WHILE I gaze in thy dancing eyes, I seem
Unable to imagine that thou art
So cruel as deep sorrow to impart
To one who holds thee in love’s high esteem.
Who, from thy face, so like a child’s, could dream
That such sweet loveliness did often start
In men love’s worship, only to depart,
And leave them sinking in life’s treach’rous stream?
Yet such thou art, in character, my love,
Thou to whom I must dedicate my life,
Praying to God that He may still give thee
Some understanding of His realm above,
And make thee willing to become my wife,
Remaining in complete accord with me.
LXXV
IN springtime, when pale primroses in flower,
Oft interspersed with blue forget-me-nots,
Are all in bloom, and the wild violet dots
The mossy field, while many a floral shower
Of new-mown hay falls in some shady bower,
Then my own heart doth, like new garden-plots,
Warm with the sun, that unto love allots
A portion of contentment as its dower.
Thus in thy haloed presence let me sing,
Lightheartedly, with thy dear hand in mine,
Through many a waving, daisy-scattered field,
Where summer doth succeed the reign of spring.
And let mine arm thy being half entwine
With roses, or whate’er the seasons yield.
LXXVI
WITH every day that summer doth conceive
(Like some good mother, happily confined)
My love its simple homily doth find
In nature’s soft rejoicing, and receive
From winter’s sorrowing a just reprieve,
And think on thee with joy and pain combined,
When thou art absent, and of thy free mind
Return my sentiment, I do believe.
A sweet condition to my soul is this,
Bringing the blessedness of love from thee,
Commingling with my own long-felt desire;
And giving something of thyself to me.
Ah, seal this thought with one delicious kiss;
And let my heart to happiness aspire!
LXXVII
I KNOW a path of velvet green, that sinks
From a fair hillside, underneath the trees
That blossom forth in May, and with the breeze
Shed scented flowers, all lined with summer pinks
That border it in petal-covered links.
It seems a fairy lane, well fit to please
Some lover’s fancy, as the mood doth seize
The heart and lead in time to wat’ry brinks.
There with thee, Loved One, I would gladly stray;
And wander o’er these grassy slopes, to find
Saint Dorothy’s ascent to Paradise,
Uplifting, while ascending on our way
To saintly bowers, among the woods enshrined,
Where magic scenes our noblest thoughts entice.
LXXVIII
NO time could hold my heart more fit than this,
The vernal month, when summer’s early hours,
Fanned by faint odors from the newborn flowers,
Bespeak thyself, the thief of my heart’s bliss,
And on thy cheek imprint the tender kiss
That bringeth love within young Cupid’s bowers.
Thus would thy magic touch, with subtle powers,
Bring to my soul some metamorphosis.
No more repine, O heart! No longer weep.
No more heave sighs, or, sighing, be cast down.
Nature her balm of sunshine bringeth thee,
That in its warmth thou shalt her treasure keep.
Let not my brow be shadowed by a frown;
For love at last walks hand in hand with me.