So well it were to love, my love,
And cheat of any laughter
The fate beneath us and above,
The dark before and after.
The myrtle and the rose, the rose,
The sunshine and the swallow,
The dream that comes, the wish that goes,
The memories that follow!
W. E. Henley.
HER DREAM.
FOLD your arms around me, Sweet,
As against your heart my heart doth beat.
Kiss me, Love, till it fade,—the fright
Of the dreadful dream I dreamt last night.
Oh, thank God, it is you, it is you,
My own love, fair and strong and true.
We two are the same that, yesterday,
Played in the light and tost the hay.
My hair you stroke, O dearest one,
Is alive with youth and bright with the sun.
Tell me again, Love, how I seem
“The prettiest queen of curds and cream.”
Fold me close and kiss me again;
Kiss off the shadow of last night’s pain.