THE OBLATION. 3SK nothing more of me, sweet; A Heart of my heart, were it more, All things were nothing to give Touch you and taste of you sweet, I that have love and no more, He that hath more, let him give; ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE. HE bee to the heather, The roe to the greenwood, And whither shall I ? Oh, Alice! ah, Alice! So sweet to the bee Are the moorland and heather By Cannock and Leigh! Oh, Alice! ah, Alice! O'er Teddesley Park The sunny sky scatters Oh, Alice! ah, Alice! The roes toss their antlers But Alice, dear Alice! Glade, moorland, nor sky Without you can content me, And whither shall I ? SIR HENRY TAYLOR. A DAISY CHAIN. HE white rose decks the breast of May, Yet autumn chills and winter kills And leaves their stems alone; Ah, swiftly dies the garden's pride But my love she is the daisy That all the long year grows. The early woods are gay with green, The blue-bell hangs her shining head, No more the oxslip blows, But my love she is the daisy That all the long year grows. Still deck, wild woods, your mantle green, Let showers of spring fresh violets bring Whilst summer boasts her roses red And March her scented snows,— My love be still the daisy, And my heart whereon she grows. H. CHOLMONDELEY-PENNELL. A WILD WOOD SPELL. SOME to the woods, Medora, Come to the woods with me; The leaves are green, the summer sheen Up in the woods, Medora, The thrushes warble free; Around, above, they sing of love, So let me sing to thee! On the low thorn, Medora, The finch is fair to see, A jewel bright, a heart's delight— Ah! so art thou to me. From the dark pines, Medora, There flows a balmy sea; The air's soft kiss is heavenly bliss— How sweet art thou to me! |