SHE has laughed as softly as if she sighed, Of a purse well filled, and a heart well tried Oh, each a worthy lover! They "give her time"; for her soul must slip She trembles her fan in a sweetness dumb, Speaks common words with a blushful air, Hears bold words, unreproving; But her silence says-what she never will swearAnd love seeks better loving. Go, lady! lean to the night-guitar, Unless you can think, when the song is done, No other is soft in the rhythm; Unless you can feel, when left by One, That all men else go with him; Unless you can know, when upraised by his breath, Oh, fear to call it loving! Unless you can muse in a crowd all day With the breadth of heaven betwixt you; Elizabeth Barrett Browning [1806-1861] "LOVE HATH A LANGUAGE" From "To My Son " LOVE hath a language for all years— The tale which never yet was told. Amaturus Love hath his meter too, to trace Those bounds which never yet were given, To measure that which mocks at space, Love hath his treasure hoards, to pay 481 Helen Selina Sheridan [1807-1867] SONG From "Maud" O, LET the solid ground, Not fail beneath my feet What some have found so sweet; Then let come what come may, I shall have had my day. Let the sweet heavens endure, Before I am quite quite sure That there is one to love me! Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] AMATURUS SOMEWHERE beneath the sun, These quivering heart-strings prove it, Somewhere there must be one Made for this soul to move it; Some one that hides her sweetness Nor give her heart its rights; Though waving fancy's banner; As to disdain my hand, Yet born to smile serenely Like those that rule the land; With soft hair simply folded, Deep-calm, when gales are brawling, Of things one may not know; Spirit and flesh to sunder; Forth, Love, and find this maid, Speak, Love, be not afraid, But plead as thou art bidden; A Ballad of Dreamland And say, that he who taught thee To part with thee in vain. 483 William Johnson-Cory [1823-1892] THE SURFACE AND THE DEPTHS LOVE took my life and thrilled it Played round my mind and filled it But to my heart he never came Therefore it is that singing I do rejoice, Nor heed the slow years bringing A harsher voice; Because the songs which he has sung Still leave the untouched singer young. But whom in fuller fashion The Master sways, For him, swift-winged with passion, Fleet the brief days. Betimes the enforced accents come, And leave him ever after dumb. Lewis Morris [1833-1907] A BALLAD OF DREAMLAND I HID my heart in a nest of roses, Out of the sun's way, hidden apart; In a softer bed then the soft white snow's is, Why would it sleep not? why should it start, When never a leaf of the rose-tree stirred? What made sleep flutter his wings and part? Only the song of a secret bird. |