Lie still, I said, for the wind's wing closes, And mild leaves muffle the keen sun's dart; Lie still, for the wind on the warm seas dozes, And the wind is unquieter yet than thou art. Does a thought in thee still as a thorn's wound smart? Does the fang still fret thee of hope deferred? Only the song of a secret bird. The green land's name that a charm encloses, The swallows of dreams through its dim fields dart, Only the song of a secret bird. ENVOI In the world of dreams I have chosen my part, Of true love's truth or of light love's art, Only the song of a secret bird. Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909] ENDYMION THE rising moon has hid the stars; With shadows brown between. And silver white the river gleams, As if Diana, in her dreams Had dropped her silver bow Endymion On such a tranquil night as this, When, sleeping in the grove, Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought, Its deep, impassioned gaze. It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep Of him who slumbering lies. O weary hearts! O slumbering eyes! O drooping souls, whose destinies Are fraught with fear and pain, No one is so accursed by fate, No one so utterly desolate, But some heart, though unknown, Responds,- -as if with unseen wings, "Where hast thou stayed so long?" 485 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807-1882] FATE Two shall be born, the whole wide world apart, And speak in different tongues and have no thought And these, o'er unknown seas, to unknown lands And two shall walk some narrow way of life So nearly side by side that, should one turn They needs must stand acknowledged, face to face. And die unsatisfied—and this is Fate! Susan Marr Spalding [18 - ? ] "GIVE ALL TO LOVE" GIVE all to love; Obey thy heart; Friends, kindred, days, Estate, good fame, Plans, credit, and the Muse, Nothing refuse. 'Tis a brave master; Let it have scope: Follow it utterly, Hope beyond hope: High and more high "Give All To Love" It dives into noon, And the outlets of the sky. It was never for the mean; Leave all for love; Yet, hear me, yet, One word more thy heart behoved, One pulse more of firm endeavor,- To-morrow, forever, Of thy beloved. Cling with life to the maid; But when the surprise, First vague shadow of surmise, Flits across her bosom young, Of a joy apart from thee, Free be she, fancy-free; Nor thou detain her vesture's hem, Nor the palest rose she flung From her summer diadem. Though thou loved her as thyself, As a self of purer clay, Though her parting dims the day, Stealing grace from all alive; 487 Heartily know, When half-gods go, The gods arrive. Ralph Waldo Emerson [1803-1882] “O, LOVE IS NOT A SUMMER MOOD” O, LOVE is not a summer mood, Nor flying phantom of the brain, Nor youthful fever of the blood, Nor dream, nor fate, nor circumstance. Love is the flower of maidenhood; And she hath winter in her blood. True love is steadfast as the skies, WHEN WILL LOVE COME? SOME find Love late, some find him soon, Some with the nightingale in June, And some when skies are gray; Love comes to some with smiling eyes, For some Love sings, for some Love sighs, How will you come to me, fair Love? With sad or smiling skies above, By light of sun or moon? |