Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892]

RONSARD TO HIS MISTRESS

"Quand vous serez bien vieille, le soir a la chandelle a.s.sise aupres du feu devisant et filant, Direz, chantant mes vers en vous esmerveillant, Ronsard m'a celebre du temps que j'etois belle."

Some winter night, shut snugly in Beside the f.a.got in the hall, I think I see you sit and spin, Surrounded by your maidens all.

Old tales are told, old songs are sung, Old days come back to memory; You say, "When I was fair and young, A poet sang of me!"

There's not a maiden in your hall, Though tired and sleepy ever so, But wakes, as you my name recall, And longs the history to know.

And, as the piteous tale is said, Of lady cold and lover true, Each, musing, carries it to bed, And sighs and envies you!

"Our lady's old and feeble now,"

They'll say: "she once was fresh and fair, And yet she spurned her lover's vow, And heartless left him to despair.

The lover lies in silent earth, No kindly mate the lady cheers; She sits beside a lonely hearth, With threescore and ten years!"

Ah! dreary thoughts and dreams are those, But wherefore yield me to despair, While yet the poet's bosom glows, While yet the dame is peerless fair!

Sweet lady mine! while yet 'tis time Requite my pa.s.sion and my truth, And gather in their blushing prime The roses of your youth!

William Makepeace Thackeray [1811-1863]

"WHEN YOU ARE OLD"

After Pierre de Ronsard

When you are old and gray and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true; But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

And bending down beside the glowing bars Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

William Butler Yeats [1865-

SONG From "Pippa Pa.s.ses"

You'll love me yet--and I can tarry Your love's protracted growing: June reared that bunch of flowers you carry, From seeds of April's sowing.

I plant a heartfull now: some seed At least is sure to strike, And yield--what you'll not pluck indeed, Not love, but, may be, like.

You'll look at least on love's remains, A grave's one violet: Your look?--that pays a thousand pains.

What's death? You'll love me yet!

Robert Browning [1812-1889]

LOVE IN A LIFE

Room after room, I hunt the house through We inhabit together.

Heart, fear nothing, for, heart, thou shalt find her-- Next time, herself!--not the trouble behind her Left in the curtain, the couch's perfume!

As she brushed it, the cornice-wreath blossomed anew: Yon looking-gla.s.s gleamed at the wave of her feather.

Yet the day wears, And door succeeds door; I try the fresh fortune-- Range the wide house from the wing to the center.

Still the same chance! she goes out as I enter.

Spend my whole day in the quest,--who cares?

But 'tis twilight, you see,--with such suites to explore, Such closets to search, such alcoves to importune!

Robert Browning [1812-1889]

LIFE IN A LOVE

Escape me?

Never-- Beloved!

While I am I, and you are you, So long as the world contains us both, Me the loving and you the loth, While the one eludes, must the other pursue.

My life is a fault at last, I fear: It seems too much like a fate, indeed!

Though I do my best I shall scarce succeed.

But what if I fail of my purpose here?

It is but to keep the nerves at strain, To dry one's eyes and laugh at a fall, And, baffled, get up and begin again,-- So the chase takes up one's life, that's all.

While, look but once from your farthest bound At me so deep in the dust and dark, No sooner the old hope drops to ground Than a new one, straight to the self-same mark, I shape me-- Ever Removed!

Robert Browning [1812-1889]

THE WELCOME

Come in the evening, or come in the morning; Come when you're looked for, or come without warning: Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you, And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you!

Light is my heart since the day we were plighted; Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted; The green of the trees looks far greener than ever, And the linnets are singing, "True lovers don't sever!"

I'll pull you sweet flowers, to wear if you choose them,-- Or, after you've kissed them, they'll lie on my bosom; I'll fetch from the mountain its breeze to inspire you; I'll fetch from my fancy a tale that won't tire you.

Oh! your step's like the rain to the summer-vexed farmer, Or saber and shield to a knight without armor; I'll sing you sweet songs till the stars rise above me, Then, wandering, I'll wish you in silence to love me.

We'll look through the trees at the cliff and the eyrie; We'll tread round the rath on the track of the fairy; We'll look on the stars, and we'll list to the river, Till you ask of your darling what gift you can give her: Oh! she'll whisper you--"Love, as unchangeably beaming, And trust, when in secret, most tunefully streaming; Till the starlight of heaven above us shall quiver, As our souls flow in one down eternity's river."

So come in the evening, or come in the morning; Come when you're looked for, or come without warning: Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you, And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you!

Light is my heart since the day we were plighted; Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted; The green of the trees looks far greener than ever, And the linnets are singing, "True lovers don't sever!"