Part 54

I give thee treasures hour by hour, That old-time princes asked in vain, And pined for in their useless power, Or died of passion's eager pain.

I give thee love as God gives light, Aside from merit, or from prayer, Rejoicing in its own delight, And freer than the lavish air.

I give thee prayers, like jewels strung On golden threads of hope and fear; And tenderer thoughts than ever hung In a sad angel's pitying tear.

As earth pours freely to the sea Her thousand streams of wealth untold, So flows my silent life to thee, Glad that its very sands are gold.

What care I for thy carelessness? I give from depths that overflow, Regardless that their power to bless Thy spirit cannot sound or know.

Far lingering on a distant dawn, My triumph shines, more sweet than late; When, from these mortal mists withdrawn, Thy heart shall know me - I can wait.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.

How the cold air is infused With the scent! See, this satin leaf is bruised - Bruised and bent, Lift me, lift the wounded blossom, Soothe it at your rosier bosom!

Frown not with averted eyes! Joy's a flower That is born a god, and dies In an hour. Take me, for the Summer closes, And your life is but a rose's.

Edmund Gosse [1849-1928]

PLYMOUTH HARBOR

Oh, what know they of harbors Who toss not on the sea! They tell of fairer havens But none so fair there be

As Plymouth town outstretching Her quiet arms to me; Her breast's broad welcome spreading From Mewstone to Penlee.

Ah, with this home-thought, darling, Come crowding thoughts of thee. 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, The dew-damp daisies in the grass Laugh up to greet me as I pass To meet the upland sun.

It is that I would rather be The little page, on bended knee, Who stoops to gather up her train Beneath the porch-lamp's ruby rain Than hold a realm in fee.

It is that in her scornful eye, Too hid for courtly sneer to spy, I saw, one day, a look which said That I, and only I, might shed Love-light across her sky.

I know a secret, such a one The hawthorn blossoms spider-spun, The dew-damp daisies in the grass Laugh up to greet me as I pass 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 What most I long to say.

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 [1855-1930]