Only this have I done through the centuries past, Only this can I do through the years." "O wave, keep your tenderness all for the sea; But love has no choice; and the constant wave, A worshiper early and late, Still kisses the hem of his ever-green robe, PENANCE. He kissed me-and I know 'twas wrong, He pressed my hand-that wasn't right! But in it there were days and days! There's mischief in the moon, I know; FATALITY. But, after all, I'm not to blame, He took the kiss! I do think men Are quite without the sense of shame! I wonder when he'll come again? MY LADY'S EYES. By studying my lady's eyes I've grown so learned day by day, So Machiavelian in this wise, That when I send her flowers, I say To each small flower (no matter what- Syringa, or forget-me-not, Or voilet) before it goes: "Be not triumphant, little flower, FATALITY. I have seen her, with her golden hair, And my heart received its own despair— The thrall of a hopeless grace, And the knowledge of how youth dies. 5 Live hair afloat with snakes of gold, And a throat as white as snow, And a stately figure and foot, And that faint, pink smile, so sweet and cold, Like a wood-anemone cloud below The shade of an ilex root. And her delicate, milk-white hand in mine, And her eyes downcast as we speak. I am filled with a rapture vague and fine, And I know that all is hopeless now, Which will haunt us both, whatever the scene, Meanwhile, for one moment, hand in hand, We gaze on each other's eyes, And the red moon rises above us. We linger in love with the lovely land Italy, with its yearning skies, And its wild, white stars above us. OWEN MEREDITH. WHAT MY LOVER SAID. .7 WHAT MY LOVER SAID. By the merest chance, in the twilight gloom In the tall, wet grass, with its faint perfume- So I stood and blushed till the grass grew red, While he took my hand, as he whisp'ring said(How the clover lifted each pink, sweet head, To listen to all that my lover said! Oh, the clover in bloom-I love it!) In the high wet grass went the path to hide, But I could not pass upon either side, And he held me there, and he raised my head, And he looked down into my eyes and said— (How the leaves bent down from the boughs o'erhead To listen to all that my lover said! Oh, the leaves hanging lowly o'er me!) Had he moved aside but a little way, And he knew I never could wish to stay, It was almost dark, and the moments sped, Oh, the whispering wind around us!) I am sure he knew, when he held me fast, For I tried to go, and I would have passed, But he clasped me close when I would have fled, And his soul came out from his lips and said(How the stars crept out, where the white moon led, To listen to all that my lover said! Oh, the moon and the stars in glory!) I know that the grass and the leaves will not tell, And I'm sure that the wind-precious rover— Will carry his secret so safely and well That no being shall ever discover One word of the many that rapidly fell From the eager lips of my lover. |