 | Poems and Sonnets |  |
189
THE FIRST.
As dreams at morning fly
And leave no trace behind,
When we draw up the blind,
To the limbo of mists consigned,
So when to thee I sigh
Cleared are the clouds of my mind—
And leave no trace behind,
When we draw up the blind,
To the limbo of mists consigned,
So when to thee I sigh
Cleared are the clouds of my mind—
Cleared are the clouds of my mind,
Breaks forth and shines the blue
Wet dismal fog-damps through,
Slays fancies false the true,
And faces false I find
Fly before thought of you.
Breaks forth and shines the blue
Wet dismal fog-damps through,
Slays fancies false the true,
And faces false I find
Fly before thought of you.
190
O darling do not leave
My side, or I shall die,
To you my soul doth cry,
To you my heart doth fly,
For loss of you I grieve
As the flowers at sunset sigh;
My side, or I shall die,
To you my soul doth cry,
To you my heart doth fly,
For loss of you I grieve
As the flowers at sunset sigh;
Come back at least in dreams,
And let me see your face,
If but for some short space,
And let my fancy trace
Deep hair of thine that gleams,
Ringlets that interlace;
And let me see your face,
If but for some short space,
And let my fancy trace
Deep hair of thine that gleams,
Ringlets that interlace;
Come to me when you can—
As sighs for the scent of the rose
Air where a rosebud blows
I sigh, my wings I close,
They hang down weak and wan,
My life-stream stagnant flows,
As sighs for the scent of the rose
Air where a rosebud blows
I sigh, my wings I close,
They hang down weak and wan,
My life-stream stagnant flows,
191
O sweet, come, quicken the life
In my veins, make roses blow,
Melt sad white widths of snow,
Bid gladsome streamlets flow
Till all the air is rife
With melody, freed from woe;
In my veins, make roses blow,
Melt sad white widths of snow,
Bid gladsome streamlets flow
Till all the air is rife
With melody, freed from woe;
As for me I am weary,
I lie and think of you
And paint a likeness true,
As songbirds love the blue
Bright skies I love you dearie,
Each dawn my love is new;
I lie and think of you
And paint a likeness true,
As songbirds love the blue
Bright skies I love you dearie,
Each dawn my love is new;
As songbirds hate the winter,
Short days and nights that freeze,
No flowers and leafless trees,
As songbirds cease the breeze
With shafts of song to splinter,
So am I ill at ease,
Short days and nights that freeze,
No flowers and leafless trees,
As songbirds cease the breeze
With shafts of song to splinter,
So am I ill at ease,
192
Sick, silent, when we're parted,
Unhappy till we meet,
Till sound of some one's feet
Is heard, and hands that greet
Make whole the heart that smarted,
Rebuild the broken street;
Unhappy till we meet,
Till sound of some one's feet
Is heard, and hands that greet
Make whole the heart that smarted,
Rebuild the broken street;
Sweet love, I cannot say
Though I try the things I would—
Ah! if I only could,
If at your feet I stood
The gift of a voice one day
Made mine, sweet, then you should
Though I try the things I would—
Ah! if I only could,
If at your feet I stood
The gift of a voice one day
Made mine, sweet, then you should
Know what your Beauty means,
And how my heart is riven,
And how in vain I've striven
To reach the heights of Heaven
With pen that only gleans
Stray ears, through Earth's fields driven;
And how my heart is riven,
And how in vain I've striven
To reach the heights of Heaven
With pen that only gleans
Stray ears, through Earth's fields driven;
193
I find my life flow sadly,
And many a stagnant pool
Is there, and breezes cool
Are absent, 'tis the rule
It seems for daytime badly
And night to use their tool;
And many a stagnant pool
Is there, and breezes cool
Are absent, 'tis the rule
It seems for daytime badly
And night to use their tool;
But if your life flows gladly
Something that is to know,
Then all things are not woe,
And grass beneath the snow
Is green yet, and less madly
Our pulses come and go;
Something that is to know,
Then all things are not woe,
And grass beneath the snow
Is green yet, and less madly
Our pulses come and go;
If Beauty is, and you, sweet,
Are Beautiful, 'tis well!
The cold and fires of hell
Have not sufficed to quell
All things, and your white feet,
Unsinged, the good news tell;
Are Beautiful, 'tis well!
The cold and fires of hell
Have not sufficed to quell
All things, and your white feet,
Unsinged, the good news tell;
194
Be perfect; let your Beauty
Bud, blossom, like a rose,
Straight as a rose-tree grows
Rise, proud and pure as snows,
The sons of men for booty
To you Fate, smiling, throws;
Bud, blossom, like a rose,
Straight as a rose-tree grows
Rise, proud and pure as snows,
The sons of men for booty
To you Fate, smiling, throws;
And all I claim—I do claim
This much—is right of place;
I was the first to trace
In dust before your face
My form, the first that came,
The foremost in the race,
This much—is right of place;
I was the first to trace
In dust before your face
My form, the first that came,
The foremost in the race,
First lover of them all,
The first to speak your praise,
The first a psalm to raise
With heart and lips a-blaze
Fast bound in Beauty's thrall,
The first your Beauty slays!
The first to speak your praise,
The first a psalm to raise
With heart and lips a-blaze
Fast bound in Beauty's thrall,
The first your Beauty slays!
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