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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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I. PROEM.

All ye who fain would in Love's service be,
Read these my amorous follies, and the whole
Incurable desire of my faint soul,
And then if ye be taken, blame not me!
Behold, I write to the end that ye may see
That when by winding paths ye win Love's goal,
A dark and sterile garden is the dole
For all your faithful heart's intensity;
And if a passing blossom there be sweet,
Or if a stray and luscious fruit ye meet,
'Tis but the flower of fraud and fruit of pain,
Laid for a snare in which you wring your feet,
And if you conquer these, to Love's defeat,
Torment and shame and death is all your gain.
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