It was Love who called me, a morning in the meadow,
" Come out, sweetheart! Come out, sweetheart, the Spring is in the land.
All the world is wonderful with dappled sun and shadow,
Here I wait with happiness held close in either hand. "
O, I brake my spinning off,
Eager to be free.
Duty frowned beside the wheel,
" Do thy work! " quoth she.

It was Love who called me at noontide in the greenwood,
" Come out, sweetheart! Come out, sweetheart, and in the silence rest!
Take thine ease beneath the leaves as softly as a queen should,

Sing not, O blessed angels!
To those who truly mourn,
But come with gifts of healing,
For heart-strings freshly torn.
Ah! human hearts are tender,
And wounds of love are deep:
Sing not, O blessed angels!
But “weep with those who weep.”

Come not, O spirit-teachers!
With wisdom from above,
But come with soft, low whispers
Of sympathy and love.
Truths seem uncertain shadows
Beneath the clouds of care;
Come, then, in friendly silence,
And strengthen them to bear.

What will ye bring, O angels,

She stood beneath the moonlight pale,
With calm, uplifted eye,
While all her being, weak and frail,
Thrilled with her purpose high;
For she, the long affianced bride,
Must seal the fount of tears,
And break, with woman's lofty pride,
The plighted faith of years.

Ay! she had loved as in a dream,
And woke, at length, to find
How coldly on her spirit gleamed
The dazzling light of mind.

Remember me as one who loved awhile
Life, — and the splendid merriment I had;
Life, — and its throngs of people, gay and sad,
But all so quick to answer smile with smile;
Life, — that with changeful humours did beguile
My changeful moods, and ever found me glad
To fare upon adventures, wise or mad, —
A runner laughing down the fleeting mile.

Or as a child who loved the shining toy
The gods placed in its hands, remember me;
And if I cried at dusk to touch a star,
Forgive! For I who was a-flame with joy

" I would not care for fame,
If, as the years went by,
That light might burn the same
That now flames in thine eye.
From all the glory for which great ones care
Thou couldst entice me with a single hair.

" I would not care for truth,
If thou wouldst but be true;
One certainty, — thy youth,
Thy beauty ever new, —
To make me this the only truth declare,
Thou couldst entice me with a single hair.

" I would not care for good,
If I thy smile might see.
No man hath understood
How mighty love can be,

There once was a garden with lofty walls,
With trees and flowers and waters fair.
Bright insects hummed; and the soft love-calls
Of rare-hued birds on the drowsy air.

At morning and evening were heard. And here
It always was summer. There seemed to be
A balm in the air, and a sky as clear
As bends o'er the lakes of Italy.

It was in an enchanted land; for not
On the earth has a garden like this e'er been:
The dreamer alone has seen the spot,
Or ever an entrance to such might win.

Within this garden a woman dwelt,

Alas that evil things should find this gift,
To be so housed and so caparisoned,
So lapped in silk and so pavilioned
In such sweet tents, that we who darkly lift
Our still illusioned eyes know not to sift
The soaring noble from the falsely fond.
While Virtue like a needy vagabond
With unadmired demeanour makes rude shift.

You were all fair without, not so within.
I looked at you and loved you. Your bright shell
Was opal-hued but not inhabited
By honourable jewels. Like a sin
You charmed my soul, but ere we came to Hell

Beyond the sunset's crimson bars,
Beyond the twilight and the stars,
Beyond the midnight and the dark,
Sail on, sail on, O happy barque,
Into the dawn of that To-morrow
Where hearts shall find the end of sorrow
And Love shall find its own!

One was a child's romance,
A girl's bewildering dream,
Woven of fire and dew
And moonlight's silver gleam;
Of the fragrance of the rose,
The glory of the stars,
The flash of sparkling waters,
The sunset's golden bars!
A thing of smiles and blushes,
Quick thrills and throbbing heart,
A strange, mysterious glamour
That bade the tear-drops start.

One was a woman's love,
Woven of many strands,
Richer than braided gold,
Stronger than iron bands;
A love that holier grew
Through all the changeful years,

Steal from the meadows, rob the tall green hills,
Ravish my orchard's blossoms, let me bind
A crown of orchard flowers and daffodils,
Because my love is fair and white and kind.

To-day the thrush has trilled her daintiest phrases,
Flowers with their incense have made drunk the air,
God has bent down to gild the hearts of daisies,
Because my love is kind and white and fair.

To-day the sun has kissed the rose-tree's daughter,
And sad Narcissus, Spring's pale acolyte,
Hangs down his head and smiles into the water,