Calling to them, a voice they know,
He drives his beasts above Cabra.
The voice tells them home is warm.
They moo and make brute music with their hoofs.
He drives them with a flowering branch before him,
Smoke pluming their foreheads.
Boor, bond of the herd,
Tonight stretch full by the fire!
I bleed by the black stream
For my torn bough!
As he mostly sees doubleTo wear them why trouble?I can’t see the Joe Miller. Can you?
Where the gay winds do most desireTo run in companies.There, where the gay winds stay to wooThe young leaves as they pass,My love goes slowly, bending toHer shadow on the grass;And where the sky’s a pale blue cupOver the laughing land,My love goes lightly, holding upHer dress with dainty hand.
My love and I did walk together;And sweet were the words she said to me.Along with us the summer windWent murmuring — – O, happily! — –But softer than the breath of summerWas the kiss she gave to me.
Hear you amid the drowsy evenOne who is singing by your gate.His song is softer than the dewAnd he is come to visit you.O bend no more in reveryWhen he at eventide is calling.Nor muse: Who may this singer beWhose song about my heart is falling?Know you by this, the lover’s chant,‘Tis I that am…
From far a low word breathes on the breaking brainIts cruel calm, submission’s misery,Gentling her awe as to a soul predestined.Cease, silent love! My doom!Blind me with your dark nearness, O have mercy, beloved enemy of my will!I dare not withstand the cold touch that I dread.Draw from me stillMy slow life! Bend deeper on…
The shorelamps in the sleeping lakeLaburnum tendrils trail.The sly reeds whisper to the nightA name– her name-And all my soul is a delight,A swoon of shame.
