Oh, maiden of the kirtle blue,
Repeat your pretty task,
Though never any need have you
Of flowers your fate to ask ;-
You know I love you-love you well,
Not hard is that to see ;-
Yet say once more your daisy spell,
To see if you love me?
LOVE UNCONTROLLED.
LOVE will not be constrained by mastery.
When mastery comes, the god of Love anon
Beateth his wings, and, farewell, he is gone.
Love is a thing as any spirit free.
Women of kind desiren liberty,
And not to be constrainèd as a thrall;
And so do men, if I sooth say shall.
Looke who that most patient is in love,
He is at his advantage all above.
Patience is a high virtue certain,
For it vanquisheth, as these clerks sayn,
Things that rigour shall never attain,
For every word men may not chide or plain.
NYMPH of the downward smile and sidelong glance !
In what diviner moments of the day
Art thou most lovely? When gone far astray
Into the labyrinths of sweet utterance?
Or when serenely wandering in a trance
Of sober thought? Or when, starting away
With careless robe to meet the morning ray,
Thou sparest the flowers in thy mazy dance?
Haply 'tis when thy ruby lips part sweetly,
And so remain, because thou listenest:
But thou to please wert nurtured so completely
That I can never tell what mood is best.
I shall as soon pronounce which Grace more neatly
Trips it before Apollo than the rest.
Is it not, Celia, in your power
To say how long our love will last?
It may be we, within this hour,
May lose those joys we now do taste:
The blessed, who immortal be,
From change of love are only free.
Then, since we mortal lovers are,
Ask not how long our love will last;
But while it does, let us take care
Each minute be with pleasure past.
Were it not madness to deny
To love, because we're sure to die?
Fear not; though love and beauty fail,
My reason shall my heart direct;
Your kindness now shall then prevail,
And passion turn into respect.
Celia, at worst, you'll in the end
But change a lover for a friend.
ON Heaven's steps of beryl, poised for flight,
An angel stood; but ere his wings he spread,
Close to his side did his twin angel light,
Who from the darkening earth had newly sped;
Thy guardian spirit, seeing that thy head
Was bent in prayer, so knew thee safe from harm,
Homesick to Heaven awhile he quickly fled,
Longing for native peace, and love, and calm.
So spoke each angel of his human charge,
Telling of hopes and fears, of joy and woe,
Then parting, he who left the shining marge
To watch o'er me, his care, swift sped below,
And as I slept, he in my sleeping ear
Whispered of thee, and straight I dreamt thee near.
B. Montgomerie Ranking.
MY GRACIOUS LADY.
MOST like the gracious Summer through the land
My lady moves, nor more desired than she
Is it in coming: birds that near at hand
Proclaim it-swallows hurrying wild with glee
Home from long banishment-to me appear
Like my glad thoughts whenever she draws near.
The young fresh flowers coloured divers wise,
Broidered about on delicatest green
Of lush May grass, do likest in my eyes
Seem to her trailing garments: the rich sheen Which the thick corn-lands of the August wear Seems like the golden glories of her hair.
Her speech is as the singers of the sky
When in their mid-day gladness they rejoice, Her laughter like the jocund lark on high;
But when deep tenderness doth hush her voice, Then 'tis the utt'rance of the nightingale
Heard in lone ways beneath the moonlight pale.
Full July skies, of deep untroubled blue,
Image her eyes, which are my firmament
Whereto I turn; for from them whilst I woo
Shineth on me, pure and beneficent
As from high Heaven, her radiant soul, my one
Source of light, life, time, motion: my heart's sun.
F. Scarlett Potter.
JOY INCOMPLETE.
SPRING smiles anew with myriad hue,
And laughs aloud in the breeze;
Pours forth her song blithe nests among,
Her dance in the waving trees:
And sweet such joys to hear and see,
Did but my Valentine rove with me.
Each path through life with flowers is rife,
And mirth is born in the breast,
And every day has its song and play,
And every age its zest:
And such long joys in store might be,
Would but my Valentine pair with me.
Anonymous.
THE ENAMOURED SHEPHERD.
O GENTLE Love, ungentle for thy deed,
Thou mak'st my heart
A bloody mark
With piercing shot to bleed.
Shoot soft, sweet Love, for fear thou shoot amiss, For fear too keen
And hit the heart where my belovèd is.
Too fair that fortune were, nor never I
Shall be so blest
Among the rest,
That Love shall seize on her by sympathy.
Then since with Love my prayers bear no boot, This doth remain
I take the wound, and die at Venus' foot.
"A WEARY lot is thine, fair maid,
A weary lot is thine!
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid,
And press the rue for wine!
A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien,
A feather of the blue,
A doublet of the Lincoln green,—
No more of me you knew,
"This morn is merry June, I trow,
The rose is budding fain;
But she shall bloom in winter snow
Ere we two meet again."
He turned his charger as he spake,
Upon the river shore,
gave his bridle reins a shake, Said, "Adieu for evermore,
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