Such letting nature have her way While heaven looks from its towers! VII How say you? Let us, O my dove, How is it under our control To love or not to love? VIII I would that you were all to me, You that are just so much, no more. Nor yours nor mine, nor slave nor free! Where does the fault lie? What the core O' the wound, since wound must be? IX I would I could adopt your will, See with your eyes, and set my heart Beating by yours, and drink my fill At your soul's springs,-—your part, my part In life, for good and ill. X No. I yearn upward, touch you close, XI Already how am I so far Out of that minute? Must I go Still like the thistle-ball, no bar, Onward, whenever light winds blow, Fixed by no friendly star? XII Just when I seemed about to learn! "DE GUSTIBUS—” I YOUR ghost will walk, you lover of trees, (If our loves remain) In an English lane, By a cornfield-side a-flutter with poppies. The happier they ! Draw yourself up from the light of the moon, And let them pass, as they will too soon, With the beanflower's boon, And the blackbird's tune, And May, and June! II What I love best in all the world Is a castle, precipice-encurled, In a gash of the wind-grieved Apennine. In a sea-side house to the farther South, To the water's edge. For, what expands -She hopes they have not caught the felons. Queen Mary's saying serves for me (When fortune's malice Lost her, Calais) Open my heart and you will see Such lovers old are I and she: So it always was, so shall ever be. THE GUARDIAN-ANGEL. A PICTURE AT FANO. DEAR and great Angel, wouldst thou only leave Shall find performed thy special ministry, And time come for departure, thou, suspending Thy flight, may'st see another child for tending, Another still to quiet and retrieve. II Then I shall feel thee step one step, no more, With those wings, white above the child who prays Now on that tomb-and I shall feel thee guarding Me, out of all the world; for me, discarding Yon heaven thy home, that waits and opes its door. III I would not look up thither past thy head Because the door opes, like that child, I know, Thou bird of God! And wilt thou bend me low Me, as thy lamb there, with thy garment's spread? IV If this was ever granted, I would rest My head beneath thine, while thy healing hands Close-covered both my eyes beside thy breast, Pressing the brain which too much thought expands, Back to its proper size again, and smoothing Distortion down till every nerve had soothing, And all lay quiet, happy and suppressed. V How soon all worldly wrong would be repaired! O world, as God has made it ! All is beauty: VI Guercino drew this angel I saw teach (Alfred, dear friend !)—that little child to pray, Holding the little hands up, each to each Pressed gently,—with his own head turned away Over the earth where so much lay before him Of work to do, though heaven was opening o'er him, And he was left at Fano by the beach. VII We were at Fano, and three times we went -My angel with me too and since I care VIII And since he did not work thus earnestly At all times, and has else endured some wrongI took one thought his picture struck from me, And spread it out, translating it to song. My love is here. Where are you, dear old friend? How rolls the Wairoa at your world's far end? This is Ancona, yonder is the sea. EVELYN HOPE. I BEAUTIFUL Evelyn Hope is dead! Sit and watch by her side an hour. |