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SONGS ASCENDING
Love has been sung a thousand ways-- So let it be; The songs ascending in your praise Through all my days Are three.
Your cloud-white body first I sing; Your love was heaven's blue, And I, a bird, flew carolling In ring on ring Of you.
Your nearness is the second song; When G.o.d began to be, And bound you strongly, right or wrong, With his own thong, To me.
But oh, the song, eternal, high, That tops these two!-- You live forever, you who die, I am not I But you.
Witter Bynner [1881-
SONG
"Oh! Love," they said, "is King of Kings, And Triumph is his crown.
Earth fades in flame before his wings, And Sun and Moon bow down."-- But that, I knew, would never do; And Heaven is all too high.
So whenever I meet a Queen, I said, I will not catch her eye.
"Oh! Love," they said, and "Love," they said, "The gift of Love is this; A crown of thorns about thy head, And vinegar to thy kiss!"-- But Tragedy is not for me; And I'm content to be gay.
So whenever I spied a Tragic Lady, I went another way.
And so I never feared to see You wander down the street, Or come across the fields to me On ordinary feet.
For what they'd never told me of, And what I never knew; It was that all the time, my love, Love would be merely you.
Rupert Brooke [1887-1915]
SONG
How do I love you?
I do not know.
Only because of you Gladly I go.
Only because of you Labor is sweet, And all the song of you Sings in my feet.
Only the thought of you Trembles and lies Just where the world begins-- Under my eyes.
Irene Rutherford McLeod [1891-
TO... IN CHURCH
If I was drawn here from a distant place, 'Twas not to pray nor hear our friend's address, But, gazing once more on your winsome face, To wors.h.i.+p there Ideal Loveliness.
On that pure shrine that has too long ignored The gifts that once I brought so frequently I lay this votive offering, to record How sweet your quiet beauty seemed to me.
Enchanting girl, my faith is not a thing By futile prayers and vapid psalm-singing To vent in crowded nave and public pew.
My creed is simple: that the world is fair, And beauty the best thing to wors.h.i.+p there, And I confess it by adoring you.
Alan Seeger [1888-1916]
AFTER TWO YEARS
She is all so slight And tender and white As a May morning.
She walks without hood At dusk. It is good To hear her sing.
It is G.o.d's will That I shall love her still As He loves Mary.
And night and day I will go forth to pray That she love me.
She is as gold Lovely, and far more cold.
Do thou pray with me, For if I win grace To kiss twice her face G.o.d has done well to me.
Richard Aldington [1892-
PRAISE
Dear, they are praising your beauty, The gra.s.s and the sky: The sky in a silence of wonder, The gra.s.s in a sigh.
I too would sing for your praising, Dearest, had I Speech as the whispering gra.s.s, Or the silent sky.
These have an art for the praising Beauty so high.
Sweet, you are praised in a silence, Sung in a sigh.
Seumas O'Sullivan [1879-
PLAINTS AND PROTESTATIONS