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And all the external things I see

       Grow snow-showers in the street to me,

       Yet inmost in my stormy sense

       Thy looks shall be an influence.

      Though other loves may come and go

       And long years sever us below,

       Shall the thin ice that grows above

       Freeze the deep centre-well of love?

       No, still below light amours, thou

       Shalt rule me as thou rul’st me now.

      Year following year shall only set

       Fresh gems upon thy coronet;

       And Time, grown lover, shall delight

       To beautify thee in my sight;

       And thou shalt ever rule in me

       Crowned with the light of memory.

MY HEART, WHEN FIRST THE BLACK-BIRD SINGS

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      My heart, when first the blackbird sings,

       My heart drinks in the song:

       Cool pleasure fills my bosom through

       And spreads each nerve along.

      My bosom eddies quietly,

       My heart is stirred and cool

       As when a wind-moved briar sweeps

       A stone into a pool

      But unto thee, when thee I meet,

       My pulses thicken fast,

       As when the maddened lake grows black

       And ruffles in the blast.

I DREAMED OF FOREST ALLEYS FAIR

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I.

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      I dreamed of forest alleys fair

       And fields of gray-flowered grass,

       Where by the yellow summer moon

       My Jenny seemed to pass.

      I dreamed the yellow summer moon,

       Behind a cedar wood,

       Lay white on fields of rippling grass

       Where I and Jenny stood.

      I dreamed—but fallen through my dream,

       In a rainy land I lie

       Where wan wet morning crowns the hills

       Of grim reality.

II.

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      I am as one that keeps awake

       All night in the month of June,

       That lies awake in bed to watch

       The trees and great white moon.

      For memories of love are more

       Than the white moon there above,

       And dearer than quiet moonshine

       Are the thoughts of her I love.

III.

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      Last night I lingered long without

       My last of loves to see.

       Alas! the moon-white window-panes

       Stared blindly back on me.

      To-day I hold her very hand,

       Her very waist embrace—

       Like clouds across a pool, I read

       Her thoughts upon her face.

      And yet, as now, through her clear eyes

       I seek the inner shrine—

       I stoop to read her virgin heart

       In doubt if it be mine—

      O looking long and fondly thus,

       What vision should I see?

       No vision, but my own white face

       That grins and mimics me.

IV.

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      Once more upon the same old seat

       In the same sunshiny weather,

       The elm-trees’ shadows at their feet

       And foliage move together.

      The shadows shift upon the grass,

       The dial point creeps on;

       The clear sun shines, the loiterers pass,

       As then they passed and shone.

      But now deep sleep is on my heart,

       Deep sleep and perfect rest.

       Hope’s flutterings now disturb no more

       The quiet of my breast.

ST. MARTIN’S SUMMER

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      As swallows turning backward

       When half-way o’er the sea,

       At one word’s trumpet summons

       They came again to me—

       The hopes I had forgotten

       Came back again to me.

      I know not which to credit,

       O lady of my heart!

       Your eyes that bade me linger,

       Your words that bade us part—

       I know not which to credit,

       My reason or my heart.

      But be my hopes rewarded,

       Or be they but in vain,

       I have dreamed a golden vision,

       I have gathered in the grain—

       I have dreamed a golden vision,

       I have not lived in vain.

      DEDICATION

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      My first gift and my last, to you

       I dedicate this fascicle of songs—

       The only wealth I have:

       Just as they are, to you.

      I speak the truth in soberness, and say

       I had rather bring a light to your clear

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