Summer is come; I hear the skylarks sing,
The honeysuckle flaunts it to the bees;
Summer is come, and 'tis not yet the spring—
My love is summer blessing all she sees.
Summer is come; I see an open door,
A sweet hand beckons, and I know
That, winter or summer, I shall go forth no more—
My heart is homing where her summer-roses grow.
O FLOWER OF ALL THE WORLD
O flower of all the world, O flower of all,
The garden where thou dwellest is so fair,
Thou art so goodly, and so queenly tall,
Thy sweetness scatters sweetness everywhere,
O flower of all!
O flower of all the years, O flower of all,
A day beside thee is a day of days;
Thy voice is softer than the throstle's call,
There is not song enough to sing thy praise,
O flower of all!
O flower of all the years, O flower of all,
I seek thee in thy garden, and I dare
To love thee; and though my deserts be small,
Thou art the only flower I would wear,
O flower of all!
WAS IT SOME GOLDEN STAR?
Once in another land,
Ages ago,
You were a queen, and I,
I loved you so:
Where was it that we loved—
Ah, do you know?
Was it some golden star
Hot with romance?
Was it in Malabar,
Italy, France?
Did we know Charlemagne,
Dido, perchance?
But you were a queen, and I
Fought for you then:
How did you honour me—
More than all men!
Kissed me upon the lips;
Kiss me again.