'TWIXT EARTH
AND STARS.

'TWIXT EARTH
AND STARS

POEMS

BY

MARGUERITE RADCLYFFE-HALL

JOHN AND EDWARD BUMPUS LTD.
350 OXFORD STREET, LONDON, W.

MCMVI

DEDICATED TO
MY INSPIRATION

I know that through the waves of air,

Some part of all I feel for you,

Must surely travel swift and true,

Towards the heart for which I care

So dumbly, and before it lay

The words my lips shall never say.

IN A GARDEN

In the garden a thousand roses,

A vine of jessamine flower,

Sweetpeas in coquettish poses,

Sweetbrier with its fragrant dower.

There are hollyhocks tall and slender,

And marigolds gay and fair,

And sunflowers in glowing splendour,

Geraniums rich and rare;

And the wee, white, innocent daisy,

Half hidden amid the lawn;

A bee grown drowsy and lazy—

On honey he's drunk since dawn—

Is reposing with wings extended

On some soft, passionate rose,

Aglow with a blush more splendid

Than ever a fair cheek knows.

While a thrush, in the ivy swinging

That clusters over the gate,

Athrob with the spring is singing,

And ardently calls his mate.

For the spirit of all sweet odours

The soul of a June unborn

Has hallowed my humble garden,

And whispered to me since dawn.

And the flowers in a prayer of rapture,

Bent low to that spell divine,

Are wafting their sweetest incense

In clouds, at his sunlit shrine.

IF YOU WERE A ROSE AND I WERE THE SUN
(Song)

If you were a Rose and I were the Sun

What then, little girl, what then?

I'd kiss you awake when day had begun,

My sweet little girl, what then?

I'd waken you out of your valley of dreams

And open your heart with my passionate beams,

'Till you lifted your face to my ruddiest gleams,

My own little girl, yes then.

If you were the Earth and I were the Dew,

What then, little girl, what then?

Why surely the thing all lovers would do,

My sweet little girl, what then?

I'd steal through the twilight, o'er valley and lea,

And flood you with kisses, both tender and free

'Till the soul in you throbbed with the love that's in me,

My own little girl, yes then.

But I am a man and you are a maid,

What then, little girl, what then?

You're cold in your pride, and I am afraid,

My sweet little girl, what then?

If you cannot love me and I cannot die

There's nothing in life but the ghost of a sigh,

And the day growing dark 'neath a colourless sky;

My own little girl, yes then.

DRIFTING

It is sweet to lie in a boat,

And drift with the languid stream,

With body and soul afloat

The lake of a perfect dream.

It is sweet in the afternoon,

With just the breath of a breeze,

If the time be the month of June

And the birds sing low in the trees.

And the mind has a pleasant thought,

And the heart has a fond desire,

And the soul is a tissue wrought

Of youth, and it's golden fire.

And the limbs are both clean and strong,

And able to rest with joy,

And our time in the world is long,

With nothing that can destroy

The rapture of God's green earth,

The throb and the ecstasy

That springs into life with birth,

And lives through eternity.

TO ——

Dear heart! I was going away,

Could you not have spared me an hour

Of all your bountiful day?

No moment, no word, no flower

To keep; not even a tear?

My soul was so thirsty, dear!

LOVE TRIUMPHANT

Ere the first grief was born

Love was.

And after griefs are gone

Love still shall triumph on.

Ere the first grief was born

Love was.

In Eden grief became

Love's slave.

For in the dust and woe

Lost Adam still could know

Fond recompense, and so

Did grief become Love's slave.

MY ROSE

A Rose! but what can it say,

So tender, and sweet, and dumb;

What part of my love convey,

What thrill of the joys to come?

I send it, but how shall you,

Dear heart, ever understand

That rapturous tear of dew,

It drops on your strong white hand?

Or know that my lips have pressed

Those petals until they blush,

Or feel that my heart has blessed

The flower that your touch may crush?

IF ONLY

Oh! if one could only learn not to care,

To be utterly indifferent storm or fair;

And to say there's always pain

With the joy, I don't complain,

For the sunshine draws the rain

Everywhere.

Oh! if one could only learn not to feel;

To be absolutely callous, false or real;

And to let the world go by,

With a laugh to cap its sigh,

With a jest to meet its lie,

Cold as steel.

CONFESSION

Within the portals of thy shrine

Before thy presence, dearest mine,

I kneel, beseeching thee to bless

My penitence, while I confess,

And can a saint do any less?

