The Home Book of Verse Volume Ii Part 46

But all my life shall reach its hands Of lofty longing toward thy face, And be as one who, speechless, stands In rapture at some perfect grace!

My love, my hope, my all shall be To look to heaven and look to thee!

Thy eyes shall be the heavenly lights, Thy voice the gentle summer breeze,-- What time it sways, on moonlit nights, The murmuring tops of leafy trees; And I shall touch thy beauteous form In June's red roses, rich and warm.

But thou thyself shall come not down From that pure region far above; But keep thy throne and wear thy crown, Queen of my heart and queen of love!

A monarch in thy realm complete, And I a monarch--at thy feet!

William Winter [1836-1917]

A LOVER'S ENVY

I envy every flower that blows Beside the pathway where she goes, And every bird that sings to her, And every breeze that brings to her The fragrance of the rose.

I envy every poet's rhyme That moves her heart at eventime, And every tree that wears for her Its brightest bloom, and bears for her The fruitage of its prime.

I envy every Southern night That paves her path with moonbeams white, And silvers all the leaves for her, And in their shadow weaves for her A dream of dear delight.

I envy none whose love requires Of her a gift, a task that tires: I only long to live to her, I only ask to give to her All that her heart desires.

Henry Van d.y.k.e [1852-1933]

STAR SONG

When sunset flows into golden glows And the breath of the night is new, Love, find afar eve's eager star-- That is my thought of you.

O tear-wet eye that scans the sky Your lonely lattice through: Choose any one, from sun to sun-- That is my thought of you.

And when you wake at the morning's break To rival rose and dew, The star that stays till the leaping rays-- That is my thought of you.

Ay, though by day they seem away Beyond or cloud or blue, From dawn to night unquenched their light-- As are my thoughts of you.

Robert Underwood Johnson [1853-

"MY HEART SHALL BE THY GARDEN"

My heart shall be thy garden. Come, my own, Into thy garden; thine be happy hours Among my fairest thoughts, my tallest flowers, From root to crowning petal, thine alone.

Thine is the place from where the seeds are sown Up to the sky inclosed, with all its showers.

But ah, the birds, the birds! Who shall build bowers To keep these thine? O friend, the birds have flown.

For as these come and go, and quit our pine To follow the sweet season, or, new-corners, Sing one song only from our alder-trees, My heart has thoughts, which, though thine eyes hold mine.

Flit to the silent world and other summers, With wings that dip beyond the silver seas.

Alice Meynell [1853-1922]

AT NIGHT

Home, home from the horizon far and clear, Hither the soft wings sweep; Flocks of the memories of the day draw near The dovecote doors of sleep.

Oh which are they that come through sweetest light Of all these homing birds?

Which with the straightest and the swiftest flight?

Your words to me, your words!

Alice Meynell [1850-1922]

SONG

Song is so old, Love is so new-- Let me be still And kneel to you.

Let me be still And breathe no word, Save what my warm blood Sings unheard.

Let my warm blood Sing low of you-- Song is so fair, Love is so new!

Hermann Hagedorn [1882-

"ALL LAST NIGHT"

All last night I had quiet In a fragrant dream and warm: She had become my Sabbath, And round my neck, her arm.

I knew the warmth in my dreaming; The fragrance, I suppose, Was her hair about me, Or else she wore a rose.

Her hair, I think; for likest Woodruffe 'twas, when Spring Loitering down wet woodways Treads it sauntering.

No light, nor any speaking; Fragrant only and warm.

Enough to know my lodging, The white Sabbath of her arm.

Lascelles Abercrombie [1881-