Now the Spring is waking,

         Very shy as yet,

      Busy mending, making

         Grass and violet.

      Frowsy Winter’s over:

         See the budding lane!

      Go and meet your lover:

         Spring is here again!

      Every day is longer

         Than the day before;

      Lambs are whiter, stronger,

         Birds sing more and more;

      Woods are less than shady,

         Griefs are more than vain—

      Go and kiss your lady:

         Spring is here again!

               So good-bye!

      This is where we end it, you and I.

      Life’s to live, you know, and death’s to die;

               So good-bye!

               I was yours

      For the love in life that loves while life endures,

      For the earth-path that the Heaven-flight ensures

               I was yours.

               You were mine

      For the moment that a garland takes to twine,

      For the human hour that sorcery shews divine

               You were mine.

               All is over.

      You and I no more are love and lover;

      Nought’s to seek now, gain, attain, discover.

               All is over.

      Life is a night all dark and wild,

         Yet still stars shine:

      This moment is a star, my child—

         Your star and mine.

      Life is a desert dry and drear,

         Undewed, unblest;

      This hour is an oasis, dear;

         Here let us rest.

      Life is a sea of windy spray,

         Cold, fierce and free:

      An isle enchanted is to-day

         For you and me.

      Forget night, sea, and desert: take

         The gift supreme,

      And, of life’s brief relenting, make

         A deathless dream.

      If you loved me I could trust you to your fancy’s furthest bound

      While the sun shone and the wind blew, and the world went round,

      To the utmost of the meshes of the devil’s strongest net . . .

      If you loved me, if you loved me—but you do not love me yet!

      I love you—and I cannot trust you further than the door!

      But winds and worlds and seasons change, and you will love me more

      And more—until I trust you, dear, as women do trust men—

      I shall trust you, I shall trust you, but I shall not love you then!

      We do not clamour for vengeance,

         We do not whine for fear;

      We have cried in the outer darkness

         Where was no man to hear.

      We cried to man and he heard not;

         Yet we thought God heard us pray;

      But our God, who loved and was sorry—

         Our God is taken away.

      Ours were the stream and the pasture,

         Forest and fen were ours;

      Ours were the wild wood-creatures,

         The wild sweet berries and flowers.

      You have taken our heirlooms from us,

         And hardly you let us save

      Enough of our woods for a cradle,

         Enough of our earth for a grave.

      You took the wood and the cornland,

         Where still we tilled and felled;

      You took the mine and quarry,

         And all you took you held.

      The limbs of our weanling children

         You crushed in your mills of power;

      And you made our bearing women toil

         To the very bearing hour.

      You have taken our clean quick longings,

         Our joy in lover and wife,

      Our hope of the sunset quiet

         At the evening end of life;

      You have taken the land that bore us,

         Its soil and stone and sod;

      You have taken our faith in each other—

         And now you have taken our God.

      When our God came down from Heaven

         He came among men, a Man,

      Eating and drinking and working

         As common people can;

      And the common people received Him

         While the rich men turned away.

      But what have we to do with a God