THEN I GIVE thee treasures hour by hour, I give thee love as God gives light, And freer than the lavish air. I give thee prayers, like jewels strung As earth pours freely to the sea Her thousand streams of wealth untold, So flows my silent life to thee, What care I for thy carelessness? Far lingering on a distant dawn, My triumph shines, more sweet than late; When, from these mortal mists withdrawn, Thy heart shall know me--I can wait. Rose Terry Cooke (1827-1892] THE MISSIVE I THAT tremble at your feet Am a rose; Nothing dewier or more sweet Buds or blows; He that plucked me, he that threw me Breathed in fire his whole soul through me. The Serf's Secret How the cold air is infused With the scent! See, this satin leaf is bruised-- Lift me, lift the wounded blossom, Frown not with averted eyes! That is born a god, and dies Take me, for the Summer closes, And your life is but a rose's. Edmund Gosse [1849 PLYMOUTH HARBOR Oн, what know they of harbors They tell of fairer havens But none so fair there be As Plymouth town outstretching Her breast's broad welcome spreading From Mewstone to Penlee. Ah, with this home-thought, darling, Oh, what know they of harbors Who toss not on the sea! Mrs. Ernest Radford [1858 THE SERF'S SECRET I KNOW a secret, such a one The hawthorn blossoms spider-spun, 667 It is that I would rather be It is that in her scornful eye, I know a secret, such a one To meet the upland sun. William Vaughn Moody [1869-1910] "O, INEXPRESSIBLE AS SWEET" O, INEXPRESSIBLE as sweet, Love takes my voice away; I cannot tell thee when we meet But hadst thou hearing in thy heart To know what beats in mine, Then shouldst thou walk, where'er thou art, In melodies divine. So warbling birds lift higher notes Than to our ears belong; The music fills their throbbing throats, But silence steals the song. George Edward Woodberry [1855 THE CYCLAMEN OVER the plains where Persian hosts The West-Country Lover Oh, fair! Oh, white! Oh, pure as snow! Or crimson, like the cruel wounds From which the life-blood, flowing, But when my dear these blossoms holds, All woe and joy the past enfolds In her find fullest flower. Oh, fair! Oh, pure! Oh, white and red! If she but live, what are the dead! Arlo Bates [1850 THE WEST-COUNTRY LOVER THEN, lady, at last thou art sick of my sighing? So long as I sue, thou wilt still be denying? Ah, well! shall I vow then to serve thee forever, Yet let no sweet ruth for my misery grieve thee. 669 The man who has loved knows as well how to leave thee. Good-bye! The gorse is enkindled, there's bloom on the heather, And love is my joy, and so too is fair weather; I still ride abroad, though we ride not together. My horse is my mate; let the wind be my master. Though Care may pursue, yet my hound follows faster. The red deer's a-tremble in coverts unbroken. He hears the hoof-thunder; he scents the death-token. Shall I mope at home, under vows never spoken? Good-bye! The brown earth's my book, and I ride forth to read it. Good-bye! The stream runneth fast, but my will shall outspeed it. I love thee, dear lass, but I hate the hag Sorrow. Alice Brown [1857 "BE YE IN LOVE WITH APRIL-TIDE" BE ye in love with April-tide? I' faith, in love am I! For now 'tis sun, and now 'tis shower, And now 'tis Laura shy! Ye doubtful days, O slower glide! I' faith, in love am I! Clinton Scollard [1860 UNITY HEART of my heart, the world is young: Love lies hidden in every rose! Every song that the skylark sung Once, we thought, must come to a close: Now we know the spirit of song, Song that is merged in the chant of the whole, Hand in hand as we wander along, What should we doubt of the years that roll? |