If I have sinned as others do,

All human hearts the wide world through

Are erring things, and then with me

My greatest wrong was loving thee,

Wilt thou condemn my constancy?

Look down, dear heart, and let thine eyes

Commend my soul to Paradise.

He little sins, who sins in this

That to obtain eternal bliss

Seeks the communion of a kiss.

SUNLIGHT ON DISTANT HILLS
(Ledbury)

But a moment since and the sun was shining

Over the hills that I see from my room.

And now the rain and the mist come driving

Out of the West, in a cloud of gloom.

Over the woods, and meadows, and gardens,

Hurries the storm like the hand of Doom.

But a moment hence and the clouds shall vanish;

Breaking and drifting and all asunder.

And lo! in their midst will the sky be lying

Calm and blue with a peaceful wonder

Nothing may alter, though sorrow and tempest

Torture the Earth, as she trembles under.

MY LOVE

My love is a bird with a broken wing,

Alone in a stormy night;

My love is a lark that forgets to sing

And dies with the morning light.

My love is a rose that the wind has torn,

And crushed with a breath of pain;

My love is song with the sweetness gone,

A tune with a lost refrain.

My love is a ghost that has missed its way,

A spirit from Heaven cast;

My love is a joy of a bygone day,

The soul of a burning past.

A MEMORY

No, I have not forgotten you,

Although I went my way

Unanswered, as you wished me to,

With none to bid me stay.

For in my heart there is a space

Whose door you closed to me,

Locked in the memory of your face;

Then took away the key.

TO ——

What you deny me, you gave;

You cannot take it again

In life and after the grave

There is something that even then,

Death will not kill or destroy,

It is so with the hearts of men.

Even your pride cannot rob

My life of its blessed past;

You cannot recall one throb,

One glance of the many cast

From those dear, passionate eyes;

These things will be mine to the last.

ON THE MOUNTAIN

Below and above, yes, over and under us,

Swift clouds hover, and speed and fly;

Nothing we see that can hurt or sunder us

Here in the arms of the circling sky.

Surely we two must belong to each other,

Silently mated where none are nigh

Save God our Father, and Earth our Mother,

And sweetest of all, dear,—You and I.

TO ——

When she turns aside to pass us by,

With a little smile or a glance only

We are all alone, my Heart and I,

We are all alone, and very lonely.

THE PRAYER

There stood beside the road a shrine,

In whose quaint, vaulted shadow smiled

With eyes of tenderness divine,

The Blessed Virgin and Her Child.

And I, who wandered all alone,

Along a rough and weary way,

Felt that a great desire had grown

Within my heart, to kneel and pray.

But lo! my voice had lost the power

To utter words so deep and sweet,

And so, I breathed them in a flower,

And left it, at the Virgin's feet.

IF

If all the words you spoke, dear,

Were every one untrue,

There can be nothing good, dear,

In earth, or sun, or dew;

And all the world's a lie, dear,

Because of you.

If all the smiles you gave, dear,

Were only to beguile,

Why then there's nothing sweet, dear,

In any human smile;

And what we deem most fair, dear,

Is only vile.

If every kiss that lingered

Upon the lips you pressed,

Was but an empty token,

More fickle than the rest;

I wish that I had died, dear,

For death were best.

A LAMENT

Like a song that is sung, like a tale that is told,

The life in me hushes the voice of its gladness;

Youth walks by my side, but his hands have grown cold,

And deep in his eyes lurks the shadow of sadness.

Alas! for the flowers that never come to me;

Alas! for the morning again, now day closes;

The joy of a love is as nothing, for through me

There passes the deep-wounding thorn of the roses.

TO ——

The wind's on the hill,

The sun's on the lea,

The lark's on the wing

And the dawn's on the sea,

And the rapture that springeth of Love, is on me.

THOUGHTS

Ah! the kiss of the sweet night air,

And the still, deep eyes of the cloudy skies,

Grown dim with peace:

Peace, the angel of death, that is everywhere.

Ah! the bliss of the soul at rest,

And of eyes that weep growing calm in sleep,

Hushéd by night:

Night, the shadow of death, that in blessing is blessed.

SHIPS

Fair ships, happy and free,

Smile on the lonely sea,

Only to fade again

Into the mist and rain.

Ah! me.

Thus do bright hopes appear

On life's vast ocean drear;

Hopes that beguile the mind,

And passing leave behind

A tear.

