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She knew not those sweet words she spake,
Nor knew her own sweet way;
Thronged in whose throat that day !
Oh, there were flowers in Storrington
On the turf and on the spray;
Was the Daisy-flower that day!
Her beauty smoothed earth's furrowed face.
She gave me tokens three:
And a wild raspberry.
A still word, — strings of sand !
Fly down to her little hand.
For standing artless as the air,
And candid as the skies,
And the love with her sweet eyes.
The fairest things have fleetest end,
Their scent survives their close: But the rose's scent is bitterness
To him that loved the rose.
She looked a little wistfully,
Then went her sunshine way:The sea's eye had a mist on it,
And the leaves fell from the day.
She went her unremembering way,
She went and left in me
And partings yet to be.
She left me marvelling why my soul
Was sad that she was glad; At all the sadness in the sweet,
The sweetness in the sad.
Still, still I seemed to see her, still
Look up with soft replies,
And the love with her lovely eyes.
Nothing begins, and nothing ends,
That is not paid with moan; For we are born in other's pain, And perish in our own.
TO THE SINKING SUN
Of use that does not fail !
Ride in the bending gale;
And fire-dropt as a seraph's mail.
Here every eve thou stretchest out
Newly an olden thing;
Moves largely thy grave progressing.
There every eve thou goest down
Behind the self-same hill,
Behind the self-same hill;
Possessed with glory past its will.
Not twice alike! I am not blind,
My sight is live to see;
Change not at all, or utterly!
Or give to change reprieve!
That I for sameness grieve.
The grass and flower of yester-eve!
Of change: thou yield'st mine eyes
Its penetrant surprise.
Burthens my spirit and the skies.
Plodding in unconned ways!
A dull, new, staled amaze!
And knocked as the starry night went by;
“It is I.” And Love looked down from a lattice above
Where the roses were dry as the lips of the dead; “There is not room in the House of Love
For you both,” he said,
I plucked a leaf from the porch and crept
Away through a desert of scoffs and scorns
And wore me a crown of thorns.
And knocked, ah, softly and wistfully,
“None now but thee." And the great doors opened wide apart
And a voice rang out from a glory of light, “Make room, make room for a faithful heart In the House of Love, to-night.”
For now my love's away:
About the break of day;
And then a rose of May;
And then a holy-day.
My rosary of hours:
And here's a hope of flowers,
For old forgotten years,
And then a shower of tears.
All day I tell my rosary,
Because my love's away;
And never a word to say;
But, if it's parting more endears,
God bring him back, I pray;
heart will break in the darkness
All day I tell my rosary
My rosary of hours,
The hope of all the flowers .
For O, my love's away;
- a dream may bring him back to me
SONG OF HANRAHAN THE RED
Oh, Death will never find us in the heart of the wood,
The song is in my blood, night and day; We will pluck a scented petal from the Rose upon
the Rood Where Love lies bleeding on the way; We will listen to the linnet and watch the waters
leap, When the clouds go dreaming by, And under the wild roses and the stars we will sleep
And wander on together, you and I.
We shall understand the mystery that none has
understood, We shall know why the leafy gloom is green; Oh, Death will never find us in the heart of the wood
When we see what the stars have seen; We have heard the hidden song of the soft dews
falling At the end of the last dark sky, Where all the sorrows of the world are calling,
We must wander on together, you and I.