Now hermit like is lonely, Slay Love, he is not broken; His sighs the still air sweeten, His palm is always tender, His wage-return is slender, His aspect, as he muses, Is paler than the dead; He weeps more when he loses, Than he laughs when he is fed. Love at a touch will falter, Love at a nod will stay; But armies cannot alter One hairbreadth of his way. He trembles at a rose-leaf, And rushes on a spear; A thorn-prick and he shows grief, But Death he cannot fear. The tyrant may not quench him, Though thou lay chain and fetter He follows shadow faces Into graveyards unawares ; He reaps in sterile places, And brings home sheaves of tares. One tear will heal his anger; He will wait and watch all day; He will strip off his raiment When care his heart engages, And his rose-leaf gathers grey, He will claim a kiss for wages, And demand a smile for pay. HON. JOHN LEICESTER WARREN. SWEET LOVE IS DEAD. WEET Love is dead: Where shall we bury him? In a green bed, With no stone at his head, And no tears nor prayers to worry him. Do you think he will sleep Dreamless and quiet? Yes, if we keep Silence, nor weep O'er the grave where the ground-worms riot. By his tomb let us part; But hark! he is waking; He hath winged a dart, And the mock-cold heart With the woe of want is aching. Feign we no more Sweet Love lies breathless ; All we forswore Be as before! Death may die, but Love is deathless. ALFRED AUSTIN. LOVE'S VOTARY. THERS have pleasantness and praise, And wealth; and hand and glove They walk with worship all their days, But I have only Love. And therefore if Love be a fire, Then he shall burn me up ; If Love come worn with wayfaring, If Love delight in vassalage, GEORGE AUGUSTUS SIMCOX. DESTINY. OMEWHERE there waiteth in this world of ours For one lone soul another lonely soul, Each chasing each through all the weary hours, And meeting strangely at one sudden goal. Then blend they, like green leaves with golden flowers, And life's long night is ended, and the way EDWIN ARNOLD. |