Brown nightingale, whose strain
Is heard by day, by night,
She sings of joy and pain,
Of sorrow and delight.
II.
’Tis true,—in other days
Have I unbarred the door;
He knows the walks and ways—
Love has been here before.
Love blest and love accurst
Was here in days long past;
This time is not the first,
But this time is the last.
Impotens.
IF I were a woman of old,
What prayers I would pray for you, dear;
My pitiful tribute behold—
Not a prayer, but a tear.
The pitiless order of things,
Whose laws we may change not nor break,
Alone I could face it—it wrings
My heart for your sake.
Youth and Love.
