One love only to be given.
Star that gathers all stars’ glory
Rose all sweetness of the rest;
Love that is all life’s glad story.
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Poor little diary, with its simple thoughts,
‘Read Modern History,’ ‘Trimmed up my grey hat,’‘Darned stockings,’ ‘Tatted,’ ‘Practised my new song,’‘Went to the daily service,’ ‘Took Bess soup,’‘Went out to tea.’ Poor simple diary!and did I write it? Was I this good girl,this budding colourless young rose of home?did I so live content in such a life,seeing no larger scope, nor asking…
DEAD, my beloved! This small purple weed
To ripen and to wane, to bloom and seed;But thou, strong doer, mightst not wait thy deed,But thou, oh noblest, mightst not wait thy meed:Dead in thy prime!Gone, my beloved! I that held thine handLeft sudden in a joyless waste alone!I tossing on life’s sea, and thou to standHidden in the shadows of the silent…
AH! swallows, is it so?
Tarried among late blossoms, loth to go,Gather the darkening cloud-wraps round her faceAnd weep herself away in last week’s rain?Can no new sunlight waken her again?‘Yes,’ one pale rose a-blowHas answered from the trellised lane;The flickering swallows answer ‘No.’From out the dim grey skyThe arrowy swarm breaks forth and specks the air,While, one by one,…
‘AND when came I to this town?’ did he say!
Answered merely an answer to make,As stranger to stranger may;Answered enough with ”Twas yesterday,’And a talk of the journey travelled so fast.Had I said, ‘Since I dwelt here first have passedHundreds of years away’!Aye, and there be who, if they knew,Would envy me, as a cripple must long,Looking on limbs erect and strong,To have his…
WHILE the woods were green,
Leaping, longing, in my breast:Let him come that loves me true,Let him come that I love best,I will tell him what I mean,Now the wood-birds tell it too,Now the woods are green.’While the woods were bare,‘Oh I’ she sighed, ‘my heart is grey,Shrinking, shivering, in my breast:Love me, hate me, as they may,None of them…
WHAT is it that is dead?
Cold in the ground, and stirs not for my sighs,Nor songs that I can make, nor smiles from me,Nor tenderest foolish words that I have said;Something that was has hushed, and will not be.Did it go yesterday?Or did it wane away with the old years?There hath not been farewell, nor watchers’ tears,Nor hopes, nor vain…