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"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
"When the fire-fly hides its spot,
"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?"
Oh how dark your villa was,
ONE WAY OF LOVE.
ALL June I bound the rose in sheaves.
She will not turn aside? Alas!
Let them lie. Suppose they die?
The chance was they might take her eye.
How many a month I strove to suit
My whole life long I learned to love.
Those who win heaven, blest are they!
ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE.
JUNE was not over
Though past the full,
And the best of her roses
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,
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?
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.
All petals, no prickles,
Of wine poured at mass-time,-
Or if, with experience of man and of spider,
A PRETTY WOMAN.
THAT fawn-skin-dappled hair of hers,
And the blue eye
Dear and dewy,
And that infantine fresh air of hers!
To think men cannot take you, Sweet,
And enfold you,
Ay, and hold you,
And so keep you what they make you, Sweet!
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.
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.
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!
But for loving, why, you would not, Sweet,
Paid you, brayed you
In a mortar-for you could not, Sweet!
So, we leave the sweet face fondly there:
Its sole duty!
Let all hope of grace beyond, lie there!
And while the face lies quiet there,
That I ponder
A conclusion? I will try it there.
As,-why must one, for the love foregone,
Earth, the heaven, we looked above for, gone!
Why, with beauty, needs there money be,
Love with liking?
Crush the fly-king
In his gauze, because no honey-bee?