But burn as closely fused as fuel, heat, and flame.
They do not love who give the body and keep
The heart ungiven; nor they who yield the soul, And guard the body. Love doth give the whole; Its range being high as heaven, as ocean deep,
Wide as the realms of air or planet’s curving sweep.
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Church-doors should still stand open, night and day,
Laden with gift of love or load of care,Nimbused with gold, or flecked with locks of gray,Mother, or snow-white bride, or pallid clay,The blithe, the sad, the uncomely as the fair,Each on his secret errand wending there,Nor even the mighty and strong be turned away.And so the poet’s heart should ever bePortal of joy and…
Nay, do not quarrel with the seasons, dear,
The fruit and foliage of the failing yearRival the buds and blossoms of its prime.Is not the harvest moon as round and brightAs that to which the nightingales did sing?And thou, that call’st thyself my satellite,Wilt seem in Autumn all thou art in Spring.When steadfast sunshine follows fitful rain,And gleams the sickle where once passed…
I saw the lark at break of day
And, winged with melody, awayCircle to Heaven o’erhead.I watched it higher and higher soar,Still ceasing not to trill,When, though I could descry no moreIts flight, I heard it still.But shortly quavered back its note,And, hovering into sight,I saw it, homeward sinking, floatOver its nest of night.“Tell me,” I cried, “glad songster, whyYou, privileged to wendUp…
The flower, full blown, now bends the stalk, now breaks;
The brow which thought impregnates ofttimes aches;Death-stricken is the womb in giving birth.Cracked is the vase by heat which doth illume,The driest logs the swiftest burn to nought,Sweet flowers are stifled by their own perfume,And bees when honey-clogged are easy caught.Snapped are true chords e’en by the note they give,The largest wave is broken by…
When friends grown faithless, or the fickle throng,
Breed in my heart disdainful discontent,And sadden sunshine with a sense of wrong,Then I, forgetting to be wise and strong,And on my own endearment too intent,Unto myself make musical lament,And lullaby my pain with plaintive song.But, when I gaze upon this face august,Her gift, who, seated on earth’s loftiest throne,For others’ weal holds half the…
`If you were mine, if you were mine,
The sun would set, the moon arise,In holier and yet heavenlier skies.Then unto me the Year would bringA younger April, fresher Spring.I should not then seek sylvan waysFor primrose clusters, woodbine sprays,To hear the mavis’ matin tale,Or nocturn of the nightingale.For at your coming there would passA glow, a glory, o’er the grass,The flowers would…