[HUMAN LOVE]
We spoke of God and Fate,
And of that Life—which some await—
Beyond the grave.
"It will be fair," she said,
"But love is here!
I only crave thy breast
Not God's when I am dead.
For He nor wants nor needs
My little love.
But it may be, if I love thee
And those whose sorrow daily bleeds,
He knows—and somehow heeds!"
[OH, GO NOT OUT]
Oh, go not out upon the storm,
Go not, my sweet, to Swalchie pool!
A witch tho' she be dead may charm
Thee and befool.
A wild night 'tis! her lover's moan,
Down under ooze and salty weed,
She'll make thee hear—and then her own!
Till thou shall heed.
And it will suck upon thy heart—
The sorcery within her cry—
Till madness out of thee upstart,
And rage to die.