Somebody is coming there somebody, I'm sure, Knows your eyes are full of love, knows your heart is pure. Happy Mary Anerley, looking O so fair! There's a ring upon your hand, and there's myrtle in your hair. Somebody is with you now: somebody, I see, Looks into your trusting face very tenderly. Quiet Mary Forester, sitting by the shore, DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI. 1828-1882. THE CARD-DEALER. Could you not drink her gaze like wine? Into the silence languidly As a tune into a tune, Those eyes unravel the coil'd night And know the stars at noon. The gold that's heap'd beside her hand In truth rich prize it were ; And rich the dreams that wreathe her brows And he were rich who would unwind That woven golden hair. Around her, where she sits, the dance Now breathes its eager heat; Fall there the dancers' feet Than fall her cards on the bright board, Her fingers let them softly through, Smooth polish'd silent things; And each one as it falls reflects In swift light-shadowings, Blood-red and purple, green and blue, The great eyes of her rings. Whom plays she with? With thee who lovest Those gems upon her hand; With me, who search her secret brows; With all men, bless'd or bann'd. We play together, she and we, Within a vain strange land. A land without any order, Day even as night (one saith),— A land of darkness as darkness itself What be her cards? you ask. Even these: More, having fed; the diamond, The club, for smiting in the dark; And do you ask what game she plays? With thee it is playing still; with him It is not well begun : But 'tis a game she plays with all Thou seest the card that falls ;-she knows Her game in thy tongue is call'd Life, As ebbs thy daily breath : When she shall speak, thou'lt learn her tongue, FIRST LOVE REMEMBERED. The thought still brings my soul such grace Whether it still be small and light, Or whether, in a shadow dense, Innocent maidenhood awoke To married innocence : There still the thanks unheard await The unconscious gift bequeath'd,— LILITH Of Adam's first wife, Lilith, it is told (The witch beloved before the gift of Eve) That, ere the Snake's, her sweet tongue could deceive, And her enchanted hair was the first gold. And still she sits, young while the earth is old, And, subtly of herself contemplative, Draws men to watch the bright net she can weave, The rose and poppy are her flowers for where And soft-shed kisses and soft sleep shall snare ? TRUE WOMAN. To be a sweetness more desired than Spring; A bodily beauty more acceptable Than the wild rose-tree's arch that crowns the fell; Than wine's drain'd juice; a music ravishing The wave-bower'd pearl,—the heart-shape seal of green LOST DAYS. The lost days of my life until to-day, CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI. 1830 SONG. When I am dead, my Dearest ! I shall not see the shadows, And dreaming through the twilight That doth not rise nor set, Haply I may remember,— And haply may forget. THE BOURNE. Underneath the growing grass, Youth and health will be but vain, Can hold round what once the earth |