I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally, And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley.

By thirty hills I hurry down, Or slip between the ridges, By twenty thorps, a little town, And half a hundred bridges.

Till last by Philip's farm I flow To join the br.i.m.m.i.n.g river, For men may come, and men may go, But I go on for ever.

I chatter over stony ways, In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles.

With many a curve my bank I fret By many a field and fallow, And many a fairy foreland set With willow-weed and mallow.

I chatter, chatter, as I flow To join the br.i.m.m.i.n.g river, For men may come, and men may go, But I go on for ever.

I wind about, and in and out, With here a blossom sailing, And here and there a l.u.s.ty trout, And here and there a grayling,

And here and there a foamy flake Upon me as I travel, With many a silvery waterbreak Above the golden gravel,

And draw them all along and flow To join the br.i.m.m.i.n.g river, For men may come, and men may go, But I go on for ever.

I steal by lawns and gra.s.sy plots, I slide by hazel covers, I move the sweet forget-me-nots That grow for happy lovers.

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, Among my skimming swallows; I make the netted sunbeam dance Against my sandy shallows.

I murmur under moon and stars In brambly wildernesses; I linger by my shingly bars; I loiter round my cresses;

And out again I curve and flow To join the br.i.m.m.i.n.g river, For men may come, and men may go, But I go on for ever.

SWEET AND LOW

Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea!

Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dropping moon, and blow, Blow him again to me; While my little one, while my pretty one sleeps.

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon; Rest, rest, on mother's breast, Father will come to thee soon; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west Under the silver moon: Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.

COME INTO THE GARDEN, MAUD

Come into the garden, Maud, For the black bat, night, has flown, Come into the garden, Maud, I am here at the gate alone; And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, And the musk of the roses blown.

For a breeze of morning moves, And the planet of Love is on high, Beginning to faint in the light that she loves On a bed of daffodil sky, To faint in the light of the sun she loves, To faint in his light, and to die.

All night have the roses heard The flute, violin, ba.s.soon; All night has the cas.e.m.e.nt jessamine stirr'd To the dancers dancing in tune; Till a silence fell with the waking bird, And a hush with the setting moon.

I said to the lily, 'There is but one With whom she has heart to be gay.

When will the dancers leave her alone?

She is weary of dance and play.'

Now half to the setting moon are gone, And half to the rising day; Low on the sand and loud on the stone The last wheel echoes away.

I said to the rose, 'The brief night goes In babble and revel and wine.

O young lord-lover, what sighs are those, For one that will never be thine?

But mine, but mine,' so I sware to the rose, 'For ever and ever, mine.'

And the soul of the rose went into my blood, As the music clash'd in the hall; And long by the garden lake I stood, For I heard your rivulet fall From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood, Our wood, that is dearer than all;

From the meadow your walks have left so sweet That whenever a March-wind sighs He sets the jewel-print of your feet In violets blue as your eyes, To the woody hollows in which we meet And the valleys of Paradise.

The slender acacia would not shake One long milk-bloom on the tree; The white lake-blossom fell into the lake, As the pimpernel dozed on the lea; But the rose was awake all night for your sake, Knowing your promise to me; The lilies and roses were all awake, They sigh'd for the dawn and thee.

Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls, Come hither, the dances are done, In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls, Queen lily and rose in one; Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls, To the flowers, and be their sun.

There has fallen a splendid tear From the pa.s.sion-flower at the gate.

She is coming, my dove, my dear; She is coming, my life, my fate; The red rose cries, 'She is near, she is near'; And the white rose weeps, 'She is late'; The larkspur listens, 'I hear, I hear'; And the lily whispers, 'I wait.'

She is coming, my own, my sweet, Were it ever so airy a tread, My heart would hear her and beat, Were it earth in an earthy bed; My dust would hear her and beat, Had I lain for a century dead; Would start and tremble under her feet, And blossom in purple and red.

ASK ME NO MORE

Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea; The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape, With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape; But O too fond, when have I answer'd thee?

Ask me no more.

Ask me no more: what answer should I give?

I love not hollow cheek or faded eye: Yet, O my friend, I will not have thee die!

Ask me no more, lest I should bid thee live; Ask me no more.

Ask me no more: thy fate and mine are seal'd: I strove against the stream and all in vain: Let the great river take me to the main: No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield; Ask me no more.

THE SOLDIER

When all among the thundering drums Thy soldier in the battle stands, Thy face across his fancy comes And gives the battle to his hands:

A moment while the trumpets blow, He sees his brood about thy knee-- The next--like fire he meets the foe, And strikes him dead for them and thee!

Tara ta tantara!