What if he changeth, oh, heart of me, heart of me!
Oh, can the waters be void of the wind?
What if he wendeth afar and apart from me,
What if he leave me to perish behind?
What if he passeth, oh, heart of me, heart of me!
A flame i’ the dusk, a breath of Desire?
Nay, my sweet Love is the heart and the soul of me,
And I am the innermost heart of his fire!
Love in my heart! oh, heart of me, heart of me!
Love is my tyrant, Love is supreme.
What if he passeth, oh, heart of me, heart of me!
Love is a phantom, and Life is a dream!
William Sharp.
THE COMING OF LOVE.
IN and out the osier beds, all along the shallows,
Lifts and laughs the soft south wind, or swoons among the grasses.
But, ah! whose following feet are these that bend the tall marsh-mallows?
Who laughs so low and sweet? Who sighs—and passes?
Flower of my heart, my darling, why so slowly
Lift’st thou thine eyes to mine, sweet wells of gladness?
Too deep this new-found joy, and this new pain too holy;
Or is there dread in thine heart of this divinest madness?
Who sighs with longing there? who laughs alow—and passes?
Whose following feet are these that bend the tall marsh-mallows?
Who comes upon the wind that stirs the heavy seeding grasses
In and out the osier beds, and hither through the shallows?
Flower of my heart, my Dream, who whispers near so gladly?
Whose is the golden sunshine-net o’erspread for capture?
Lift, lift thine eyes to mine, who love so wildly, madly—
Those eyes of brave desire, deep wells o’er-brimmed with rapture.
William Sharp.
RECALL.
“Love me, or I am slain!” I cried, and meant
Bitterly true each word. Nights, morns, slipped by,
Moons, circling suns, yet still alive am I;
But shame to me, if my best time be spent.