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No fear!-or if a fear be born
This minute, it dies out in scorn.
Fear? I shall see her in three days

And one night, now the nights are short,
Then just two hours, and that is morn.



NEVER any more,

While I live,

Need I hope to see his face

As before.

Once his love grown chill,
Mine may strive:

Bitterly we re-embrace,
Single still.


Was it something said,

Something done,

Vexed him? was it touch of hand,

Turn of head?
Strange! that very way

Love begun:

I as little understand

Love's decay.


When I sewed or drew,

I recall

How he looked as if I sung,

-Sweetly too.

If I spoke a word,
First of all

Up his cheek the colour sprung,

Then he heard.


Sitting by my side,
At my feet,

So he breathed but air I breathed,

I, too, at love's brim

Touched the sweet:

I would die if death bequeathed
Sweet to him.

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While I found some way undreamed
-Paid my debt!

Gave more life and more,

Till, all gone,

He should smile "She never seemed

"Mine before.


"What, she felt the while,

"Must I think?

"Love 's so different with us men!"

He should smile:

"Dying for my sake

"White and pink!

"Can't we touch these bubbles then

"But they break?"

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Well, this cold clay clod
Was man's heart:

Crumble it, and what comes next?
Is it God?



I DREAM of a red-rose tree.
And which of its roses three
Is the dearest rose to me?


Round and round, like a dance of snow
In a dazzling drift, as its guardians, go
Floating the women faded for ages,
Sculptured in stone, on the poet's pages.
Then follow women fresh and gay,
Living and loving and loved to-day.

Last, in the rear, flee the multitude of maidens,
Beauties yet unborn. And all, to one cadence,

They circle their rose on my rose tree.


Dear rose, thy term is reached,

Thy leaf hangs loose and bleached:
Bees pass it unimpeached.


Stay then, stoop, since I cannot climb,
You, great shapes of the antique time!
How shall I fix you, fire you, freeze you,
Break my heart at your feet to please you?

Oh, to possess and be possessed!

Hearts that beat 'neath each pallid breast!
Once but of love, the poesy, the passion,

Drink but once and die!-In vain, the same fashion, They circle their rose on my rose tree.


Dear rose, thy joy's undimmed;

Thy cup is ruby-rimmed,

Thy cup's heart nectar-brimmed.


Deep, as drops from a statue's plinth
The bee sucked in by the hyacinth,
So will I bury me while burning,
Quench like him at a plunge my yearning,
Eyes in your eyes, lips on your lips!
Fold me fast where the cincture slips,

Prison all my soul in eternities of pleasure,

Girdle me for once! But no-the old measure,
They circle their rose on my rose tree.


Dear rose without a thorn,
Thy bud 's the babe unborn:
First streak of a new morn.


Wings, lend wings for the cold, the clear!
What is far conquers what is near.

Roses will bloom nor want beholders,

Sprung from the dust where our flesh moulders.

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