Love's Old Sweet Song / A sheaf of latter-day love-poems gathered from many sources

by Unknown

I KNOW ’TIS LATE, BUT LET ME STAY.

I KNOW ’tis late, but let me stay,
For night is tenderer than day;
Sweet love, dear love, I cannot go;
Dear love, sweet love, I love thee so.
The birds are in the grove asleep,
The katydids shrill concert keep,
The woodbine breathes a fragrance rare
To please the dewy, languid air,
The fireflies twinkle in the vale,
The river shines in moonlight pale:
See yon bright star! choose it for thine,
And call its near companion mine;
Yon air-spun lace above the moon,—
’Twill veil her radiant beauty soon;
And look! a meteor’s dreamy light
Streams mystic through the solemn night.
Ah, life glides swift, like that still fire—
How soon our gleams of joy expire!
Who can be sure the present kiss
Is not his last? Make all of this.
I know ’tis late, dear love, I know,
Dear love, sweet love, I love thee so.

It cannot be the stealthy day
That turns the orient darkness gray;
Heardst thou? I thought or feared I heard
Vague twitters of some wakeful bird.
Nay, ’twas but summer in her sleep
Low murmuring from the leafy deep.
Fantastic mist obscurely fills
The hollows of Kentucky hills.
The wings of night are swift indeed!
Why makes the jealous morn such speed?
This rose thou wear’st may I not take
For passionate remembrance’ sake?
Press with thy lips its crimson heart.
Yes, blushing rose, we must depart.
A rose cannot return a kiss—
I pay its due with this, and this.
The stars grow faint, they soon will die,
But love fades not nor fails. Good-bye!
Unhappy joy—delicious pain—
We part in love, we meet again.
Good-bye! the morning dawns—I go;
Dear love, sweet love, I love thee so.

William H. Venable.

CASHEL OF MUNSTER.

I WOULD wed you, dear, without gold or gear, or counted kine;
My wealth you’ll be, would your friends agree, and you be mine.
My grief, my gloom! that you do not come, my heart’s dear hoard!
To Cashel fair, though our couch were there but a soft deal board.

Oh, come, my bride, o’er the wild hill-side to the valley low!
A downy bed for my love I’ll spread where waters flow,
And we shall stray where streamlets play, the groves among,
Where echo tells to the listening dells the blackbird’s song.

Love tender, true, I gave to you, and secret sighs,
In hope to see upon you and me one hour arise,
When the priest’s blest voice would bind my choice and the ring’s strict tie,
If wife you be, love, to one but me, love, in grief I’ll die!

A neck of white has my heart’s delight, and breast like snow,
And flowing hair whose ringlets fair to the green grass flow,
Alas! that I did not early die, before the day
That saw me here, from my bosom’s dear, far, far away!

Edward Walsh.

DAFFODILS.

I QUESTION with the amber daffodils,
Sheeting the floors of April, how she fares;
Where king-cup buds gleam out between the rills,
And celandine in wide gold beadlets glares.