There are three men who love me, Three men with bearded lips; But oh! ye gallant sailors Who sail the sea in ships— In elf-land, or in cloud-land, Or on the dreamland shore, Can you find the little laddies Whom I can find no more? Three quiet, thoughtful laddies, Three merry, winsome laddies, Three rollicking, frolicking laddies, On any far-off shore?
SUMMER, 1882
R. W. E.
O Summer, thou fair laggard, where art thou? In what far sunlit land of balm and bloom, What slumbrous bowers of beauty and perfume, Are roses crowning thine imperial brow?
Where art thou, Summer? We should see thy feet Even now upon the mountains. All the hills Rise up to greet thee. Nature’s great heart thrills, Faint with expectant joy. Where art thou, sweet?
And Summer answered: “Lo! I wait! I wait! To the far North I bend my listening ear; By day, by night, my soul keeps watch to hear One high, clear strain that rises soon nor late!
Why should I haste where light and song have fled? The ‘Woodnotes’ wake no more the Master’s lyre; The ‘haughty day’ fills no ‘blue urn with fire’ When its great lover lieth cold and dead!”
THORNLESS ROSES
“No rose may bloom without a thorn?” Come down the garden paths and see How brightly in the scented air They bloom for you and me!
See how, like rosy clouds, they lie Against the perfect, stainless blue! See how they toss their airy heads, And smile for me, for you!
No scanty largess, meanly doled— No pallid blooms, by two, by three, But a whole crowd of pink-white wings Fluttering for you and me.