« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »
Ready in heart and ready in hand,
Maud with her exquisite face,
And wild voice pealing up to the sunny sky,
And myself so languid and base.
Silence, beautiful voice,
Be still, for you only trouble the mind
Still! I will hear you no more;
For your sweetness hardly leaves me a choice
See the chariot at hand here of Love
Each that draws is a swan or a dove,
As she goes, all hearts do duty
Unto her beauty,
And enamoured do wish so they might
That they still were to run by her side,
Do but look on her eyes, they do light
Do but mark, her forehead's smoother
And from her arched brows such a grace
Sheds itself through the face,
As alone there triumphs to the life
All the gain, all the good of the element's strife
Have you seen a bright lily grow,
Before rude hands have touched it?
Have you marked but the fall o' the snow
Have you felt the wool of the Beaver?
Or Swan's down ever?
Or have smelt of the bud of the brier?
Or have tasted the bag of the bee?
O so white, O so soft, O so sweet is she!
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
FARE THEE WELL.
Fare thee well! and if forever,
'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel. Would that heart were bared before thee Where thy head so oft has lain,
FARE THEE WELL.
While that placid sleep came o'er thee
Though the world for this commend thee,
Love may sink by slow decay,
Still must mine, though bleeding, beat;
When her little hands shall press thee,
Those thou never more mayst see,
With a pulse yet true to me.
Whither, yet with thee they go.
Pride, which not a world could bow, Bows to thee,-by thee forsaken,
Even my soul forsakes me now; But 'tis done-all words are idle,
Words from me are vainer still; But the thoughts we cannot bridle
Force their way without the will. Fare thee well! thus disunited,
Torn from every nearer tie, Seared in heart, and love, and blighted,More than this I scarce can die.
IF MINE I COULD BUT CALL THEE.
If mine I could but call thee,