romantic poems

So Love is dead, the Love we knew of old!
And in the sorrow of our hearts' hushed halls
A lute lies broken and a flower falls;
Love's house stands empty and his hearth lies cold.
Lone in dim places, where sweet vows were told,
In walks grown desolate, by ruined walls
Beauty decays; and on their pedestals
Dreams crumble and th' immortal gods are mold.
Music is slain or sleeps; one voice alone,
One voice awakes, and like a wandering ghost
Haunts all the echoing chambers of the Past —
The voice of Memory, that stills to stone

Darling little woman, just a little line,
Just a little silver word
For that dear gold of thine,
Only a whisper you have so often heard:

Only such a whisper as hidden in a shell
Holds a little breath of all the mighty sea,
But think what a little of all its depth and swell,
And think what a little is this little note of me

" Darling, I love thee, that is all I live for" —
There is the whisper stealing from the shell,
But here is the ocean, O so deep and boundless,
And each little wave with its whisper as well

I

Dear Love, you ask if I be true,
If other women move
The heart that only beats for you
With pulses all of love

Out in the chilly dew one morn
I plucked a wild sweet rose,
A little silver bud new-born
And longing to unclose.

I took it, loving new-born things,
I knew my heart was warm,
" O little silver rose, come in

Dear Heart, this is my book of boyish song,
The changing story of the wandering quest
That found at last its ending in thy breast —
The love it sought and sang astray so long
With wild young heart and happy eager tongue
Much meant it all to me to seek and sing,
Ah, Love, but how much more to-day to bring
This " rhyme that first of all he made when young."

Take it and love it, 'tis the prophecy
For whose poor silver thou hast given me gold;
Yea! those old faces for an hour seemed fair

O MIGHTY Queen, our Lady of the fire,
The light, the music, and the honey, all
Blent in one Power, one passionate Desire
Man calleth Love — " Sweet love," the blessed call — :
I come a sad-eyed suppliant to thy knee,
If thou hast pity, pity grant to me;
If thou hast bounty, here a heart I bring
For all that bounty 'thirst and hungering
O Lady, save thy grace, there is no way
For me, I know, but lonely sorrowing —

If in my soul, dear,
An omen should dwell,
Bidding me pause, ere
I love thee too well;
If the whole circle
Of noble and wise,
With stern forebodings,
Between us should rise; —

I will tell them , dear,
That Love reigns — a King,
Where storms cannot reach him,
And words cannot sting;
He counts it dishonor
His faith to recall;

I

A mile of moonlight and the whispering wood:
A mile of shadow and the odorous lane:
One large, white star above the solitude,
Like one sweet wish: and, laughter after pain,
Wild-roses wistful in a web of rain.

II

No star, no rose, to lesson him and lead;
No woodsman compass of the skies and rocks, —
Tattooed of stars and lichens, — doth love need
To guide him where, among the hollyhocks,

THE tender, delicate Flowers,
I saw them fanned by a warm western wind
Fed by soft summer showers,
Shielded by care, and yet, (O Fate unkind!)
Fade in a few short hours.

The gentle and the gay,
Rich in a glorious Future of bright deeds,
Rejoicing in the day,
Are met by Death, who sternly, sadly leads
Them far away.

And Hopes, perfumed and bright,
So lately shining, wet with dew and tears,
Trembling in morning light;
I saw them change to dark and anxious fears
Before the night!

I'm thinking of you to-night, Willie,
Alone in the silence bright;
While heav'n enswathes in a glittering veil
An unreal world of white.

I'm thinking of you to-night, Willie,
In the deathless afterglow
Of ideal love that was pure and white,
Ah! Willie, you know, you know!

I'm thinking of you to-night, Willie,
While out in the quiet street,
A passionate wail of melody
Flows out from a cornet sweet.

The plaint in the air is sad, Willie,
Ah! Sadder could never be,

FROM THE FRENCH

From the same parent, issuing at a birth,
Two different beings tread this changeful earth;
The one call'd Happiness, to whom was given,
With liberal hand, each fairer boon of heaven;
But, from his youth, defrauded of his due,
No kind, no lenient care Misfortune knew,
Till soften'd by his wrongs, the sacred powers
Bade Hermes soothe to milder grief his hours.
He placed Humanity for ever near,
And the sweet pleasures of the social tear;