THE DREAM-CHILD

There is a child who will come to me,

Often at dusk, when my mind is free.

She is the child that I used to be,

When I was only nine.

Over her hair is a wreath of flowers,

Those are the thoughts of the golden hours

Spent in the glory of childhood's bowers,

Fancy, those thoughts were mine!

Butterflies whiter than flakes of snow

Hover around her lips, and oh!

They are the prayers that I used to know,

God may remember still.

God who they tell us will not forget

Even a penitent child's regret!

Now I am callous of prayers, and yet—

Ah, how I hope that He will.

THE DAY

The day walks over the mountains,

To the splash of a thousand fountains,

To the song of a million streams.

Her hair is unbound and flowing,

Her eyes are as bluebells growing

In a valley of shade and dreams.

Her breast, than the snow is whiter,

Her lips, than the poppies brighter,

Her limbs are as strong white fire.

Thus she comes from the sky above her

To the arms of the Earth her lover,

In a splendour of warm desire.

FROM MY SOUL

Oh! but to find expression for the thoughts,

So marvellous and yet so undefined,

That flow from out the palpitating soul

To consecrate the mind.

Oh! but to have the gift to put in words,

That potent passion, that divine desire,

That thrills the aching spirit with unrest

And sets the brain on fire.

Oh! God, but once to rise above the flesh,

To breathe our inmost thoughts in one vast sigh

Of rapture. Oh! to realise ourselves,

And at that moment ... die.

WE

We who are made

Brave yet afraid,

Happy yet sad,

Good and yet bad,

Sane and yet mad,

What can we do?

Turmoil and strife,

Passion and life,

Love and desire,

Can these inspire

Spiritual fire?

How can we live?

Stumbling feet,

Tasks incomplete,

Longings that kill

Even the will,

Left to fulfil,

How can we die?

Little have we

Bond and yet free,

Strong and yet weak,

Proud and yet meek,

Save but to seek

God in it all.

God with His hands

Holds all the lands;

Rules every sea,

Sets the winds free,

Counts every tree,

Makes every leaf.

Then shall we fear?

He placed us here.

If God commands

God understands,

Ponders, and plans;

Knowing it all.

TO SINGERS

Sing with your intellect and soul combined;

Not all technique, nor yet all wild emotion,

Thus shall you touch the heart and please the mind,

Winning a real and merited devotion.

THE MAY TREE

A garden in the month of May,

The fading of a golden day

Upon the tulip flowers.

An anthem sung by little birds,

The sigh more eloquent than words

Of earth to listening hours.

And shadows ... like the fringe that lies

On cheek, at close of drowsy eyes,

And paths, grown damp with dew;

And secret places, where to tread

Were to disturb the bridal bed

Of creatures born anew.

And fairer than each living thing

That stirs with longings of the Spring,

A May tree, bearing flower.

Like some young nymph the sunlight charms

She stretches forth her slender arms,

New decked with leafy dower.

While through her wondrous, living form

The sap of life leaps strong and warm,

Awaking from repose

The folded buds to know the Spring,

It seems I almost hear them sing

For rapture as it flows.

Ay! and it seems as though my heart

Strained upward, but to take some part

In that sweet hymn of praise;

As though my pulses quicker beat,

To see perfection so complete

Revealéd to my gaze.

As though the problem of unrest

Were solved at last, in this behest

To silently fulfil;

And deeper still, my soul perceives

The mighty Presence that conceives

Such beauty at Its will.

PURGATORY

She said, "I want to live no matter what

The penalty, give me on earth the lot

I most desire.

Let me drink deep of love, of joy, of life.

Scatter the roses, let the wine run rife

Dear Gods above, and then let fall the knife

I will expire."

The Gods smiled sadly, very well they knew

Her ardent spirit could ascend the blue,

And force their will.

Such weak old Deities these latter days

Could but comply to her imperious ways.

With woeful doubts they showed the flowery maze

Of rapturous ill.

And she was happy: with that hot content

That burns away the flesh, that ravishment

Of youth grown bold.

Until one morn the roses of her bed

Were turned to nettles, all the joy was dead,

The passion cold.

She cried, "Now let me die, to live a day

Were Purgatory. See the awful way

I gaze upon."

The Gods were silent; powerless to avert

The consequence, grown wearily inert.

So—she lived on.

