love poem

— — I N the years about twenty
— — (When kisses are plenty)
The love of an Irish lass fell to my fate —
— — So winsome and sightly,
— — So saucy and sprightly,
The priest was a prophet that christened her Kate.

— — Soft gray of the dawning,
— — Bright blue of the morning,
The sweet of her eye there was nothing to mate;
— — A nose like a fairy's,
— — A cheek like a cherry's,
And a smile — well, her smile was like — nothing but Kate.

— — To see her was passion,

In the wild autumn weather, when the rain was on the sea,
And the boughs sobbed together, Death came and spake to me:
" Those red drops of thy heart I have come to take from thee;
As the storm sheds the rose, so thy love shall broken be, "
Said Death to me.

Then I stood straight and fearless while the rain was in the wave,
And I spake low and tearless: " When thou hast made my grave,
Those red drops from my heart then thou shalt surely have;
But the rose keeps its bloom, as I my love will save
All for my grave. "

I'm called by the name of a man,
Yet am as little as a mouse;
When winter comes I love to be
With my red target near the house.

1

I F when Don Cupid's dart
Doth wound a heart,
We hide our grief
And shun relief,
The smart increaseth on that score;
For wounds unsearcht but rankle more.

2

Then if we whine, look pale,
And tell our tale,
Men are in pain
For us again;
So, neither speaking doth become
The lover's state, nor being dumb.

If Love were jester at the court of Death,
And Death the king of all, still would I pray,
" For me the motley and the bauble, yea,
Though all be vanity, as the Preacher saith,
The mirth of love be mine for one brief breath! "
Then would I kneel the monarch to obey,
And kiss that pale hand, should it spare or slay;
Since I have tasted love, what mattereth!
But if, dear God, this heart be dry as sand,
And cold as Charon's palm holding Hell's toll,
How worse! how worse! Scorch it with sorrow's brand!

I WOULD make a list against the evil days
Of lovely things to hold in memory:
First, I set down my lady's lovely face,
For earth has no such lovely thing as she;
And next I add, to bear her company,
The great-eyed virgin star that morning brings;
Then the wild-rose upon its little tree —
So runs my catalogue of lovely things.

The enchanted dog-wood, with its ivory trays,
The water-lily in its sanctuary
Of reeded pools, and dew-drenched lilac sprays,
For these, of all fair flowers, the fairest be;

BEFORE AN ALTAR

I WISH I were the little key
That locks Love's Captive in,
And lets Him out to go and free
A sinful heart from sin.

I wish I were the little bell
That tinkles for the Host,
When God comes down each day to dwell
With hearts He loves the most.

I wish I were the chalice fair,
That holds the Blood of Love,
When every gleam lights holy prayer
Upon its way above.

I wish I were the little flower

I WISH I loved the Human Race;
I wish I loved its silly face;
I wish I loved the way it walks;
I wish I loved the way it talks;
And when I'm introduced to one
I wish I thought What Jolly Fun!

I shake my hair in the wind of morning
For the joy within me that knows no bounds.
I echo backward the vibrant beauty
Wherewith heaven's hollow lute resounds.

I shed my song on the feet of all men,
On the feet of all shed out like wine;
On the whole and the hurt I shed my bounty,
The beauty within me that is not mine.

Turn not away from my song, nor scorn me
Who bear the secret that holds the sky
And the stars together; but know within me
There speaks another more wise than I.