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target="_blank" rel="nofollow" href="#ulink_3b86eca3-6e48-554d-b132-ce0de30da5a4">LIGHT AS THE LINNET ON MY WAY I START

       COME, HERE IS ADIEU TO THE CITY

       IT BLOWS A SNOWING GALE

       NE SIT ANCILLÆ TIBI AMOR PUDOR

       TO ALL THAT LOVE THE FAR AND BLUE

       THOU STRAINEST THROUGH THE MOUNTAIN FERN

       TO ROSABELLE

       NOW BARE TO THE BEHOLDER’S EYE

       THE BOUR-TREE DEN

       SONNETS

       I.

       II.

       III.

       IV.

       V.

       VI.

       VII.

       VIII.

       AIR OF DIABELLI’S

       EPITAPHIUM EROTII

       DE M. ANTONIO

       AD MAGISTRUM LUDI

       AD NEPOTEM

       IN CHARIDEMUM

       DE LIGURRA

       IN LUPUM

       AD QUINTILIANUM

       DE HORTIS JULII MARTIALIS

       AD MARTIALEM

       IN MAXIMUM

       AD OLUM

       DE CŒNATIONE MICÆ

       DE EROTIO PUELLA

       AD PISCATOREM

PREFACE

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      All Stevensonians owe a debt of gratitude to the Bibliophile Society of Boston for having discovered the following poems and given them light in a privately printed edition, thus making them known, in fact, to the world at large. Otherwise they would have remained scattered and hidden indefinitely in the hands of various collectors. They will be found extraordinarily interesting in their self-revelation, and some, indeed, are so intimate and personal that one understands why Stevenson withheld them from all eyes save his own. The love-poems in particular, though they are of very unequal merit, possess in common a really affecting sincerity. That Stevenson should have preserved these poems through all the vicissitudes of his wandering life shows how dearly he must have valued them; and shows, too, I think, beyond any contradiction, that he meant they should be ultimately published.

      LLOYD OSBOURNE.

PRAYER

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      I ask good things that I detest,

       With speeches fair;

       Heed not, I pray Thee, Lord, my breast,

       But hear my prayer.

      I say ill things I would not say—

       Things unaware:

       Regard my breast, Lord, in Thy day,

       And not my prayer.

      My heart is evil in Thy sight:

       My good thoughts flee:

       O Lord, I cannot wish aright—

       Wish Thou for me.

      O bend my words and acts to Thee,

       However ill,

       That I, whate’er I say or be,

       May serve Thee still.

      O let my thoughts abide in Thee

       Lest I should fall:

       Show me Thyself in all I see,

       Thou Lord of all.

LO! IN THINE HONEST EYES I READ

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      Lo! in thine honest eyes I read

       The auspicious beacon that shall lead,

       After long sailing in deep seas,

       To quiet havens in June ease.

      Thy voice sings like an inland bird

       First by the seaworn sailor heard;

       And like road sheltered from life’s sea

       Thine honest heart is unto me.

THOUGH DEEP INDIFFERENCE SHOULD DROWSE

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      Though deep indifference should drowse

       The sluggish life

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