TO ——

The sound of the waves is the sound of tears,

And the wind that drifts on the sea

Is the restless ghost of the bygone years,

With their pain and their ecstasy.

The far white ships with their shining sails

Are the hopes of a faithful heart,

Sent forth to fight through the storm and gales,

With never a guiding chart.

And what of the pilot who stands above

And steadfastly holds the wheel?

Oh! he is the man who believed in love

Before he forgot to feel.

A SPRING POSY

A spray of blossoms, and as well

Some violets, gathered yesterday

From leafy wood and shaded dell,

Sweet children of a fruitful May;

Dear minstrels of that silent lay

More potent than an organ's swell.

And now they're withered! all the joy

Has gone for ever, and the scent;

Relentless fingers can alloy

So much of nature's sentiment,

So many strains of deep content,

It takes so little to destroy.

AWAKENING

To open both your drowsy eyes,

To stretch your limbs and realise

That day is here.

To watch the dancing, shifting beam

Of sun, awake yet half in dream,

Uncertain if the fitful gleam

Be far or near.

To turn with soft, contented sigh,

And through the window watch the sky,

All opal blue.

To feel the air steal in the room,

Made fragrant by the soft perfume

Of lime-trees, when their scented bloom

Is damp with dew.

To hear the rustling voice of leaves,

The chirp of birds beneath the eaves,

But now awake.

The tiny hum of timid things

That fly with gauzy, fragile wings,

Where yet the dusk to daylight clings,

When mornings break.

To feel the soul look forth and smile,

Contented with each fruitful mile

That it beholds.

To hear the heart beat loud and strong,

In unison with Nature's song,

That echoes tremulous and long

While dawn unfolds.

To know yourself a thing complete,

With strength of mind and limb replete,

With vast desire;

A creature made to dominate

The lesser things of earth, a fate

On whom the universe must wait,

With force entire.

And then to cry in deep delight

God made the world and made it right;

Dear Heaven above!

Was ere completeness so complete,

Was ever sweetness half so sweet,

Was ever loving half so meet;

Thank God for love.

SHE IS DEAD

Well! She is dead and gone,

God willed it so.

Died ere her child was born,

Ever to know.

Dead! oh, how still and cold!

Yet full of rest.

She was not very old

Still, it was best.

Hush, chide her not, not now,

Save by a tear,

Dropped on that marble brow

So smooth and dear.

Pity her as she lies

There all alone;

Tenderly close her eyes,

Sorrowful grown.

Yes; she has sinned maybe,

Willing to fall,

Yet now forgive ... ah! see,

Death atones all.

TO ——

Dear, if you were in this city,

In this misty, dreary city,

With its sombre walls and towers—

All its poorer streets and byways,

All its richer streets and highways,

All the buildings stern and old,

And the river deep and cold,

Would become as summer to me,

Decked with sweet, perfuming flowers.

THE WHOLE OF IT

A joy that passes, a pain that stays,

Such is life.

A moment's rapture, then weary days,

Years of strife,

Such is life.

A kiss of passion, a sigh of pain,

Such is love.

A flash of splendour, then night again,

God above,

Such is love!

A sudden blindness, a creeping fear,

Such is death.

An awful vastness, an unknown sphere,

Choking breath,

And then ... death.

A SONG

A cloud is over the sun,

The wind is laden with rain,

A frost has smitten the flowers;

The time of Winter is pain.

But kiss me and I shall live,

The sun shall nourish the plain,

The dawn be happy with birds

And love bring Summer again.

IF LIKE THE BIRD

If like the bird who sits and swings

Upon a branch, and blithely sings,

I could but spread two faithful wings,

And by their aid could smoothly skim

The highest peaks, the summits dim,

Until I reached the sunlight's rim,

Would I not then in pity gaze

Upon the turmoil and the maze

Of earth, and all its foolish ways?

A FRAGMENT

Chance made me look at you,

Chance was no friend!

Sight made me worship you,

Time without end.

Had I been only blind

What had I cared,

And thus, afflicted sore

How much been spared!

AN EVEN PSALM

With silent feet all wet with dew,

Comes evening full of soft repose,

To kiss the valley deep and blue,

With wistful lips, and eyes that close.

Her breath is soft, and full of peace,

Her arms outstretchéd to caress

Fling benedictions without cease,

She seems a spirit borne to bless.

And as the evening to the earth,

Came love to me, a boon most rare;

Hushed every sorrow at its birth,

And turned complaining into prayer.

