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The maple's scalloped dome beside. All weave on high a verdant roof That keeps the very sun aloof. Making a twilight soft and green Within the columned, vaulted scene.

Sweet forest-odors have their birth From the clothed boughs and teeming earth;

Where pine-cones dropped, leaves piled and dead

Long tufts of grass, and stars of fern,

With many a wild flower's fairy inn,

A thick, elastic carpet spread: Here, with its mossy pall, the trunk, Resolving into soil, is sunk; There, wrenched but lately from its throne

By some fierce whirlwind circling past,

Its huge roots massed with earth and stone,

One of the woodland kings is cast.

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OUT upon it! I have loved
Three whole days together;
And am like to love thee more,
If it prove fair weather.

Time shall moult away his wings,

Ere he shall discover

In the whole wide world again,
Such a constant lover.

But the spite on't is, no praise
Is due at all to me;

Love with me had made no stays,
Except it had been she.

Had it any been but she

And that very face,

There had been at least, ere this,
A dozen in her place!

Quit, quit for shame, this will not

move,

This cannot take her;
If of herself she will not love,
Nothing can make her:

The devil take her.

I PRITHEE SEND ME BACK MY
HEART.

I PRITHEE send me back my heart,
Since I can not have thine,
For if from yours you will not part,
Why then should'st thou have
mine?

Yet now I think on't, let it lie,

To find it were in vain;
For thou'st a thief in either eye
Would steal it back again.

WHY SO PALE AND WAN, FOND Why should two hearts in one breast

LOVER?

WHY SO pale and wan, fond lover?
Prithee, why so pale?

Will, when looking well can't move
her,

Looking ill prevail?
Prithee, why so pale?

Why so dull and mute, young sinner?
Prithee, why so mute?

Will, when speaking well can't win

her, Saying nothing do't? Prithee, why so mute!

lie,

And yet not lodge together?
O love! where is thy sympathy,
If thus our breasts thou sever?

But love is such a mystery,
I cannot find it out;

For when I think I'm best resolved,
I then am in most doubt.

Then farewell, care, and farewell,

woe.

I will no longer pine;
For I'll believe I have her heart
As much as she has mine.

SURREY.

EARL OF SURREY (HENRY HOWARD).

THE MEANS TO ATTAIN HAPPY IN PRAISE OF HIS

LIFE.

LADY-LOVE
COMPARED WITH ALL OTHERS.

MARTIAL, the things that do attain
The happy life, be these, I find;
The riches left, not got with pain;
The fruitful ground, the quiet | My lady's beauty passeth more

GIVE place, ye lovers, here before
That spent your boasts and brags
in vain;

mind:

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The best of yours, I dare well

say'n, Than doth the light,

sun the candle

Or brightest day the darkest night.

And thereto hath a troth as just
As had Penelope the fair;
For what she saith ye may it trust,
As it by writing sealed were;
And virtues hath she many mo'
Than I with pen have skill to
show.

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ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE.

IN MEMORY OF BARRY CORNWALL.

IN the garden of death, where the singers whose names are deathless, One with another make music unheard of men,

Where the dead sweet roses fade not of lips long breathless,

And the fair eyes shine that shall weep not or change again, Who comes now crowned with the blossom of snow-white years? What music is this that the world of the dead men hears?

Beloved of men, whose words on our lips were honey,

Whose name in our ears and our fathers' ears was sweet,
Like summer gone forth of the land his songs made sunny,
To the beautiful veiled bright world where the glad ghosts meet,
Child, father, bridegroom and bride, and anguish and rest,
No soul shall pass of a singer than this more blest.

Blest for the years' sweet sake that were filled and brightened,

As a forest with birds, with the fruit and the flower of his song; For the souls' sake blest that heard, and their cares were lightened, For the hearts' sake blest that have fostered his name so long; By the living and dead lips blest that have loved his name, And clothed with their praise and crowned with their love for fame.

Ah, fair and fragrant his fame as flowers that close not,

That shrink not by day for heat or for cold by night,

As a thought in the heart shall increase when the heart's self knows not,
Shall endure in our ears as a sound, in our eyes as a light;
Shall wax with the years that wane and the seasons' chime,
As a white rose thornless that grows in the garden of time.

The same year calls, and one goes hence with another,
And men sit sad that were glad for their sweet songs' sake;
The same year beckons, and elder with younger brother
Takes mutely the cup from his hand that we all shall take.*
They pass ere the leaves be past or the snows be come;
And the birds are loud, but the lips that outsang them dumb.
Time takes them home that we loved, fair names and famous,
To the soft long sleep, to the broad sweet bosom of death;
But the flower of their souls he shall take not away to shame us,
Nor the lips lack song forever that now lack breath.
For with us shall the music and perfume that die not dwell,
Though the dead to our dead bid welcome, and we farewell.

FROM "A VISION OF SPRING IN WINTER."

As sweet desire of day before the day,

As dreams of love before the true love born,
From the outer edge of winter overworn

The ghost arisen of May before the May

* Sydney Dobell died the same year.

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