WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.

1775.

["Works." 1846.]

ONE year ago my path was green,
My footstep light, my brow serene;
Alas! and could it have been so
One year ago?

There is a love that is to last

When the hot days of youth are past:
Such love did a sweet maid bestow

One year ago.

I took a leaflet from her braid

And gave it to another maid.

Love! broken should have been thy bow
One year ago.

I love to hear that men are bound
By your enchanting links of sound:
I love to hear that none rebel
Against your beauty's silent spell.
I know not whether I may bear
To see it all, as well as hear;
And never shall I clearly know
Unless you nod and tell me so.

Have I, this moment, led thee from the beach Into the boat? now far beyond my reach! Stand there a little while, and wave once more That 'kerchief; but may none upon the shore Dare think the fond salute was meant for him! Dizzily on the plashing water swim

My heavy eyes, and sometimes can attain

Thy lovely form, which tears bear off again.
In vain have they now ceased; it now is gone
Too far for sight, and leaves me here alone.
O could I hear the creaking of the mast!

I curse it present, I regret it past.

Here, ever since you went abroad,

If there be change, no change I see,

I only walk our wonted road,

The road is only walked by me.

Yes; I forgot; a change there is;
Was it of that you bade me tell?

I catch at times, at times I miss,

The sight, the tone, I know so well.

Only two months since you stood here!
Two shortest months! then tell me why

Voices are harsher than they were,

And tears are longer ere they dry.

Little it interests me how

Some insolent usurper now

Divides your narrow chair;

Little heed I whose hand is placed
(No, nor how far) around your waist,

Or paddles in your hair.

A time, a time there may have been
(Ah! and there was) when every scene

Was brightened by your eyes.

And dare you ask what you have done?
My answer, take it, is but one;

The weak have taught the wise.

The maid I love ne'er thought of me

Amid the scenes of gaiety;

But when her heart or mine sank low,

Ah, then it was no longer so.

From the slant palm she raised her head,

And kissed the cheek whence youth had fled. Angels! some future day, for this,

Give her as sweet and pure a kiss.

Often I have heard it said
That her lips are ruby-red.
Little heed I what they say,
I have seen as red as they.
Ere she smiled on other men,
Real rubies were they then.

When she kissed me once in play,
Rubies were less bright than they,

And less bright were those which shone

In the palace of the sun.

Will they be as bright again?

Not if kissed by other men.

RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES.

1809.

[“Poems of Many Years." 1846.]

THE words that trembled on your lips
Were uttered not-I know it well;
The tears that would your eyes eclipse
Were checked and smothered, ere they fell:
The looks and smiles I gained from you

Were little more than others won,

And yet you are not wholly true,

Nor wholly just what you have done.

You know, at least you might have known,
That every little grace you gave,

Your voice's somewhat lowered tone,

Your hand's faint shake, or parting wave,

Your every sympathetic look

At words that chanced your soul to touch,
While reading from some favourite book,
Were much to me-alas, how much!

You might have seen, perhaps you saw,
How all of these were steps of hope
On which I rose, in joy and awe,
Up to my passion's lofty scope;
How after each, a firmer tread
I planted on the slippery ground,

And higher raised my venturous head,
And ever new assurance found.

May be, without a further thought,
It only pleased you thus to please,
And thus to kindly feelings wrought
You measured not the sweet degrees;
Yet, though you hardly understood
Where I was following at your call,
You might I dare to say you should—
Have thought how far I had to fall.

And thus when fallen, faint, and bruised,
I see another's glad success,

I may have wrongfully accused
Your heart of vulgar fickleness:
But even now, in calm review
Of all I lost, and all I won,

I cannot deem you wholly true,
Nor wholly just what you have done.