AT HER WINDOW. B EATING heart! we come again Where my Love reposes : This is Mabel's window-pane ; These are Mabel's roses. Is she nested? Does she kneel In the twilight stilly; Lily clad from throat to heel, She, my virgin lily? Soon the wan, the wistful stars, Let this friendly pebble plead Mabel will be deck'd anon, Zoned in bride's apparel; Happy zone!-oh hark to yon Sing thy song, thou trancèd thrush, Dearest Mabel !—dearest . . . FREDERICK LOCKER. B LOVE-LILY. ETWEEN the hands, between the brows, A spirit is born whose birth endows My blood with fire to burn through me; Who breathes upon my gazing eyes, Within the voice, within the heart, A spirit is born who lifts apart His tremulous wings and looks at me ; Who on my mouth his finger lays, And shows, while whispering lutes confer, That Eden of Love's watered ways Whose winds and spirits worship her. Brows, hands, and lips, heart, mind, and voice, Kisses and words of Love-Lily, Oh! bid me with your joy rejoice, Till riotous longing rest in me! Whose speech Truth knows not from her thought Nor Love her body from her soul. DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI. I. IVE her but a least excuse to love me! When-where How can this arm establish her above me, There already, to eternally reprove me? But "Oh," cried the maiden, binding her tresses, "Tis only a page that carols unseen, Crumbling your hounds their messes!") II. Is she wronged?—To the rescue of her honour, Is she poor?-What costs it to become a donor? But that fortune should have thrust all this upon her! Fitting your hawks their jesses!") ROBERT BROWNING. |