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No fear!-or if a fear be born
IN A YEAR.
NEVER any more,
Need I hope to see his face
Once his love grown chill,
Mine may strive:
Was it something said,
Vexed him? was it touch of hand,
Turn of head?
Strange! that very way
I as little understand
When I sewed or drew,
How he looked as if I sung,
If I spoke a word,
Up his cheek the colour sprung,
Sitting by my side,
At my feet,
So he breathed but air I breathed, Satisfied!
I, too, at love's brim
Touched the sweet:
I would die if death bequeathed
Would he loved me yet,
On and on,
While I found some way undreamed
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?"
Dear, the pang is brief;
Do thy part,
Have thy pleasure! How perplexed
Robert Browning. III.
Well, this cold clay clod
Crumble it, and what comes next?
WOMEN AND ROSES.
I DREAM of a red-rose tree.
Round and round, like a dance of snow
Last, in the rear, flee the multitude of maidens,
Dear rose, thy term is reached,
Stay then, stoop, since I cannot climb,
Oh, to possess and be possessed!
Hearts that beat 'neath each pallid breast!
Dear rose, thy joy's undimmed;
Deep, as drops from a statue's plinth
Fold me fast where the cincture slips,
Dear rose without a thorn,
Wings, lend wings for the cold, the clear!
Roses will bloom nor want beholders,
Sprung from the dust where our flesh moulders.