" Only of thee and me the nightwind sings,
Only of us the sailors speak at sea,
The earth is filled with wondered whisperings
Only of thee and me.

" Only of thee and me the breakers chant,
Only of us the stir in bush and tree;
The rain and sunshine tell the eager plant
Only of thee and me.

" Only of thee and me, till all shall fade;
Only of us the whole world's thoughts can be —
For we are Love, and God Himself is made

Away with doleful maundering, away with fretful days,
Away with all that smacks of grief, of tears and banners furled,
An end to dull perplexities, an end to old dismays,
There is promise in her eyes — there is promise in the world.
Her mood is subtly changing; she has whispers for me now;
Her eyes meet mine more quickly, and more quickly leave my gaze.
Her heart perhaps has melted to a word somewhere, somehow —

To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
All pray in their distress:
And to these virtues of delight
Return their thankfulness.

For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
Is God, our Father dear:
And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
Is Man, his child and care.

For Mercy has a human heart,
Pity, a human face;
And Love, the human form divine,
And Peace, the human dress.

Then every man of every clime,
That prays in his distress,
Prays to the human form divine:
Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace.

And all must love the human form,

When my love swears that she is made of truth,
All I can do is blame it on her youth.

Joy of my life, full oft for loving you
I blesse my lot, that was so lucky placed:
But then the more your owne mishap I rew,
That are so much by so meane love embased.
For had the equall hevens so much you graced
In this as in the rest, ye mote invent
Som hevenly wit, whose verse could have enchased
Your glorious name in golden moniment.
But since ye deignd so goodly to relent
To me your thrall, in whom is little worth,
That little that I am, shall all be spent,
In setting your immortall prayses forth.
Whose lofty argument uplifting me,

Fayre bosome fraught with vertues richest tresure,
The neast of love, the lodging of delight:
The bowre of blisse, the paradice of pleasure,
The sacred harbour of that hevenly spright.
How was I ravisht with your lovely sight,
And my frayle thoughts too rashly led astray?
Whiles diving deepe through amorous insight,
On the sweet spoyle of beautie they did pray.
And twixt her paps like early fruit in May,
Whose harvest seemd to hasten now apace:
They loosely did theyr wanton winges display,
And there to rest themselves did boldly place.

Fresh Spring, the herald of love's mighty king,
In whose coat armour richly are displayed

All sorts of flowers the which on earth do spring
In goodly colours gloriously arrayed;
Go to my love, where she is careless laid,
Yet in her winter's bower not well awake;
Tell her the joyous time will not be stayed
Unless she do him by the forelock take.
Bid her therefore herself soon ready make,
To wait on Love amongst his lovely crew;
Where every one that misseth then her make
Shall be by him amerced with penance due.

The famous warriors of the anticke world,
Used Trophees to erect in stately wize:
In which they would the records have enrold,
Of theyr great deeds and valarous emprize.
What trophee then shall I most fit devize,
In which I may record the memory
Of my loves conquest, peerelesse beauties prise,
Adorn'd with honour, love, and chastity.
Even this verse vowd to eternity,
Shall be thereof immortall moniment:
And tell her prayse to all posterity,
That may admire such worlds rare wonderment.
The happy purchase of my glorious spoile,

Most glorious Lord of life! that, on this day,
Didst make thy triumph over death and sin;
And, having harrowed hell, didst bring away
Captivity thence captive, us to win:
This joyous day, dear Lord, with joy begin;
And grant that we, for whom thou didest die,
Being with thy dear blood clean washed from sin,
May live for ever in felicity!
And that thy love we weighing worthily,
May likewise love thee for the same again;
And for thy sake, that all like dear didst buy,
With love may one another entertain:

The love which me so cruelly tormenteth
So pleasing is in my extreamest paine,
That all the more my sorrow it augmenteth,
The more I love and doe embrace my bane
Ne doe I wish(for wishing were but vaine)
To be acquit fro my continuall smart,
But joy, her thrall for ever to remayne,
And yield for plege my poore captyved hart;
The which, that it from her may never start,
Let her, yf please her, bynd with adamant chayne,
And from all wandering loves, which mote pervart
His safe assurance, strongly it restrayne