A BUTTERFLY

A butterfly hovered over a flower,

In a bower,

With the joy of life at his lips for an hour.

With the rose's petals against his wings,

And the rose's perfume that steals and clings

Touching every breath with a wondrous power.

Then the Night came on, and the wind blew cold

O'er the wold.

The butterfly shivered, grown tired and old;

The rose closed her passionate eyes and slept,

While death to her lover in silence crept;

He died of a joy untold.

DISAPPOINTMENT

How little there is that e'er goes right

In this old world of ours.

Anticipation? a vague delight;

Reality? well, the rose with a blight,

The thorn that comes with the flowers.

TO THE SEA

What can I sing to thee

Oh! thrice-beloved sea?

What words can paint thy grace,

The beauty of thy face,

Enrapt with ecstasy?

Fling up thy foamy arms,

Laden with cooling balms,

And touch me where I stand

Here on the yearning land,

With soft embrace that calms.

I gaze into thine eyes,

Where mystic shadow lies,

And lovelights glow and gleam

Within their emerald beam,

And passion lives and dies—

Until my heart grows still

Beneath thy magic will,

And I can hear and see

Naught but thy song and thee,

That seems the world to fill.

Upon thy swelling breast

Restless and yet at rest,

My spirit floats and sings,

While Summer laughs and springs

From off thy snow-white crest.

Behold my hot desire

For thee to quench the fire,

With dewy kiss that slips

From thy divine, wet lips,

Making my joy entire.

Lift up thine endless song,

And echo it along

Until all space rejoice,

In thine enchanted voice,

That sounds so sweet and strong.

Until the rocks and beach

Break forth in answering speech,

And every listening shell

Some praise of thee can tell;

Some joy of thee can teach.

Oh, sea that knows no death!

Oh, life-inspiring breath!

The heart of me would praise

The glory of thy days,

Thine evenings, fathomless.

The soul in me would sing

To that eternal Spring

Beneath thy heaving breast,

Where lurk the depths of rest,

The end of everything.

AFTER ALL?

The gladness and the pain,

The sunshine and the rain,

The laughter and the sigh,

They all must pass and die;

And in the by-and-by,

Who'll care to question why?

YOU

You have my thoughts and know it not.

The livelong day I think of you,

The still, dark night I dream of you,

Each moment's life I live to you,

And yet you know it not.

You have my heart and know it not,

Its every beat is love for you,

Each sigh a drop of blood for you,

Its ceaseless ache regret for you,

And yet you know it not.

You have my soul and know it not,

It makes you God and worships you,

Forgets its claim on Heaven for you,

Forsakes its hope of life for you,

And yet—you know it not.

REMEMBER

Remember, sweet! some evening when you sit

With idle hands, and book but half read through;

When those dear eyes of yours find incomplete

The landscape deep in shade and wet with dew;

When that clear mind of yours goes wandering out

To seek contentment, ay, and finds no rest;

When those grave thoughts of yours are filled with doubt,

And vague mistrust of all the world deems best;

Remember!—for one hour we conquered fate;

Filled in the blanks and set the puzzle right;

We were complete, a glorious, living whole,

A perfect cadence of supreme delight—

I think eternity was ours that night.

AN ECHO

In passion's hour I met you,

And now that from my soul I'm old,

Whene'er I watch the pale young moon,

Or misty glow of sunset gold,

Some echo of the past comes back,

Like wild, sweet song o'er lonely track

Lest I should e'er forget you.

FLOWER LOVE

"Where is she?" sighed the rose-trees,

The honeysuckle creepers,

The pansies, and the lilies,

And the little hidden flowers.

"We are lonely here without her,

In the sunlight, in the twilight,

In the daytime, in the night-time,

Through the solitary hours."

"I know not," said the young wind,

"Yet will I surely seek her,

And whisper low your message

Oh faithful-hearted few.

For men may kiss in passing,

And the world forget its passion,

But the soil, remembers ever,

And the love of flowers is true."

THE FOND LOVER

I am but little in your sight,

A passing thought, a fleeting light

That gone, forgotten lies.

The humble pastime, that you chose

To honour, as you might a rose,

O'er which you cast your eyes.

Were I some simple, lifeless thing,

A book you read, an oft-worn ring,

A favourite flower you wear,

I might be close to you and know

The rapture and the living glow

Of lips, and breast, and hair.

