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They'll know not if it's fire, or dew,

Or out of earth, or in the height,
Singing, or flame, or scent, or hue,
Or two that pass, in light, to light,

Out of the garden, higher, higher. . .
But in that instant they shall learn
The shattering ecstasy of our fire,

And the weak passionless hearts will burn

And faint in that amazing glow,

Until the darkness close above;

And they will know-poor fools, they'll know!

One moment, what it is to love.

Rupert Brooke [1887-1915]

BALLAD

THE roses in my garden

Were white in the noonday sun,
But they were dyed with crimson
Before the day was done.

All clad in golden armor,
To fight the Saladin,
He left me in my garden,

To weep, to sing, and spin.

When fell the dewy twilight

I heard the wicket grate,
There came a ghost who shivered
Beside my garden gate.

All clad in golden armor,
But dabbled with red dew;

He did not lift his vizor,

And yet his face I knew.

Dirge

And when he left my garden
The roses all were red
And dyed in a fresh crimson;
Only my heart was dead.

The roses in my garden

Were white in the noonday sun;

But they were dyed with crimson

Before the day was done.

1139

Maurice Baring [1874-1916]

"THE LITTLE ROSE IS DUST, MY DEAR"

THE little rose is dust, my dear;

The elfin wind is gone

That sang a song of silver words
And cooled our hearts with dawn.

And what is left to hope, my dear,
Or what is left to say?

The rose, the little wind and you

Have gone so far away.

Grace Hazard Conkling [18

DIRGE

NEVER the nightingale,

Oh, my dear,

Never again the lark

Thou wilt hear;

Though dusk and the morning still

Tap at thy window-sill,

Though ever love call and call

Thou wilt not hear at all,

My dear, my dear.

Adelaide Crapsey [1878-1914]

THE ROSARY

THE hours I spent with thee, dear heart,
Are as a string of pearls to me;
I count them over, every one apart,
My rosary.

Each hour a pearl, each pearl a prayer,
To still a heart in absence wrung;
I tell each bead unto the end and there
A cross is hung.

Oh memories that bless-and burn!
Oh barren gain-and bitter loss!

I kiss each bead, and strive at last to learn
To kiss the cross,

Sweetheart,

To kiss the cross.

Robert Cameron Rogers [1862-1912]

LOVE'S FULFILMENT

"MY TRUE-LOVE HATH MY HEART”
From the "Arcadia"

My true-love hath my heart, and I have his,
By just exchange one for the other given:;
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss;

There never was a better bargain driven:
His heart in me keeps him and me in one,

My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides: He loves my heart, for once it was his own,

I cherish his, because in me it bides.

His heart his wound received from my sight;
My heart was wounded from his wounded heart;
For as from me, on him his hurt did light,

So still me thought in me his heart did smart:/
Both equal hurt, in this change sought our bliss,
My true love hath my heart, and I have his.
Philip Sidney [1554-1586]

SONG

O SWEET delight, O more than human bliss,

With her to live that ever loving is!

To hear her speak whose words are so well placed

That she by them, as they in her are graced:
Those looks to view that feast the viewer's eye,
How blest is he that may so live and die!

Such love as this the Golden Times did know,
When all did reap, yet none took care to sow;
Such love as this an endless summer makes,
And all distaste from frail affection takes.
So loved, so blest, in my beloved am I:

Which till their eyes ache, let iron men envy!
Thomas Campion (?-1619]

THE GOOD-MORROW

I WONDER, by my troth, what thou and I
Did, till we loved? were we not weaned till then?
But sucked on country pleasures, childishly?

Or snored we in the Seven Sleepers' den?
'Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be;

If ever any beauty I did see,

Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.

And now good-morrow to our waking souls,
Which watch not one another out of fear;
For love all love of other sights controls,
And makes one little room an everywhere.
Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone;
Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown,
Let us possess one world; each hath one, and is one.

My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,
And true plain hearts do in the faces rest;
Where can we find two fitter hemispheres
Without sharp north, without declining west?
Whatever dies, was not mixed equally;

If our two loves be one, or thou and I

Love just alike in all, none of these loves can die. John Donne [1573-1631]

"THERE'S GOWD IN THE BREAST”

THERE'S gowd in the breast of the primrose pale, An' siller in every blossom;

There's riches galore in the breeze of the vale,

And health in the wild wood's bosom.

Then come, my love, at the hour of joy,

When warbling birds sing o'er us;

Sweet nature for us has no alloy,

And the world is all before us.

The courtier joys in bustle and power,
The soldier in war-steeds bounding,

The miser in hoards of treasured ore,

The proud in their pomp surrounding:

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