An' zome birds do keep under ruffèn
Their young vrom the storm,
An' zome wi' nest-hoodèns o' moss
An' o' wool, do lie warm.
An' we wull look well to the house ruf
That o'er thee mid leak,
An' the blast that mid beät on thy winder
Shall not smite thy cheäk.
Lullaby, Lilybrow. Lie asleep;
Blest be thy rest.
If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love's sake only. Do not say
'I love her for her smile
Of speaking gently, . . . for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day
For these things in themselves, Belovéd, may
Be changed, or change for thee,-and love so wrought,
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,
Since one might well forget to weep who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby.
But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou may'st love on through love's eternity.
If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange
And be all to me? Shall I never miss
Home-talk and blessing, and the common kiss
That comes to each in turn, nor count it strange,
When I look up, to drop on a new range
Of walls and floors. . another home than this?
Nay, wilt thou fill that place by me which is
Fill'd by dead eyes, too tender to know change?
That's hardest! If to conquer love, has tried,
To conquer grief tries more. .. as all things prove:
For grief indeed is love, and grief beside.
Alas, I have grieved so I am hard to love-
Yet love me-wilt thou? Open thine heart wide,
And fold within the wet wings of thy dove.
I sat with Love upon a woodside well,
Leaning across the water, I and he;
Nor ever did he speak nor look'd at me,
But touch'd his lute wherein was audible
The certain secret thing he had to tell :
Only our mirror'd eyes met silently
In the low wave; and that sound came to be The passionate voice I knew; and my tears fell. And at their fall, his eyes beneath grew hers; And with his foot and with his wing-feathers
He swept the spring that water'd my heart's drouth.
Then the dark ripples spread to waving hair, And as I stoop'd, her own lips rising there Bubbled with brimming kisses at my mouth D. G. Rossetti.
We now mid hope vor better cheer,
My smilèn wife o' twice vive year.
Let others frown, if thou bist near
Wi' hope upon thy brow, Jeäne;
Vor I vu'st lov'd thee when thy light
Young sheäpe vu'st grew to woman's height;
An I do love thee now, Jeäne.
An' we've a-trod the sheenèn bleäde
Ov eegrass in the zummer sheäde,
An' when the leaves begun to feäde
Wi' zummer in the weäne, Jeäne;
An' we've a-wander'd drough the groun'
O' swayèn wheat a-turnèn brown,
An' we've a-stroll'd together roun'
The brook an' drough the leäne, Jeäne.
An' nwone but I can ever tell
Ov all thy tears that have a-vell
When trials meäde thy bosom zwell,
An' nwone but thou o' mine, Jeäne;
An' now my heart, that heaved wi' pride
Back then to have thee at my zide,
Do love thee mwore as years do slide,
An' leave them times behine, Jeäne.
Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforward in thy shadow.
Alone upon the threshold of my door
Of individual life, I shall command
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forbore,
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
With pulses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
And sees within my eyes, the tears of two.
I thought once how Theocritus had sung
Of the sweet years, the dear and wish'd-for years,
Who each one in a gracious hand appears
To bear a gift for mortals, old or young :
And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,
in gradual vision through my tears,
The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,
Those of my own life, who by turns had flung
A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware,
So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move
Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair;
And a voice said in mastery while I strove, .
'Guess now who holds thee?' Death!' I said. But, there,
The silver answer rang-' Not Death, but Love.'
KEEPING A HEART
If one should give me a heart to keep,
With love for the golden key,
The giver might live at ease or sleep;
It should ne'er know pain, be weary, or weep,
The heart watch'd over by me.
I would keep that heart as a temple fair,
No heathen should look therein;
Its chaste marmoreal beauty rare
I only should know, and to enter there
I must hold myself from sin.
I would keep that heart as a casket hid
Where precious jewels are ranged,
A memory each; as you raise the lid,
You think you love again as you did
Of old, and nothing seems changed.
How I should tremble day after day,
As I touch'd with the golden key,
Lest aught in that heart were changed, or say
That another had stolen one thought away
And it did not open to me.
But ah, I should know that heart so well,
As a heart so loving and true,
As a heart that I held with a golden spell,
That so long as I changed not I could foretell
That heart would be changeless too.
I would keep that heart as the thought of heaven, To dwell in a life apart,
My good should be done, my gift be given,.
In hope of the recompense there; yea, even
My life should be led in that heart.
And so on the eve of some blissful day,
From within we should close the door
On glimmering splendours of love, and stay
In that heart shut up from the world away,
Never to open it more.
HOME AT LAST
Now more the bliss of love is felt,
Though felt to be the same;
'Tis still our lives in one to melt,
Within love's sacred flame:
Each other's joy each to impart,
Each other's grief to share ;
To look into each other's heart,
And find all solace there:
To lay the head upon one breast,
To press one answering hand,
To feel through all the soul's unrest,
One soul to understand;
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