Under the water,
Cold and so pale!
Could it be love made
Beauty to fail?
Ah me! for mortals:
In a few moons,
If I had left him,
After some Junes
He would have faded,
Faded away,
He, the young monarch, whom
All would obey,
Fairer than day;
Alien to springtime,
Joyless and grey,
He would have faded,
Faded away,
Moving a mockery,
Scorned of the day!
Now I have taken him
All in his prime,
Saved from slow poisoning
Pitiless Time,
Filled with his happiness,
One with the prime,
Saved from the cruel
Dishonour of Time,
Laid him, my beautiful,
Laid him to rest,
Loving, adorable,
Softly to rest,
Here in my crystalline,
Here in my breast!
A Casual Song.
She sang of lovers met to play
“Under the may bloom, under the may,”
But when I sought her face so fair,
I found the set face of Despair.
She sang of woodland leaves in spring,
And joy of young love dallying;
But her young eyes were all one moan,
And Death weighed on her heart like stone.
I could not ask, I know not now,
The story of that mournful brow;
It haunts me as it haunted then,
A flash from fire of hell-bound men.
“The Pity of it.”
RODEN NOEL
If our love may fail, Lily,
If our love may fail,
What will mere life avail, Lily,
Mere life avail?