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On Viol and Flute

By Edmund W. Gosse
Gosse, Edmund (1849-1928)
  
[dedication]
  
[dedication]
  
[epigraph]

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[section]
  
AD AUDITOREM.
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ALLEGRO.
  
SUNRISE BY THE SEA.
  
THE ALMOND TREE.
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FORTUNATE LOVE.
 I. 
I. FIRST SIGHT.
 II. 
II. ELATION.
 III. 
III. IN CHURCH-TIME.
 IV. 
IV. DEJECTION AND DELAY.
 V. 
V. EXPECTATION.
 VI. 
VI. IN THE GRASS.
 VII. 
VII. RESERVATION.
 VIII. 
VIII. BY THE WELL.
 IX. 
IX. MAY-DAY.
 X. 
X. MISTRUST.
 XI. 
XI. EAVESDROPPING.
 XII. 
XII. A GARDEN-PIECE.
 XIII. 
XIII. CONFIDENT LOVE.
 XIV. 
XIV. LOVERS' QUARREL.
 XV. 
XV. RECONCILIATION.
 XVI. 
XVI. THE FEAR OF DEATH.
 XVII. 
XVII. EXPERIENCE.
 XVIII. 
XVIII. THE EXCHANGE.
 XIX. 
XIX. UNDER THE APPLE-TREE.
 XX. 
XX. EPITHALAMIUM
  
FLOWER OF THE MARIGOLD.
  
SUNSHINE BEFORE SUNRISE.
  
LYING IN THE GRASS.
  
PARADISE.
  
ELSINORE.
  
IN THE BAY.
  
FROM THE NORWEGIAN OF IBSEN.
  
LÜBECK.
  
MOORLAND.
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ANDANTE.
  
[O wind of Provence, subtle wind that blows]
  
ENCOMIUM MORTIS.
  
REVOLT.
  
INITIUM AMORIS.
  
OLD AND NEW.
  
A FAREWELL.
  
PERFUME.
  
THE RENAISSANCE.
  
SONG.
  
GUENEVERE.
  
ON A LUTE FOUND IN A SARCOPHAGUS.
  
THE PARADISE OF A WEARIED SOUL.
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SONNETS FROM THE ITALIAN OF FRANCESCO REDI.
 I. 
I. PROEM.
 II. 
II. THE GARDEN OF EARTHLY LOVE.
 III. 
III. CAPTIVITY.
 IV. 
IV. HEAVENLY LOVE.
 V. 
V. THE CREATION OF MY LADY.
 VI. 
VI. GRIEF.
 VII. 
VII. THE MUSIC OF THE SPHERES.
 VIII. 
VIII. LOVE THE MUSICIAN.
 IX. 
IX. THE END OF EARTHLY LOVE.
 X. 
X. REPENTANCE.
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ADAGIO.
  
[The saint of old who saw the witch-fire shine]
  
THE APOTHEOSIS OF ST. DOROTHY.
  
HOLY THURSDAY.
  
SPILLENDE GENIER.
  
ILLICET.
  
OLD TREES.
  
TO HENRIK IBSEN IN DRESDEN.
  
D. G. R.
  
FORGOTTEN.
  
SPIRITUAL DAWN.
  
FOR THE NEW YEAR.
  
1870—71.
  
THE MANDRAKES.
  
AD AUDITOREM.

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29

XI. EAVESDROPPING.

While May was merry in the leafy trees
I found my fair one sitting all alone,
Where round our well the long light ferns had grown
So high, so deep, that she was drowned in these,
And her bright face and yellow buoyant hair
Scarce peered above them, where she sat and read,
Flecked by the leaf-lights wavering overhead,
A great black-letter book of verses rare;
Wherein our Chaucer, years and years ago,
Wove the sad tale of Cryseyde untrue,
And Troylus yearning with a broken heart;
At last she, sighing, shut the rhythmic woe,
And let her sweet eyes dream against the blue,
And swore she would love truly, for her part.
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