But as it is, the earth you press,

The clinging texture of your dress,

The jewel on your hand

Know more of Heaven and joys therein

Than I, whose soul has never been

Where it could understand.

ROSES FALL

One by one the roses' petals fall to earth;

Though God's sun is still above them,

And the ardent breezes love them

They must die.

Ere their greatest joy is born,

Lo! they wither and are gone;

Like a rose my hope must perish

In a sigh.

A FRAGMENT

If you were just one street away,

One only!

I know that in my heart I'd say

I'm lonely.

But with the world between us two

A-lying,

I hear my soul cry out, "For you

I'm dying!"

DISSATISFACTION

Our love is near akin unto regret;

We love, and are beloved again, and yet

There oft is something that we lack.

So Life is very near akin to Death,

We live and laugh awhile, yet with each breath

Something is passing, that will ne'er come back.

ONE EVENING

The damp, sweet smell of the earth after rain,

A golden rift in the sky,

The deepening twilight, the purple plain,

And you and I.

The strange, still hush of the slumbering world,

The mist in the wood close by,

A deer that nibbles a leaf dew-pearled,

And you and I.

The falling rain has left tremulous lakes

Where the shattered branches lie;

The storm has bowed the tree till it breaks,

And you and I!

Yet the green earth smiles through the tears she wept;

With one long, rapturous sigh

The Noon in the arms of Night has crept,

And you and I?

TO ——

I thought that I might see you, sweet,

That after all this weary year

By some good fortune we might meet,

And kiss each other here.

I told my heart to bide awhile,

And not to faint with vain regret;

I even forced my lips to smile,

My conscience to forget.

I killed depression as it rose,

And built new castles on the sand;

This was the place my fancy chose

That I should hold your hand.

And I have held your hand, my dear,

A second, daring not to press

Your finger-tips, in mortal fear

To meet your eyes; and yet I bless

That little moment none the less.

MY SOUL, THE DEATHLESS

Hush! my soul is singing;

Through the still night ringing

Sounds its voice.

Till the dark in wonder

Seemeth cleft asunder,

And the stars rejoice.

E'en the air is breathless,

For my soul, the deathless,

Sings of thee.

Beats its wings of fire,

In the vast desire

For eternity.

Lifts its eyes of splendour

Full of deep surrender

For thy sake.

Bids me let it press thee

In its arms, and bless thee

Till thy love awake.

WHAT AM I?

What am I to presume to say

Were you good or bad,

Was I wrong or right?

After all life's only a day

And perhaps—a night.

What am I to set up for Judge?

Shall I wound myself

With a vain regret?

Our fleeting pleasure if Time begrudge

Can he not forget?

The thrill of it all is past we know,

Say we both were right,

And we both were wrong,

There's little enough joy here below,

And love's none too long.

WHAT A PITY!

What a pity that all our wishes,

And most of our prayers are vain;

When we strive to recall a pleasure,

Or crave to forget a pain.

When the motives we deemed sufficient,

Seem paltry, and mean, and weak;

And the goal we'd have lost our soul for,

Is that which we least would seek.

And the pride of those vast ambitions,

That rendered our hopes so great

Has become but the coal-black cinders,

Consumed in the fire of fate.

What a pity! that blind with folly,

We fancied all incomplete

Every flower of the true contentment,

That grew by our careless feet;

Nor did pause in our path, to gather

The fruits of a gracious Spring;

Or to seek in our hearts the anthem

We called on the world to sing.

Ah, well! maybe God will remember,

As payment of many debts,

The penance of sad non-attainments,

The sackcloth of vain regrets.

And perhaps the Recording Angel

May wipe out the faults of years

With the hem of His shining garment,

Grown damp with a sinner's tears.

SONG

Good-morning, sweet! a thousand little birds

Their requiem to you sing;

And tender flowers, with soft, perfuming words

Their greetings bring.

Good-morning, sweet! this faithful heart of mine

Offers devotion vast as Heaven above,

Beneath thy window, worships at thy shrine;

Good-morning, love.

Good-morning, sweet! the glory of the day

Is naught compared to thee;

Come forth and smile, with rapture bright and gay,

That I may see.

Good-morning, sweet! look up that I may live,

Kiss me that I may taste of Heaven here,

The joys of Paradise are thine to give,

Good-morning, dear!

TIREDNESS

It is weary, weary this waiting,

For that which can never be.

It is dreary, dreary this mating,

With tears and despondency.

And methinks if beneath the grasses,