Volume Ii Part 56 (1/2)

From the meadow your walks have left so sweet That whenever a March-wind sighs He sets the jewel-print of your feet In violets blue as your eyes, To the woody hollows in which we meet And the valleys of Paradise.

The slender acacia would not shake One long milk-bloom on the tree; The white lake-blossom fell into the lake As the pimpernel dozed on the lea; But the rose was awake all night for your sake, Knowing your promise to me; The lilies and roses were all awake, They sighed for the dawn and thee.

Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls, Come hither, the dances are done, In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls, Queen lily and rose in one; s.h.i.+ne out, little head, sunning over with curls, To the flowers, and be their sun.

There has fallen a splendid tear From the pa.s.sion-flower at the gate.

She is coming, my dove, my dear; She is coming, my life, my fate; The red rose cries, ”She is near, she is near”; And the white rose weeps, ”She is late”; The larkspur listens, ”I hear, I hear”; And the lily whispers, ”I wait.”

She is coming my own, my sweet; Were it ever so airy a tread, My heart would hear her and beat, Were it earth in an earthy bed; My dust would hear her and beat, Had I lain for a century dead; Would start and tremble under her feet, And blossom in purple and red.

Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892]

AT HER WINDOW

Ah, Minstrel, how strange is The carol you sing!

Let Psyche, who ranges The garden of spring, Remember the changes December will bring.

Beating Heart! we come again Where my Love reposes: This is Mabel's window-pane; These are Mabel's roses.

Is she nested? Does she kneel In the twilight stilly, Lily clad from throat to heel, She, my virgin Lily?

Soon the wan, the wistful stars, Fading, will forsake her; Elves of light, on beamy bars, Whisper then, and wake her.

Let this friendly pebble plead At her flowery grating; If she hear me will she heed?

Mabel, I am waiting.

Mabel will be decked anon, Zoned in bride's apparel; Happy zone! Oh hark to yon Pa.s.sion-shaken carol!

Sing thy song, thou tranced thrush, Pipe thy best, thy clearest;-- Hush, her lattice moves, oh hush-- Dearest Mabel!--dearest....

Frederick Locker-Lampson [1821-1895]

BEDOUIN SONG

From the Desert I come to thee On a stallion shod with fire; And the winds are left behind In the speed of my desire.

Under thy window I stand, And the midnight hears my cry: I love thee, I love but thee, With a love that shall not die Till the sun grows cold, And the stars are old, And the leaves of the Judgment Book unfold!

Look from thy window and see My pa.s.sion and my pain; I lie on the sands below, And I faint in thy disdain.

Let the night-winds touch thy brow With the heat of my burning sigh, And melt thee to hear the vow Of a love that shall not die Till the sun grows cold, And the stars are old, And the leaves of the Judgment Book unfold!

My steps are nightly driven, By the fever in my breast, To hear from thy lattice breathed The word that shall give me rest.