Part 3 (1/2)

MOONLIGHT.

JACQUES TAHUREAU, 15271555.

THE high Midnight was garlanding her head With many a s.h.i.+ning star in s.h.i.+ning skies, And, of her grace, a slumber on mine eyes, And, after sorrow, quietness was shed.

Far in dim fields cicalas jargoned A thin shrill clamour of complaints and cries; And all the woods were pallid, in strange wise, With pallor of the sad moon overspread.

Then came my lady to that lonely place, And, from her palfrey stooping, did embrace And hang upon my neck, and kissed me over; Wherefore the day is far less dear than night, And sweeter is the shadow than the light, Since night has made me such a happy lover.

LOVE IN MAY.

Pa.s.sERAT, 1580.

OFF with sleep, love, up from bed, This fair morn; See, for our eyes the rosy red New dawn is born; Now that skies are glad and gay In this gracious month of May, Love me, sweet, Fill my joy in br.i.m.m.i.n.g measure, In this world he hath no pleasure, That will none of it.

Come, love, through the woods of spring, Come walk with me; Listen, the sweet birds jargoning From tree to tree.

List and listen, over all Nightingale most musical That ceases never; Grief begone, and let us be For a s.p.a.ce as glad as he; Time's flitting ever.

Old Time, that loves not lovers, wears Wings swift in flight; All our happy life he bears Far in the night.

Old and wrinkled on a day, Sad and weary shall you say, 'Ah, fool was I, That took no pleasure in the grace Of the flower that from my face Time has seen die.'

Leave then sorrow, teen, and tears Till we be old; Young we are, and of our years Till youth be cold Pluck the flower; while spring is gay In this happy month of May, Love me, love; Fill our joy in br.i.m.m.i.n.g measure; In this world he hath no pleasure That will none thereof.

THE GRAVE AND THE ROSE.

VICTOR HUGO.

THE Grave said to the Rose, 'What of the dews of dawn, Love's flower, what end is theirs?'

'And what of spirits flown, The souls whereon doth close The tomb's mouth unawares?'

The Rose said to the Grave.

The Rose said, 'In the shade From the dawn's tears is made A perfume faint and strange, Amber and honey sweet.'

'And all the spirits fleet Do suffer a sky-change, More strangely than the dew, To G.o.d's own angels new,'

The Grave said to the Rose.

THE GENESIS OF b.u.t.tERFLIES.

VICTOR HUGO.