Whate'er betides, all beauty still is mine,
I drink—as did the old gods—of its wine!
Though Times should dim my eyes, yet I have seen
The hills and hollows gay with gold and green:
Roses have charmed me with a dear delight,
And Iris brought me joy in cups of white:—
For me the fairies hung on bush and tree
The marvel of the frost's bright filagree
And well I know where at the grey of morn
They threaded dew on cob-web, weed and thorn!
Lights of the Northern skies—and dancing flames,
And flowing seas—your colors have no names!
Day-shine across the uplands how you pass
Chased by the filmy shadows on the grass!
Oh, I have watched the little swallows fly
Down silver reaches of the twilight sky—
While through the Western gates another day
In sweeping golden garments passed away,—
I know how morning hastening from afar
Catches upon her rose-edged robes a star;
And often I have seen at Midnight's hour
The blooming of the Moon's gold wonder-flower.
O look, look, out upon the lovely earth
And take the gift she gave thee at thy birth!
Whate'er betides—all beauty still is thine,—
Drink deep—as did the old gods—of its wine!
A LOVE SONG
Oh haste thee, Sweet! Impatient now I wait,
The crescent moon swings low,—it groweth late,—
A night-bird sings of Life, and Love, and Fate!—
Oh haste, my Sweet! Youth and its gladness goes;
Joy hath one summer time—like to the rose
Love only, lives through all the winter's snows.
So haste, my Sweet! These hours are all our own:
But see!—A rose-leaf on the night-wind blown,—
For thee I wait—for thee I wait alone!—
So haste, my Sweet!
A SONG
O heart of mine—if I were but a swallow—
A thing so fearless, swift of flight, and free—
On wings unwearied I would find and follow
Some path that led to thee!
Were I a rose out in the garden growing
My sweetness I would give the vagrant breeze—
For he, perchance, might meet thee all unknowing—
Yet bring thee memories.