Living English Poets: MDCCCLXXXII.

Farewell the long-continued ache,
The days a-dream, the nights awake,
I will rejoice and merry make,
And never more complain.

King Love is dead and gone for aye,
Who ruled with might and main,
For with a bitter word one day,
I found my tyrant slain,
And he in Heathenesse was bred,
Nor ever was baptized, 'tis said,
Nor is of any creed, and dead
Can never rise again.

INDEX OF FIRST LINES

A little marsh-plant, yellow green.

All night as in my dreams I lay

All day long and every day

And now I speak, not with the bird's free voice
And shall I weep that Love's no more
An idle poet, here and there

As he who finds one flower sharp thorns among
As, to the pipe, with rhythmic feet
Assemble, all ye maidens, at the door

Atlantid islands, phantom-fair

Back to the flower-town, side by side

Between two golden tufts of summer grass

By Wellesbourne and Charlcote ford

Come down, O maid, from yonder mountain height.

Day of my life! Where can she get
Does the road wind up-hill all the way

Gods fade; but God abides, and in man's heart
Go, for they call you, shepherd, from the hill.
Green are the leaves, and sweet the flowers
Grow old along with me

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Had she come all the way for this.
Heap cassia, sandal-buds and stripes
He had played for his lordship's levee
Here I'd come when weariest

He rose at dawn and, fired with hope
How strange a thing a lover seems

I do not bid thee spare me, O dreadful mother.
I dream'd I was in Sicily

If I should die this night, (as well might be
I have led her home, my love, my only friend.
I have loved flowers that fade

I know a little garden close

In a coign of the cliff between lowland and highland
In the hall of Leodwulf was made good cheer.
In this lone, open glade I lie.

I said―Then, dearest, since 'tis so

It was not like your great and gracious ways.
I wandered by the brook-side.

I wonder do you feel to-day

Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom

Little maiden, dost thou pine.

Love is enough: ho ye who seek saving.

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Love slept upon the lone hill-side .

Nightingales warbled without

No, for I'll save it! Seven years since·

No seed shall perish which the soul hath sown
Now did you mark a falcon.

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185

Now Neptune, joyful of the sacrifice
Now the light o' the west is a-turn'd to gloom

Of Heaven or Hell I have no power to sing
Of love that never found his earthly close
Of Mary's pains may now learn whoso will
Of old sat Freedom on the heights.

Of the million or two, more or less

Oh for the young heart like a fountain playing
Oh, to be in England

O jay betide the dear wold mill

O Love, what hours were thine and mine

O most just Vizier, send away

Once Cagn was like a father, kind and good
On that last night before we went.

O so drowsy! In a daze

Out in the meadows the young grass springs
Over the summer sea

O well for him whose will is strong

O where are you going with your love-locks flowing
O zummer clote! when the brook's a-glidèn

Pale, beyond porch and portal

Play then and sing; we too have played

Quoth tongue of neither maid nor wife.

Sad would the salt waves be.

So far as I conceive the world's rebuke

Sunrise! and it is summer, and the morning.

The curtains were half drawn, the floor was swept.
The feathers of the willow

The forest rears on lifted arms

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The hours are passing slow.

The lake is calm; and, calm, the skies
The last year's leaf, its time is brief
The morning broke and Spring was there
There is a sweetness in autumnal days
There's a woman like a dew-drop, she's so purer than the