WHEN I alone unto my chamber go,
To fold the shroud of night about my heart,
And mourn an empty day that doth depart;
And with sad thought compose my spirit so;
There cometh to me the dear form I know;
And, conjured with imagination’s art,
It bringeth thee, so living, that I start;
And my glad tears upon thy bosom flow.
But oh, for shame! That not thyself entire
Be mine, as thou shouldst be, instead of this!
On earth both flesh and spirit hold empire,
Wherein is man the vassal of a kiss.
Yet nature must I thank, as I retire,
That though I hold thee not I know thy bliss.
C
WHEN all the world would smile in summer time,
And bear the train of nature’s equipage;
And love appeareth, as an appanage,
To make each lover’s atmosphere sublime;
Then would I take this pen and form a rhyme,
That singeth of my three years’ vassalage
(Still held in love’s unwilling peonage),
That doth my spirit and my heart begrime.
For how could love exalt, which hath, for long,
Reduced me to so destitute a state
That through each winter I must nurse my wrong,
Until each spring shall bring thee, all too late?
And when the summer cometh, my sad song
Is only to deplore that I must wait.
CI
A LITTLE flower in my garden groweth.
“Love-in-a-mist” is given as its name.
Another, of blood hue, beside the same,
Doth droop and fall upon the wind that bloweth.
This is the “bleeding heart.” Like mine, it knoweth
The tragic reason for its early fame,
By some sad chance, upon the earth it came;
But soon, though full of bloom, asleep it goeth.
Two emblems have I in these garden flowers.
“Love-in-a-mist” thou must be still for me,
Deep hidden in love’s own mysterious bowers,
Where, all uncertain, I can scarcely see.
Yet from my “bleeding heart” I gain new powers,
Though trampled under foot and crushed by thee.
CII
MY love makes of my life a sad display;
All full of good desires within me born,
Like youthful verdure in the early morn;
Yet by its mischief ruining each day.
No more have I the courage that shall say:
“From such poor revenue let me be torn,
Lest my life’s high estate be basely shorn,
And I no longer have wherewith to pay.”
No! still I hold to thy heart’s company,
That would but seldom grant what I may use,
Not knowing by what power thou holdest me;
Yet giving all; that all must still refuse;
Unless this line be writ upon the sky,
And bring eternal life to this my muse.
CIII
IF in thyself doth all my love reside;
And thou, the storehouse of love’s revenue,
Holdest my happiness in full review;
In thy dear eyes lies pain for me beside.
Upon my heart thou ruthlessly dost ride,
Grown callous to entreaty made anew.
Though without hope that kindness may ensue,
Let my blood flow to satisfy thy pride.
Strange cruelty, enforced by Nature’s child!
Thou, friendly in thy feeling, but grown cold;
I, burned with Cupid’s fire and beguiled;
Thou fearful, I the more by thee made bold;
Thou, longing to be free, untamed and wild;
I, young with love, though by its pain grown old.