Part 177

Love, you will not wake me With all your singing carouse. Nor your dancing shake me In my dark house.

Though you should go weeping, Sorrowful for my sake, Fain to break my sleeping, I could not wake.

Now, ere time destroy us - Shadows beneath and above; Death has no song joyous, Nor dead men love -

Now, while deep-eyed, golden, Love on the mountain sings, Let him be close holden; Fetter his wings.

Love, nor joy nor sorrow Troubles the end of day. Leave the Fates to-morrow; Give Love to-day.

Ethel Talbot [18 -

UNTIL DEATH

Make me no vows of constancy, dear friend, To love me, though I die, thy whole life long, And love no other till thy days shall end - Nay, it were rash and wrong.

If thou canst love another, be it so; I would not reach out of my quiet grave To bind thy heart, if it should choose to go - Love should not be a slave.

My placid ghost, I trust, will walk serene In clearer light than gilds those earthly morns, Above the jealousies and envies keen, Which sow this life with thorns.

Thou wouldst not feel my shadowy caress; If, after death, my soul should linger here; Men's hearts crave tangible, close tenderness, Love's presence, warm and near.

It would not make me sleep more peacefully That thou wert wasting all thy life in woe For my poor sake; what love thou hast for me, Bestow it ere I go.

Carve not upon a stone when I am dead The praises which remorseful mourners give To women's graves - a tardy recompense - But speak them while I live.

Heap not the heavy marble o'er my head To shut away the sunshine and the dew; Let small blooms grow there, and let grasses wave, And raindrops filter through.

Thou wilt meet many fairer and more gay Than I; but, trust me, thou canst never find One who will love and serve thee night and day With a more single mind.

Forget me when I die! The violets Above my breast will blossom just as blue, Nor miss thy tears; e'en nature's self forgets; But while I live, be true.

Elizabeth Akers [1832-1911]

FLORENCE VANE

I loved thee long and dearly, Florence Vane; My life's bright dream and early Hath come again; I renew in my fond vision, My heart's dear pain - My hopes, and thy derision, Florence Vane.

The ruin, lone and hoary, The ruin old, Where thou didst hark my story, At even told - That spot - the hues Elysian Of sky and plain - I treasure in my vision, Florence Vane.

Thou wast lovelier than the roses In their prime; Thy voice excelled the closes Of sweetest rhyme; Thy heart was as a river Without a main. Would I had loved thee never, Florence Vane!

But, fairest, coldest wonder! Thy glorious clay Lieth the green sod under - Alas, the day! And it boots not to remember Thy disdain, To quicken love's pale ember, Florence Vane.

The lilies of the valley By young graves weep; The daisies love to dally Where maidens sleep. May their bloom, in beauty vying, Never wane Where thine earthly part is lying, Florence Vane!

Philip Pendleton Cooke [1816-1850]

"IF SPIRITS WALK"

If spirits walk, love, when the night climbs slow The slant footpath where we were wont to go, Be sure that I shall take the selfsame way To the hill-crest, and shoreward, down the gray, Sheer, graveled slope, where vetches straggling grow. Look for me not when gusts of winter blow, When at thy pane beat hands of sleet and snow; I would not come thy dear eyes to affray, If spirits walk.

But when, in June, the pines are whispering low, And when their breath plays with thy bright hair so As some one's fingers once were used to play - That hour when birds leave song, and children pray, Keep the old tryst, sweetheart, and thou shalt know If spirits walk.

Sophie Jewett [1861-1909]