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III.
O for the dream of those sunny days, With their bright unbroken spell, And the thrilling sweet untutored praise-- From the lips once loved so well!
IV.
O for the feeling of days agone, The simple faith and the truth, The spring of time and life's rosy dawn-- O for the love and the youth!
[Decoration]
_DAISY'S DIMPLES._
I.
Little dimples so sweet and soft, Love the cheek of my love: The mark of Cupid's dainty hand, Before he wore a glove.
II.
Laughing dimples of tender love Smile on my darling's cheek; Sweet hallowed spots where kisses lurk, And play at hide and seek.
III.
Fain would I hide my kisses there At morning's rosy light, To come and seek them back again In silver hush of night.
_A LOVER'S LULLABY._
I.
Mirror your sweet eyes in mine, love, See how they glitter and s.h.i.+ne!
Quick fly such moments divine, love, Link your lithe fingers in mine!
II.
Lay your soft cheek against mine, love, Pillow your head on my breast; While your brown locks I entwine, love, Pout your red lips when they 're prest!
III.
Mirror your fate, then, in mine, love; Sorrow and sighing resign: Life is too short to repine, love, Link your fair future in mine!
[Decoration]
ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE.
1837.
_A MATCH._
If love were what the rose is, And I were like the leaf, Our lives would grow together In sad or singing weather, Blown fields or flowerful closes, Green pleasure or grey grief; If love were what the rose is, And I were like the leaf.
If I were what the words are, And love were like the tune, With double sound or single Delight our lips would mingle, With kisses glad as birds are That get sweet rain at noon; If I were what the words are, And love were like the tune.
If you were life, my darling, And I your love were death, We 'd s.h.i.+ne and snow together Ere March made sweet the weather With daffodil and starling And hours of fruitful breath; If you were life, my darling, And I your love were death.
If you were thrall to sorrow, And I were page to joy, We 'd play for lives and seasons With loving looks and treasons And tears of night and morrow And laughs of maid and boy; If you were thrall to sorrow, And I were page to joy.
If you were April's lady, And I were lord in May, We 'd throw with leaves for hours And draw for days with flowers, Till day like night were shady And night were bright like day; If you were April's lady, And I were lord in May.
If you were queen of pleasure, And I were king of pain, We 'd hunt down love together, Pluck out his flying-feather, And teach his feet a measure, And find his mouth a rein; If you were queen of pleasure, And I were king of pain.
_RONDEL._
Kissing her hair I sat against her feet, Wove and unwove it, wound and found it sweet; Made fast therewith her hands, drew down her eyes, Deep as deep flowers and dreamy like dim skies; With her own tresses bound and found her fair, Kissing her hair.
Sleep were no sweeter than her face to me, Sleep of cold sea-bloom under the cold sea; What pain could get between my face and hers?
What new sweet thing would love not relish worse?
Unless, perhaps, white death had kissed me there, Kissing her hair?
[Decoration]
_SONG._
FROM "FELISE."
O lips that mine have grown into Like April's kissing May, O fervent eyelids letting through Those eyes the greenest of things blue, The bluest of things gray,
If you were I and I were you, How could I love you, say?
How could the roseleaf love the rue, The day love nightfall and her dew, Though night may love the day?
[Decoration]
ALFRED TENNYSON.
1809-1892.
_THE BUGLE SONG._
FROM "THE PRINCESS."
