I shall not see the shadows,

I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale

Sing on, as if in pain;
And dreaming through the twilight

That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.

C. G. Rossetti

CCCXC

A BIRTHDAY My heart is like a singing bird

Whose nest is in a watered shoot; My heart is like an appletree

Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit; My heart is like a rainbow shell

That paddles in a halcyon sea; My heart is gladder than all these

Because my love is come to me. Raise me a dais of silk and down;

Hang it with vair and purple dyes; Carve it in doves, and pomegranates,

And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,

In leaves, and silver fleurs-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.

C. G. Rossetti

CCCXCI

BARBARA
On the Sabbath-day,

Through the churchyard old and grey,
Over the crisp and yellow leaves, I held my rustling

way; And amid the words of mercy, falling on my soul

like balms,

'Mid the gorgeous storms of music-in the mellow

organ-calms, 'Mid the upward-streaming prayers, and the rich

and solemn psalms,
I stood careless, Barbara.

My heart was otherwhere

While the organ shook the air, And the priest, with outspread hands, blessed the

people with a prayer; But, when rising to go homeward, with a mild and

saint-like shine Gleamed a face of airy beauty with its heavenly

eyes on mine Gleamed and vanished in a moment–0 that face

was surely thine
Out of heaven, Barbara !

O pallid, pallid face!

O earnest eyes of grace! When last I saw thee, dearest, it was in another

place. You came running forth to meet me with my

love-gift on your wrist : The flutter of a long white dress, then all was lost

in mistA purple stain of agony was on the mouth I kissed,

That wild morning, Barbara.

I searched, in my despair,

Sunny noon and midnight air; I could not drive away the thought that you were

lingering there. O many and many a winter night I sat when you

were gone, My worn face buried in my hands, beside the fire

aloneWithin the dripping churchyard, the rain plashing

on your stone,
You were sleeping, Barbara.

'Mong angels, do you think

Of the precious golden link I clasped around your happy arm while sitting by

yon brink ?

Or when that night of gliding dance, of laughter

and guitars, Was emptied of its music, and we watched, through

latticed bars, The silent midnight heaven creeping o'er us with

its stars,
Till the day broke, Barbara?

In the years I've changed;

Wild and far my heart hath ranged, And many sins and errors now have been on me

avenged; But to you I have been faithful, whatsoever good I

lacked: I loved you, and above my life still hangs that love

intactYour love the trembling rainbow, I the reckless

cataract-
Still I love you, Barbara.

Yet, love, I am unblest;

With many doubts opprest, I wander like a desert wind, without a place of rest. Could I but win you for an hour from off that starry

shore, The hunger of my soul were stilled, for Death hath

told you more Than the melancholy world doth know; things

deeper than all lore
You could teach me, Barbara.

In vain, in vain, in vain,

You will never come again. There droops upon the dreary hills a mournful

fringe of rain;

The gloaming closes slowly round, loud winds are

in the tree, Round selfish shores for ever moans the hurt and

wounded sea, There is no rest upon the earth, peace is with Death

and thee, Barbara !

A. Smith

CCCXCII

SUMMER DAWN

:

Pray but one prayer for me 'twixt thy closed lips,

Think but one thought of me up in the stars. The summer night waneth, the morning light slips, Faint and grey 'twixt the leaves of the aspen,

betwixt the cloud-bars, That are patiently waiting there for the dawn :

Patient and colourless, though Heaven's gold Waits to float through them along with the sun. Far out in the meadows, above the young corn,

The heavy elms wait, and restless and cold
The uneasy wind rises; the roses are dun;
Through the long twilight they pray for the dawn,
Round the lone house in the midst of the corn.

Speak but one word to me over the corn,
Over the tender, bowed locks of the corn.

W. Morris

CCCXCIII

As we rush, as we rush in the train,

The trees and the houses go wheeling back, But the starry heavens above the plain

Come flying on our track.

All the beautiful stars of the sky,

The silver doves of the forest of Night, Over the dull earth swarm and fly,

Companions of our flight.

We will rush ever on without fear;

Let the goal be far, the flight be fleet ! For we carry the Heavens with us, dear, While the Earth slips from our feet!

J. Thomson

CCCXCIV

ITYLUS
Swallow, my sister, O sister swallow,
How can thine heart be full of the spring ?

A thousand summers are over and dead.
What hast thou found in the spring to follow?
What hast thou found in thine heart to sing?

What wilt thou do when the summer is shed ?

O swallow, sister, O fair swift swallow,
Why wilt thou fly after spring to the south,

The soft south whither thine heart is set ?
Shall not the grief of the old time follow?
Shall not the song thereof cleave to thy mouth?

Hast thou forgotten ere I forget?
Sister, my sister, O fleet sweet swallow,
Thy way is long to the sun and the south;

But I, fulfilled of my heart's desire,
Shedding my song upon height, upon hollow,
From tawny body and sweet small mouth

Feed the heart of the night with fire.
I the nightingale all spring through,
O swallow, sister, O changing swallow,

All spring through till the spring be done, Clothed with the light of the night on the dew, Sing, while the hours and the wild birds follow,

Take flight and follow and find the sun. Sister, my sister, O soft light swallow, Though all things feast in the spring's guest

chamber,