Part 112

ONE WAY OF LOVE

All June I bound the rose in sheaves. Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves And strew them where Pauline may pass. She will not turn aside? Alas! Let them lie. Suppose they die? The chance was they might take her eye.

How many a month I strove to suit These stubborn fingers to the lute! To-day I venture all I know. She will not hear my music? So! Break the string; fold music's wing: Suppose Pauline had bade me sing!

My whole life long I learned to love. This hour my utmost art I prove And speak my passion - heaven or hell? She will not give me heaven? 'Tis well! Lose who may - I still can say, Those who win heaven, blest are they!

Robert Browning [1812-1889]

"NEVER THE TIME AND THE PLACE"

Never the time and the place And the loved one all together! This path - how soft to pace! This May - what magic weather! Where is the loved one's face? In a dream that loved one's face meets mine, But the house is narrow, the place is bleak Where, outside, rain and wind combine With a furtive ear, if I strive to speak, With a hostile eye at my flushing cheek, With a malice that marks each word, each sign! O enemy sly and serpentine, Uncoil thee from the waking man! Do I hold the Past Thus firm and fast Yet doubt if the Future hold I can? This path so soft to pace shall lead Through the magic of May to herself indeed! Or narrow if needs the house must be, Outside are the storms and strangers: we - Oh, close, safe, warm sleep I and she, - I and she!

Robert Browning [1812-1889]

SONG From "The Saint's Tragedy"

Oh! that we two were Maying Down the stream of the soft spring breeze; Like children with violets playing In the shade of the whispering trees.

Oh! that we two sat dreaming On the sward of some sheep-trimmed down, Watching the white mist steaming Over river and mead and town.

Oh! that we two lay sleeping In our nest in the churchyard sod, With our limbs at rest on the quiet earth's breast, And our souls at home with God!

Charles Kingsley [1819-1875]

FOR HE HAD GREAT POSSESSIONS

Ah! marvel not if when I come to die And follow Death the way my fancies went Year after fading year, the last mad sky Finds me impenitent; For though my heart went doubting through the night, With many a backward glance at heaven's face, Yet found I many treasures of delight Within this pleasant place.

I shall not grieve because the girls were fair And kinder than the world, nor shall I weep Because with crying lips and clinging hair They stole away my sleep. For lacking this I might not yet have known How high the heart could climb, or waking seen The mountains bare their silver breasts of stone From their chaste robes of green.

Though it were all a sin, within the mirth And pain of life I found a song above Our songs, in her who scattered on the earth Her glad largesse of love; And though she held some dream that was not ours In some far place that was not for our feet, Where blew across the gladder, madder flowers A wind more bitter-sweet.

Ah! who shall hearten when the music stops, For joy of silence? While they dreamed above She showed me love upon the mountain tops And in the valleys, love. And while the wise found heaven with their charts And lore of souls, she made an earth for me More sweet than all, and from our beating hearts She called the pulsing sea.

So marvel not if in the days when death Shall make my body mine, I do not cry For hours and treasure lost, but with my breath Praise my mortality. For lo! this place is fair, and losing all That I have won and dreamed beneath her kiss, I would not see the light of morning fall On any world but this.

Richard Middleton [1882-1911]

WINDLE-STRAWS

She kissed me on the forehead, She spoke not any word, The silence flowed between us, And I nor spoke nor stirred.

So hopeless for my sake it was, So full of ruth, so sweet, My whole heart rose and blessed her, - Then died before her feet.

Edward Dowden [1843-1913]

JESSIE

When Jessie comes with her soft breast, And yields the golden keys, Then is it as if God caressed Twin babes upon His knees - Twin babes that, each to other pressed, Just feel the Father's arms, wherewith they both are blessed,

But when I think if we must part, And all this personal dream be fled - O then my heart! O then my useless heart! Would God that thou wert dead - A clod insensible to joys and ills - A stone remote in some bleak gully of the hills!

Thomas Edward Brown [1830-1897]