishment, as of a woman yielding her body to love;
To the embrace of him she may nowise refuse;
Whose weakness, whose evil, whose un-love she sees,
But takes not back her faith;
Letting his will upon her be as her own will
To its utmost of asking;
Remembering — knowing as he cannot know —
The ends, the issues of love,
Yet without refusal of life or of death:

I.

When wilt thou break, my stubborn heart!
O Death! how slow to take my part!
Whatever I pursue denies;
Death, Death itself, like Mira, flies.

II.

Love and Despair, like twins, possest
At the same fatal birth my breast:
No hope could be; her scorn was all
That to my destin'd lot could fall.

III.

I thought, alas! that Love could dwell
But in warm climes, where no snow fell;
Like plants that kindly heat require
To be maintain'd by constant fire.

IV.

That without hope 't would die as soon,

See! my soul 's serene invader !
See the face , I first, ador'd!
Heaven, for love , and pity , made her,
And with angel 's graces, stor'd.

Mark her forehead 's aweful rising ,
See her soul-subduing eyes !
Every look , and air , surprizing!
Modest, lively, soft, and wise.

Next to you , I own, I love her,
But your sweet, discerning, eye,
Must not, now, be jealous of her:
She's ne'er seen , but you are by .

Dear Anna, hast ne'er heard it told
How florists have the curious power
To graft on some rude garden-plant
A tender and exquisite flower?
Thus are our natures made as one,
In union mystic and divine;
Thus, sweetest rose of womanhood,
Thy life is blooming into mine.

" Forget " thee! Whence the childish fear?
Ah, vain would be such heart-recalling!
Have I not felt thine angel smiles, —
Thy tears upon my bosom falling?
How oft, when, through our lattice stealing,
The moonlight came in quivering gleams,

A rose once pressed against thy lips,
Then gayly flung to me,
Is all the gift I treasure up
In memory of thee;
It bringeth back that golden time,
Too beautiful to last,
The glad and love-lit past, Therese,
The glad and love-lit past!

Then comes the memory of the change
Which fell upon thy heart,
As falls the frost upon the rose
When summer suns depart;
And now returns that weary time
With doubts and glooms o'ercast,
The sad and mournful past, Therese,
The sad and mournful past!

Love has given me my singing, —
Take then what you have taken.
All the longing and denial,
The unrest my life has shaken,
I forgive. Much sorrow love can bring,
But it was love that stirred my lips to sing!

Oh, you taught to me my hunger,
You may claim me by that token;
But the word my hunger taught me
That my hunger might be spoken —
This to me, to me — not you — belongs;
You had my love, but mine shall be my songs!

There was a rose, that blushing grew
Within my life's young bower;
The angels sprinkled holy dew
Upon the blessed flower.
I glory to resign it, love,
Though it was dear to me;
Amid thy laurels twine it, love,
It only blooms for thee.

There was a rich and radiant gem
I long kept hid from sight;
Lost from some seraph's diadem,
It shone with heaven's own light!
The world could never tear it, love,
That gem of gems, from me;
Yet on thy fond breast wear it, love,
It only shines for thee.

They said: " Thus do we choose,
And thus far we will go,
And the rest of love, refuse;
The rest we need not know
And never need to dread;
Or we will put it off until a fairer day. "

But love was more than they,
And where love led
They had to follow in their own despite:
Beyond those boundaries their thoughts had named.

Ah, little they knew of love's impetuous might,
To dream that they could stop love in full course —
Ah, little they knew, to dream love could be tamed!

I leave thee, love! In vain hast thou
 The God of life implored;
My clinging soul is torn from thine,
 My faithful, my adored!
My last gift,—I have on it breathed
 In blessing and in prayer;
So lay it close, close to thy heart,
 This little lock of hair!

I know thou wilt think tenderly
 And lovingly on me,
Thou wilt forget my waywardness,
 When I am gone from thee;
Thou wilt remember all my love,
 Which made thee think me fair;
Thou wilt with many tears be-gem
 This little lock of hair!

There rode through the country three gallants so fine,
They came to the Landlady, hard by the Rhine.

" Landlady, hast thou good ale and good wine?
And how is that beautiful daughter of thine? "

" My ale and my wine are fresh and clear,
But my dear little daughter lies dead on her bier. "

And when they were come to the chamber within,
All cold in her coffin, the maiden was seen.

The first, from her face the death-veil he took,
And looked at her long with a sorrowful look;