Spring, darling Spring, my days will not return to me, You who see them fleeting, you, all time above, You who move the whole world's heart, ah move one heart to turn to me, --Bring me a lover, and teach me how to love!

SONG.

"LOVE me little, love me long,"

Is the burden of my song, And if nothing more may be Little shall suffice for me.

But if you could crown with flowers All my radiant, festal hours, And console for hours of sorrow Love me more with each to-morrow.

And if you would turn my days To one splendid hymn of praise, And set hopes like stars above me Love me much, and always love me!

THE MAGIC FLOWER.

THROUGH many days and many days The seed of love lay hidden close; We walked the dusty tiresome ways Where never a leaf or blossom grows.

And in the darkness, all the while, The little seed its heart uncurled, And we by many a weary mile Travelled towards it, round the world.

To the hid centre of the maze At last we came, and there we found-- O happy day, O day of days!

--Twin seed-leaves breaking holy ground.

We dropped life's joys, a garnered sheaf, And spell-bound watched, still hour by hour, Magic on magic, leaf by leaf, The unfolding of our love's white flower.

LA DERNIERE ROBE DE SOI.

OH, silken gown, all pink and pretty, Bought, quite a bargain, in the City, Your ill-trained soul full false has played me-- No Paris gown would have betrayed me.

You knew, my pretty silken treasure, I must not wed for love or pleasure, But for a settlement and t.i.tle; Yet you encouraged his recital!

He said--oh, faithless gown, you listened While on your sheen two tear drops glistened-- He said . . . let love to music set it, I'll never speak it--nor forget it!

"No, no!" I cried, I tried to save you-- False gown, you showed the tears I gave you!

You looked discreet when first I found you.

How could you let his arm go round you?

You darling dress--I'll smooth your creases, I'll wear you till you drop to pieces; But poor men's wives wear cotton only-- Dear gown--I hope you won't feel lonely!

THE LEAST POSSIBLE.

DEAR G.o.ddess of the shining shrine Where all my votive tapers burn, Where every gold-embroidered thought And all my flowers of life are brought --With many, alas! that are not mine-- What will you give me in return?

The bow in Bond Street--in the Park The smile all worship on your lips, The courteous word at dinner--dance-- But never a blush--a conscious glance; At most, at Henley, in the dark, Your fleet mistaken finger-tips?

Ah, just for once, once only, be An altar-server--stoop and set me Upon the altar richly wrought Of your most secret flower-sweet thought: One nightlight's flicker burn for me Before you sleep and quite forget me.

EN TOUT CAS.

WHEN I am glad I need your eyes To be the stars of Paradise; Your lips to be the seal of all The joy life grants, and dreams recall; Your hand, to lie my hands between What time we walk the garden green.

But most in grief I need your face To lean to mine in the desert place; Your lips to mock the evil years, To sweeten me my cup of tears, Your eyes to shine, in cloud's despite, Your hands to hold mine through the night.

APPEAL.

Daphnis dearest, wherefore weave me Webs of lies lest truth should grieve me?

I could pardon much, believe me: Dower me, Daphnis, or bereave me, Kill me, kill me, love me, leave me-- d.a.m.n me, dear, but don't deceive me!

ST. VALENTINE'S DAY.

THE South is a dream of flowers With a jewel for sky and sea, Rose-crowns for the dancing hours, Gold fruits upon every tree; But cold from the North The wind blows forth That blows my love to me.

The stars in the South are gold Like lamps between sky and sea; The flowers that the forests hold Like stars between tree and tree; But little and white Is the pale moon's light That lights my love to me.

In the South the orange grove Makes dusk by the dusky sea, White palaces wrought for love Gleam white between tree and tree, But under bare boughs Is the little house Warm-lit for my love and me.

CHAGRIN D'AMOUR.

IF Love and I were all alone I might forget to grieve, And for his pleasure and my own Might happier garlands weave; But you sit there, and watch us wear The mourning wreaths you wove: And while such mocking eyes you bear I am not friends with Love.

Withdraw those cruel eyes, and let Me search the garden through That I may weave, ere Love be set, The wreath of Love for you; Till you, whom Love so well adorns, Its hidden thorns discover, And know at last what crown of thorns It was you gave your lover.

BRIDAL EVE.

GOOD-NIGHT, my Heart, my Heart, good-night-- Oh, good and dear and fair, With lips of life and eyes of light And roses in your hair.

To-morrow brings the other crown, The orange blossoms, Sweet, And then the rose will be cast down With lilies at your feet.

But in your soul a garden stands Where fair the white rose blows-- G.o.d, teach my foolish clumsy hands The way to tend my rose.

That in the white-rose garden still The lily may bloom fair G.o.d help my heart and soul and will To keep the lily there.

LOVE AND LIFE.

LOVE only sings when Love is young, When Love is young and still at play, How shall we count the sweet songs sung When Love and Joy kept holiday?

But now Love has to earn his bread By lifelong stress and toil of tears, He finds his nest of song-birds dead That sang so sweet in other years.

For Love's a man now, strong and brave, To fight for you, for you to live, And Love, that once such bright songs gave, Has better things than songs to give; He gives you now a lifelong faith, A hand to help in joy or pain, And he will sing no more, till Death Shall come to make him young again!

FROM THE ITALIAN.

AS a little child whom his mother has chidden, Wrecked in the dark in a storm of weeping, Sleeps with his tear-stained eyes closed hidden And, with fists clenched, sobs still in his sleeping,