For vainly my heart prays,
Hope droops her head and dies;
I see the sad, tired answer in your eyes.
I did not heed, and yet the stars were clear;
Dreaming that love could mate
Lives grown so separate;–
But at the best, my dear,
I see we should not have been very near.
I knew the end before the end was nigh:
The stars have grown so plain;
Vainly I sigh, in vain
For things that come to some,
But unto you and me will never come.
Is it mirth, or melancholy?Joys above,Are there many, or not any?What is Love?If you please,A most sweet folly!Full of mirth and melancholy:Both of these!In its sadness worth all gladness,If you please!Prithee where,Goes Love a-hiding?Is he long in his abidingAnywhere?Can you bind him when you find him;Prithee, where?With spring daysLove comes and dallies:Upon the mountains, through…
The admirable image that my love has wroughtOut of her swan’s neck and her dark, abundant hair:The jealous gods who brook no worship save their own,Turned my live idol marble and her heart to stone.
The ivy all around was black.Dear, so thou only move thine head,Shall all mine old despairs awake!Too blue, too tender was the sky,The air too soft, too green the sea.Always I fear, I know not why,Some lamentable flight from thee.I am so tired of holly-spraysAnd weary of the bright box-tree,Of all the endless country ways;Of…
Gleam as when centuries ago they spokeTo what bright gallant of Her Daintiness,Whose slender fingers, long since dust and dead,For love or courtesy embroideredThe cherry-coloured velvet of this cloak.Ah! cunning flowers of silk and silver thread,That mock mortality? the broidering dame,The page they decked, the kings and courts are dead:Gone the age beautiful; Lorenzo’s name,The…
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat,Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay;Surely the kisses…
Better at last to find a place for lying,Only dead.Silence were best, with songs and sighing over;Now be the music mute;Now let the dead, red leaves of autumn coverA vain lute.Silence is best: for ever and for ever,We will go down and sleep,Somewhere beyond her ken, where she need neverCome to weep.Let be at last:…
