'Tis sweet enough to make me weep, That tender thought of love and thee, That while the world is hush'd so deep, Thy soul's perhaps awake to me!

Sleep on, sleep on, sweet bride of sleep!

With golden visions of thy dower, While I this midnight vigil keep, And bless thee in thy silent bower; To me 'tis sweeter than the power Of sleep, and fairy dreams unfurl'd, That I alone, at this still hour, In patient love outwatch the world.

VERSES IN AN ALBUM.

Far above the hollow Tempest, and its moan, Singeth bright Apollo In his golden zone,-- Cloud doth never shade him, Nor a storm invade him, On his joyous throne.

So when I behold me In an orb as bright, How thy soul doth fold me In its throne of light!

Sorrow never paineth, Nor a care attaineth To that blessed height.

THE FORSAKEN.

The dead are in their silent graves, And the dew is cold above, And the living weep and sigh, Over dust that once was love.

Once I only wept the dead, But now the living cause my pain: How couldst thou steal me from my tears, To leave me to my tears again?

My Mother rests beneath the sod,-- Her rest is calm and very deep: I wish'd that she could see our loves,-- But now I gladden in her sleep.

Last night unbound my raven locks, The morning saw them turned to gray, Once they were black and well beloved, But thou art changed,--and so are they!

The useless lock I gave thee once, To gaze upon and think of me, Was ta'en with smiles,--but this was torn In sorrow that I send to thee!

SONG.

The stars are with the voyager Wherever he may sail; The moon is constant to her time; The sun will never fail; But follow, follow round the world, The green earth and the sea, So love is with the lover's heart, Wherever he may be.

Wherever he may be, the stars Must daily lose their light; The moon will veil her in the shade; The sun will set at night.

The sun may set, but constant love Will shine when he's away; So that dull night is never night, And day is brighter day.

SONG.

O Lady, leave thy silken thread And flowery tapestrie: There's living roses on the bush, And blossoms on the tree; Stoop where thou wilt, thy careless hand Some random bud will meet; Thou canst not tread, but thou wilt find The daisy at thy feet.

'Tis like the birthday of the world, When earth was born in bloom; The light is made of many dyes, The air is all perfume; There's crimson buds, and white and blue-- The very rainbow showers Have turn'd to blossoms where they fell, And sown the earth with flowers.

There's fairy tulips in the east, The garden of the sun; The very streams reflect the hues, And blossom as they run: While Morn opes like a crimson rose, Still wet with pearly showers; Then, lady, leave the silken thread Thou twinest into flowers!

BIRTHDAY VERSES.

Good morrow to the golden morning, Good morrow to the world's delight-- I've come to bless thy life's beginning, Since it makes my own so bright!

I have brought no roses, sweetest, I could find no flowers, dear,-- It was when all sweets were over Thou wert born to bless the year.

But I've brought thee jewels, dearest, In thy bonny locks to shine,-- And if love shows in their glances, They have learn'd that look of mine!

I LOVE THEE.

I love thee--I love thee!

'Tis all that I can say;-- It is my vision in the night, My dreaming in the day; The very echo of my heart, The blessing when I pray: I love thee--I love thee!

Is all that I can say.

I love thee--I love thee!

Is ever on my tongue; In all my proudest poesy That chorus still is sung; It is the verdict of my eyes, Amidst the gay and young: I love thee--I love thee!

A thousand maids among.

I love thee--I love thee!

Thy bright hazel glance, The mellow lute upon those lips, Whose tender tones entrance; But most, dear heart of hearts, thy proofs That still these words enhance, I love thee--I love thee!

Whatever be thy chance.

LINES.

Let us make a leap, my dear, In our love, of many a year, And date it very far away, On a bright clear summer day, When the heart was like a sun To itself, and falsehood none; And the rosy lips a part Of the very loving heart, And the shining of the eye But a sign to know it by;-- When my faults were all forgiven, And my life deserved of Heaven.

Dearest, let us reckon so, And love for all that long ago; Each absence count a year complete, And keep a birthday when we meet.

FALSE POETS AND TRUE.

TO WORDSWORTH.