I

Dear Love, you ask if I be true, If other women move The heart that only beats for you With pulses all of love.

Out in the chilly dew one morn I plucked a wild sweet rose, A little silver bud new-born And longing to unclose.

I took it, loving new-born things, I knew my heart was warm, 'O little silver rose, come in And shelter from the storm.'

And soon, against my body pressed, I felt its petals part, And, looking down within my breast I saw its golden heart.

O such a golden heart it has, Your eyes may never see, To others it is always shut, It opens but for me.

But that is why you see me pa.s.s The honeysuckle there, And leave the lilies in the gra.s.s, Although they be so fair;

Why the strange orchid half-accurst-- Circe of flowers she grows-- Can tempt me not: see! in my heart, Silver and gold, my rose.

II

Deep in a hidden lane we were, My little love and I; When lo! as we stood kissing there-- A flower against the sky!

Frail as a tear its beauty hung-- O spare it, little hand.

But innocence like its, alas!

Desire may not withstand.

And so I clambered up the bank And threw the blossom down, But we were sadder for its sake As we walked back to town.

A LOVE-LETTER

Darling little woman, just a little line, Just a little silver word For that dear gold of thine, Only a whisper you have so often heard:

Only such a whisper as hidden in a sh.e.l.l Holds a little breath of all the mighty sea, But think what a little of all its depth and swell, And think what a little is this little note of me.

'Darling, I love thee, that is all I live for'-- There is the whisper stealing from the sh.e.l.l, But here is the ocean, O so deep and boundless, And each little wave with its whisper as well.

IN THE NIGHT

'Kiss me, dear Love!'-- But there was none to hear, Only the darkness round about my bed And hollow silence, for thy face had fled, Though in my dreaming it had come so near.

I slept again and it came back to me, Burning within the hollow arch of night Like some fair flame of sacrificial light, And all my soul sprang up to mix with thee-- 'Kiss me, my love!

Ah, Love, thy face how fair!'

So did I cry, but still thou wert not there.

THE CONSTANT LOVER

I see fair women all the day, They pa.s.s and pa.s.s--and go; I almost dream that they are shades Within a shadow-show.

Their beauty lays no hand on me, They talk--- I hear no word; I ask my eyes if they have seen, My ears if they have heard.

For why--within the north countree A little maid, I know, Is waiting through the days for me, Drear days so long and slow.

THE WONDER-CHILD

'Our little babe,' each said, 'shall be Like unto thee'--'Like unto _thee_!'

'Her mother's'--'Nay, his father's'--'eyes,'

'Dear curls like thine'--but each replies, 'As thine, all thine, and nought of me.'

What sweet solemnity to see The little life upon thy knee, And whisper as so soft it lies,-- 'Our little babe!'

For, whether it be he or she, A David or a Dorothy, 'As mother fair,' or 'father wise,'

Both when it's 'good,' and when it cries, One thing is certain,--it will be _Our_ little babe.

MISCELLANEOUS

THE HOUSE OF VENUS

Not that Queen Venus of adulterous fame, Whose love was l.u.s.t's insatiable flame-- Not hers the house I would be singer in Whose loose-lipped servants seek a weary sin: But mine the Venus of that morning flood With all the dawn's young pa.s.sion in her blood, With great blue eyes and unpressed bosom sweet.

Her would I sing, and of the shy retreat Where Love first kissed her wondering maidenhood, And He and She first stood, with eyes afraid, In the most golden House that G.o.d has made.

SATIETY

The heart of the rose--how sweet Its fragrance to drain, Till the greedy brain Reels and grows faint With the garnered scent, Reels as a dream on its silver feet.

Sweet thus to drain--then to sleep: For, beware how you stay Till the joy pa.s.s away, And the jaded brain Seeketh fragrance in vain, And hates what it may not reap.

WHAT OF THE DARKNESS?

What of the darkness? Is it very fair?

Are there great calms and find ye silence there?

Like soft-shut lilies all your faces glow With some strange peace our faces never know, With some great faith our faces never dare.

Dwells it in Darkness? Do you find it there?

Is it a Bosom where tired heads may lie?

Is it a Mouth to kiss our weeping dry?

Is it a Hand to still the pulse's leap?

Is it a Voice that holds the runes of sleep?

Day shows us not such comfort anywhere.

Dwells it in Darkness? Do you find it there?

Out of the Day's deceiving light we call, Day that shows man so great and G.o.d so small, That hides the stars and magnifies the gra.s.s; O is the Darkness too a lying gla.s.s, Or, undistracted, do you find truth there?