CLXII.

LOVE-SWEETNESS.

WEET dimness of her loosened hair's downfall About thy face; her sweet hands round thy head

In gracious fostering union garlanded; Her tremulous smiles; her glances' sweet recall Of love; her murmuring sighs memorial;

Her mouth's culled sweetness by thy kisses shed On cheeks and neck and eyelids, and so led Back to her mouth which answers there for all;—

What sweeter than these things, except the thing

In lacking which all these would lose their

sweet:

The confident heart's still fervour; the swift beat And soft subsidence of the spirit's wing, Then when it feels, in cloud-girt wayfaring,

The breath of kindred plumes against its feet?

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI.

THE BRIDESMAID.

BRIDESMAID, ere the happy knot was tied,
Thine eyes so wept that they could scarcely

see;

Thy sister smiled and said, "No tears for
me!

A happy bridesmaid makes a happy bride."
And then, the couple standing side by side,

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Love lighted down between them full of glee,

And over his left shoulder laugh'd at thee, "O happy bridesmaid, make a happy bride." And all at once a pleasant truth I learn'd,

For while the tender service made thee weep, I loved thee for the tear thou couldst not hide, And prest thy hand, and knew the press return'd, And thought, "My life is sick of single sleep; O happy bridesmaid, make a happy bride!"

ALFRED TENNYSON.

SPRING LOVE.

ROM morn to evening, this day, yesterday,
We've walked within the garden'd paths

of love,

Till the moon rose the darkening woods

above:

We've seen the blossoming apple's crimson spray,
And watched the hiving bees work lustily,

As if their time was short as it was sweet:

Along love's meadow-lands too, with glad feet, We've welcomed all the wild flowers come with May.

Bend thy sweet head; I've strung this long woodbine With primroses and cowslips-golden fringe

For golden hair, the flowers that best express

The opening of the year, the mild sunshine,

And the frank clearness of those thoughtless eyes,
Through which there gleams scarce-trusted

blessedness.

WILLIAM BELL SCOTT.

WHY.

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SHY do I love thee?" Thus, in earnest wise,
I answer: Sweet! I love thee for thy

face

Of rarest beauty; and for every grace

That in thy voice and air and motion lies;
I love thee for the love-look in thine eyes,—
The melting glance which only one may see
Of all who mark how beautiful they be ;
I love thee for thy mind (which yet denies,
For modesty, how wonderful it is!)

I love thee for thy heart so true and warm,
I love thee for thy bosom's hidden charm ;
I love thee for thy mouth so sweet to kiss;

Because of these I love thee; yet above
All else, because I cannot choose but love!

JOHN GODFREY SAXE.

REMEMBRANCE.

O think of thee! it was thy fond request
When yesterweek we parted. Ah! how well
I heed thy bidding only Love may tell
Beneath his roses. As, for welcome rest,
The bird, wing-weary, seeks her downy nest,

So oft, dear heart! from toil and care I flee,
And, nestling in my happy thought of thee,
With sweet repose my weary soul is blest.
To think of thee-who evermore art near

My conscious spirit, like the halo spread
In altar-pictures round some stately head,
As 'twere of Heaven the golden atmosphere-
What can I else, until in death I sink,
And, thinking of my darling, cease to think?

JOHN GODFREY SAXE.