IX.

"When no moon succeeds the sun,
"Nor can pierce the midnight's tent
"Any star, the smallest one,

"While some drops, where lightning rent, "Show the final storm begun

X.

"When the fire-fly hides its spot,
"When the garden-voices fail
"In the darkness thick and hot,-
"Shall another voice avail,
"That shape be where these are not?

XI.

"Has some plague a longer lease,
"Proffering its help uncouth?
"Can't one even die in peace?

"As one shuts one's eyes on youth, "Is that face the last one sees?"

XII.

Oh how dark your villa was,
Windows fast and obdurate!

How the garden grudged me grass
Where I stood the iron gate
Ground its teeth to let me pass!

ONE WAY OF LOVE.

I.

ALL June I bound the rose in sheaves.
Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves
And strew them where Pauline may pass.
She will not turn aside? Alas!
Let them lie. Suppose they die?

The chance was they might take her eye.

II.

How many a month I strove to suit
These stubborn fingers to the lute!
To-day I venture all I know.
She will not hear my music? So!
Break the string; fold music's wing:
Suppose Pauline had bade me sing!

III.

My whole life long I learned to love.
This hour my utmost art I prove
And speak my passion-heaven or hell?
She will not give me heaven? 'T is well!
Lose who may-I still can say,
Those who win heaven, blest are they!

ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE.

I.

JUNE was not over
Though past the full,
And the best of her roses
Had yet to blow,

When a man I know
(But shall not discover,
Since ears are dull,
And time discloses)

Turned him and said with a man's true air,
Half sighing a smile in a yawn, as 't were,-
"If I tire of your June, will she greatly care?"

II.

Well, dear, in-doors with you!
True! serene deadness

Tries a man's temper.
What's in the blossom

June wears on her bosom?

Can it clear scores with you?

Sweetness and redness,

Eadem semper!

Go, let me care for it greatly or slightly!

If June mend her bower now, your hand left unsightly By plucking the roses,-my June will do rightly.

III.

And after, for pastime,

If June be refulgent
With flowers in completeness,

All petals, no prickles,
Delicious as trickles

Of wine poured at mass-time,—
And choose One indulgent

To redness and sweetness:

Or if, with experience of man and of spider,
June use my June-lightning, the strong insect-ridder,
And stop the fresh film-work,-why, June will consider.

A PRETTY WOMAN.

I.

THAT fawn-skin-dappled hair of hers,
And the blue eye

Dear and dewy,

And that infantine fresh air of hers!

II.

To think men cannot take you, Sweet,

And enfold you,

Ay, and hold you,

And so keep you what they make you, Sweet!

III.

You like us for a glance, you know

For a word's sake

Or a sword's sake,

All 's the same, whate'er the chance, you know.

IV.

And in turn we make you ours, we say-

You and youth too,

Eyes and mouth too,

All the face composed of flowers, we say.

V.

All 's our own, to make the most of, Sweet

Sing and say for,

Watch and pray for,

Keep a secret or go boast of, Sweet!

VI.

But for loving, why, you would not, Sweet,
Though we prayed you,
Paid you, brayed you

In a mortar-for you could not, Sweet!

VII.

So, we leave the sweet face fondly there:
Be its beauty

Its sole duty!

Let all hope of grace beyond, lie there!

VIII.

And while the face lies quiet there,
Who shall wonder
That I ponder

A conclusion? I will try it there.

IX.

As,-why must one, for the love foregone,
Scout mere liking?
Thunder-striking

Earth, the heaven, we looked above for, gone!

X.

Why, with beauty, needs there money be,

Love with liking?
Crush the fly-king

In his gauze, because no honey-bee?