Yon thicket's breath can that be eglantine?

Those birds can they be morning's choristers? Can this be earth? Can these be banks of furze? Like burning bushes fired of God they shine! I seem to know them, though this body of mine Passed into spirit at the touch of hers!

Theodore Walls-Dunton [1836

TO MY LOVE

KISS me softly and speak to me low;
Malice has ever a vigilant ear;
What if Malice were lurking near?
Kiss me, dear!

Kiss me softly and speak to me low.

Kiss me softly and speak to me low;
Envy, too, has a watchful ear;
What if Envy should chance to hear?
Kiss me, dear!

Kiss me softly and speak to me low.

Kiss me softly and speak to me low;

Trust me, darling, the time is near
When lovers may love with never a fear;
Kiss me, dear!

Kiss me softly and speak to me low.

John Godfrey Saxe [1816-1887]

TO LESBIA

GIVE me kisses! Do not stay,
Counting in that careful way.
All the coins your lips can print
Never will exhaust the mint.
Kiss me, then,

Every moment—and again!

Give me kisses! Do not stop,
Measuring nectar by the drop.

Make Believe

Though to millions they amount,
They will never drain the fount.
Kiss me, then,

Every moment-and again!

Give me kisses! All is waste
Save the luxury we taste;
And for kissing,-kisses live
Only when we take or give.
Kiss me, then,

Every moment-and again!

Give me kisses! Though their worth
Far exceeds the gems of earth,
Never pearls so rich and pure

Cost so little, I am sure,
Kiss me, then,

Every moment-and again!

Give me kisses! Nay, 'tis true
I am just as rich as you;
And for every kiss I owe,
I can pay you back, you know,
Kiss me, then,

Every moment--and again!

665

John Godfrey Saxe (1816-1887]

MAKE BELIEVE

Kiss me, though you make believe;
Kiss me, though I almost know

You are kissing to deceive:

Let the tide one moment flow Backward ere it rise and break, Only for poor pity's sake!

Give me of your flowers one leaf,
Give me of your smiles one smile,

SOME say that kissing's a sin;
But I think it's nane ava,

For kissing has wonn'd in this warld
Since ever that there was twa.

O, if it wasna lawfu'

Lawyers wadna allow it;

If it wasna holy,

Ministers wadna do it.

If it wasna modest,

Maidens wadna tak' it;

If it wasna plenty,

Puir folk wadna get it.

Unknown

TO ANNE

How many kisses do I ask?

Now you set me to my task.

First, sweet Anne, will you tell me
How many waves are in the sea?
How many stars are in the sky?
How many lovers you make sigh?
How many sands are on the shore?
I shall want just one kiss more.

William Stirling-Maxwell [1818-1878]

Phillis and Corydon

SONG

THERE is many a love in the land, my love,
But never a love like this is;

Then kill me dead with your love, my love,
And cover me up with kisses.

So kill me dead and cover me deep
Where never a soul discovers;
Deep in your heart to sleep, to sleep,
In the darlingest tomb of lovers.

Joaquin Miller [1841

667

PHILLIS AND CORYDON

PHILLIS took a red rose from the tangles of her hair,Time, the Golden Age; the place, Arcadia, anywhere,—

Phillis laughed, the saucy jade: "Sir Shepherd, wilt have this,

Or"-Bashful god of skipping lambs and oaten reeds!-"a kiss?"

Bethink thee, gentle Corydon! A rose lasts all night long, A kiss but slips from off your lips like a thrush's evening song.

A kiss that goes, where no one knows! A rose, a crimson rose!

Corydon made his choice and took-Well, which do you

suppose?

Arthur Colton [1868

AT HER WINDOW

"HARK, HARK, THE LARK"

From "Cymbeline"

HARK, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus 'gins arise,

His steeds to water at those springs

On chaliced flowers that lies;

And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes:
With everything that pretty bin,

My lady sweet, arise:

Arise, arise.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616]

"SLEEP, ANGRY BEAUTY”

SLEEP, angry beauty, sleep and fear not me!
For who a sleeping lion dares provoke?
It shall suffice me here to sit and see

Those lips shut up, that never kindly spoke:
What sight can more content a lover's mind
Than beauty seeming harmless, if not kind?

My words have charmed her, for secure she sleeps,
Though guilty much of wrong done to my love;
And in her slumber, see! she close-eyed weeps:

Dreams often more than waking passions move. Plead, Sleep, my cause, and make her soft like thee: That she is peace may wake and pity me.

Thomas Campion [? -1619]

MATIN SONG

RISE, Lady Mistress, rise!

The night hath tedious been;
No sleep hath fallen into mine eyes

Nor slumbers made me sin.