I love all beauteous things,
I seek and adore them;
God hath no better praise,
And man in his hasty days
Is honoured for them.
I too will something make
And joy in the making!
Altho' tomorrow it seem'
Like the empty words of a dream
Remembered, on waking.
I Love in old days Clara d'Ellébeuse,
The school-girl of old boarding-schools,
Who, on warm evenings, sat beneath the limes,
Reading the magazines of olden times.
I love but her. Upon my heart is streaming
The blue light of her white breast.
Where is she now? Where was this happy nest?
Branches peered into the room where she was dreaming.
It may be possible she is not dead.
Perhaps we both were dead behind those walls.
In the great court-yard withered leaves were shed
In the cold wind of very olden falls.
I long to put on saffron robes
And find out where my love has gone,
Roam in every town and village
And over hill and dale.
I'd glide into his bower
With love in every limb,
And gather in my eyes a bouquet
Of flowers that do not fade.
If my love would only look at me,
Leaving his high disdain.
I'd be. the Shravan jessamine,
Abloom with youth and joy.
I hear the God of Love will come to the Dal
And spend the night at Telbal
I live, and yet methinks I do not breathe,
I thirst, and drink, and drink, and thirst again,
I sleep, and yet I dream I am awake,
I hope for that I have; I have and want:
I sing and sigh; I love and hate at once.
Oh! tell me, restless soul, what uncouth jar
Doth cause such want in store, in peace such war?
I leave thee for awhile, my love, I leave thee with a sigh;
The fountain spring within my soul is playing in mine eye;
I do not blush to own the tear,--let, let it touch my cheek,
And what my lip has failed to tell, that drop perchance may speak.
Mavourneen! when again I seek my green isle in the West,
Oh, promise thou wilt share my lot, and set this heart at rest.
I leave thee for awhile, my love; but every hour will be
Uncheered and lonely till the one that brings me back to thee.
I know you little, I love you lots,
my love for you could fill ten pots,
fifteen buckets, sixteen cans,
three teacups, and four dishpans.
I KNOW my Love by his way of walking,
And I know my love by his way of talking,
And I know my love dressed in a suit of blue,
And if my Love leaves me, what will I do?
And still she cried, “I love him the best,
And a troubled mind, sure, can know no rest,”
And still she cried, “Bonny boys are few,
And if my Love leaves me, what will I do?”
There is a dance house in Mar’dyke,
And there my true love goes every night;
He takes a strange one upon his knee,
I know a man
who photographed the view he saw
from the window of the room where he made love
and not the face of the woman he loved there.
Translated by Chana Bloch
I have three loves who are all most dear.
Each one has cost me many a tear.
The one who is dead yet lives in me.
I were too poor had I less than three.
I have loved flowers that fade,
Within whose magic tents
Rich hues have marriage made
With sweet unmemoried scents:
A honeymoon delight-
A joy of love at sight,
That ages in an hour-
My song be like a flower!
I have loved airs that die
Before their charm is writ
Along a liquid sky
Trembling to welcome it.
Notes, that with pulse of fire
Proclaim the spirit's desire,
Then die, and are nowhere-
My song be like an air!
Die, song, die like a breath,
And wither as a bloom;
