"A Rose Will Fade" She broodeth when the ringdove broods; As o'er her senses warmly steal Along the summer woodlands wide Spring's blushing secret now is known. And still she haunts those woodland ways, To mind of spring or summer days, With grief too fixed for woe or tear; Alfred Austin [1835 "A ROSE WILL FADE" You were always a dreamer, Rose-red Rose, As you swung on your perfumed spray, Swinging, and all the world was true, A rose will fade in a day. 1029 Why did you smile to his face, red Rose, A rose will bloom in a day. I gather your petals, Rose-red Rose, Ah! the world, how well it knew A rose will fade in a day! Dora Sigerson Shorter [1873 AFFAIRE D'AMOUR ONE pale November day And growing bolder, O'er rosy shoulder Threw her lover such a glance That Autumn's heart began to dance. (O happy lover!) A leafless peach-tree bold Thought for him she smiled, I'm told; And, stirred by love, His sleeping sap did move, Decking each naked branch with green But Summer, laughing fled, Nor knew he loved her! 'Tis said The peach-tree sighed, And soon he gladly died: And Autumn, weary of the chase, Came on at Winter's sober pace (O careless lover!) Margaret Deland [1857 The Maid of Neidpath 1031 THE MAID OF NEIDPATH O LOVERS' eyes are sharp to see, Can lend an hour of cheering. All sunk and dim her eyes so bright, Till through her wasted hand, at night, By fits a sultry hectic hue Across her cheek was flying; By fits so ashy pale she grew Her maidens thought her dying. Yet keenest powers to see and hear Ere scarce a distant form was kenned, He came he passed-an heedless gaze Walter Scott [1771-1832] ELENA'S SONG From "Philip van Artevelde" QUOTH tongue of neither maid nor wife Betwixt the shine and shade? Quoth heart of neither maid nor wife Henry Taylor (1800-1886] THE WAY OF IT THE wind is awake, pretty leaves, pretty leaves, To the lowly clover He has lisped the same love (and forgotten it, too) The boy is abroad, pretty maid, pretty maid, Times many a score, Ay, he died for a dozen ere his beard pricked through, And the very same death he will die for you. The way of the boy is the way of the wind, And one to believe That is the way of it, year to year; But I know you will learn it too late, my dear. John Vance Cheney [1848 "When Lovely Woman" 1033 "WHEN LOVELY WOMAN STOOPS TO FOLLY" From "The Vicar of Wakefield" WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly And finds too late that men betray,- The only art her guilt to cover, Oliver Goldsmith [1728-1774] |