Why are they written—all these lovers' rhymes?
What will you have for answer?—Shall I say
That he who sings the merriest roundelay
Hath neither joy nor hope?—and he who sings
The lightest, sweetest, tenderest of things
But utters moan on moan of keenest pain,
So aches his heart to ask and ask in vain,
Why are they written—all these lovers' rhymes?
THE TOUCH OF LOVING HANDS
IMITATED
Light falls the rain-drop on the fallen leaf,
And light o'er harvest-plain and garnered sheaf—
But lightlier falls the touch of loving hands.
Light falls the dusk of mild midsummer night,
And light the first star's faltering lance of light
On glimmering lawns,—but lightlier loving hands.
And light the feathery flake of early snows,
Or wisp of thistle-down that no wind blows,
And light the dew,—but lightlier loving hands.
Light-falling dusk, or dew, or summer rain,
Or down of snow or thistle—all are vain,—
Far lightlier falls the touch of loving hands.
A TEST
'Twas a test I designed, in a quiet conceit
Of myself, and the thoroughly fixed and complete
Satisfaction I felt in the utter control
Of the guileless young heart of the girl of my soul.