Burton Egbert Stevenson

“ A heart for an old friend, A hand for the new: Love can to earth lend Heaven's hue— Who's that standing In the silver dew? A smile for the parting, A tear as they go, God's sweethearting Ends just so— Who's that watching Where the black winds blow? He who is waiting In the rain outside, He who is standing Where the dew drops wide, He who is watching In the wind must ride (Though the pale hands cling) With the rose And the ring And the bride, Must ride With the red of the rose, And the gold of the ring, And the lips and the hair of the bride. ”

“ But yet I fear thou wilt go near Thy father's heart and face to bear— Balow, la-low! I cannot choose but ever will Be loving to thy father still; Where'er he go, where'er he ride, My love with him doth still abide; In weal or woe, where'er he go, My heart shall ne'er depart him fro— Balow, la-low! But do not, do not, pretty mine, To feignings false thy heart incline! Be loyal to thy lover true, And never change her for a new: If good or fair, of her have care For women's banning's wondrous sair— Balow, la-low! ”

“ When sparrows build, and the leaves break forth, My old sorrow wakes and cries, For I know there is dawn in the far, far north, And a scarlet sun doth rise; Like a scarlet fleece the snow-field spreads, And the icy founts run free, And the bergs begin to bow their heads, And plunge, and sail in the sea. O my lost love, and my own, own love, And my love that loved me so! Is there never a chink in the world above Where they listen for words from below? Nay, I spoke once, and I grieved thee sore, I remember all that I said, And now thou wilt hear me no more—no more Till the sea gives up her dead. ”

“ I love my life, but not too well To give it to thee like a flower, So it may pleasure thee to dwell Deep in its perfume but an hour. I love my life, but not too well. I love my life, but not too well To sing it note by note away, So to thy soul the song may tell The beauty of the desolate day. I love my life, but not too well. I love my life, but not too well To cast it like a cloak on thine, Against the storms that sound and swell Between thy lonely heart and mine. I love my life, but not too well. ”

“ UNITY Heart of my heart, the world is young: Love lies hidden in every rose! Every song that the skylark sung Once, we thought, must come to a close: Now we know the spirit of song, Song that is merged in the chant of the whole, Hand in hand as we wander along, What should we doubt of the years that roll? Heart of my heart, we can not die! Love triumphant in flower and tree, Every life that laughs at the sky Tells us nothing can cease to be; One, we are one with a song to-day, One with the clover that scents the wold, One with the Unknown, far away, One with the stars, when earth grows old. ”

“ Yet what is Love, good shepherd, sain? It is a sunshine mixed with rain, It is a toothache or like pain, It is a game where none hath gain; The lass saith no, yet would full fain; And this is Love, as I hear sain. Yet, shepherd, what is Love, I pray? It is a yes, it is a nay, A pretty kind of sporting fray, It is a thing will soon away. Then, nymphs, take vantage while ye may; And this is Love, as I hear say. Yet what is Love, good shepherd, show? A thing that creeps, it cannot go, A prize that passeth to and fro, A thing for one, a thing for moe, And he that proves shall find it so ”

“ Let us go home and hence; she will not weep. We gave love many dreams and days to keep, Flowers without scent, and fruits that would not grow, Saying, "If thou wilt, thrust in thy sickle and reap." All is reaped now; no grass is left to mow; And we that sowed, though all we fell on sleep, She would not weep. Let us go hence and rest; she will not love. She shall not hear us if we sing hereof, Nor see love's ways how sore they are and steep. Come hence, let be, lie still; it is enough. Love is a barren sea, bitter and deep; And though she saw all heaven in flower above, She would not love. ”

“ Love given willingly, full and free, Love for love's sake,—as mine to thee. Duty's a slave that keeps the keys, But Love, the master, goes in and out Of his goodly chambers with song and shout, Just as he please,—just as he please. Mine, from the dear head's crown, brown-golden, To the silken foot that's scarce beholden; Give to a few friends hand or smile, Like a generous lady, now and awhile, But the sanctuary heart, that none dare win, Keep holiest of holiest evermore; The crowd in the aisles may watch the door, The high-priest only enters in. ”

“ And the very first word that her sweet lips said, My heart grew youthful again. The Marchioness there, of Carabas, She is wealthy, and young, and handsome still, And but for her... well, we'll let that pass, She may marry whomever she will. But I will marry my own first love, With her primrose face: for old things are best, And the flower in her bosom, I prize it above The brooch in my lady's breast. The world is filled with folly and sin, And Love must cling where it can, I say: For Beauty is easy enough to win; But one isn't loved every day. ”

“ Sing lullaby, and lap it warm, Poor soul that thinks no creature harm. Thou little think'st and less dost know The cause of this thy mother's moan; Thou want'st the wit to wail her woe, And I myself am all alone: Why dost thou weep? why dost thou wail? And know'st not yet what thou dost ail. Come, little wretch—ah, silly heart! Mine only joy, what can I more? If there be any wrong thy smart, That may the destinies implore: 'Twas I, I say, against my will, I wail the time, but be thou still. And dost thou smile? O, thy sweet face! ”

“ Love, shall we start or stay, Or sail or row? There's many a wind and way, And never a May but May; We are in love's hand to-day; Where shall we go? Our land-wind is the breath Of sorrows kissed to death And joys that were; Our ballast is a rose; Our way lies where God knows And love knows where. We are in love's hand to-day— Our seamen are fledged Loves, Our masts are bills of doves, Our decks fine gold; Our ropes are dead maids' hair, Our stores are love-shafts fair And manifold. We are in love's land to-day— Where shall we land you, sweet? ”

“ The world creeps here upon the shout, And stirs my heart to pain; The mist descends and blots it out, And I am strong again. Strong and alone, my dove, with thee; And though mine eyes be wet, There's nothing in the world to me So dear as my regret. I would not change my sorrow sweet For others' nuptial hours; I love the daisies at thy feet More than their orange flowers. My hand alone shall tend thy tomb From leaf-bud to leaf-fall, And wreathe around each season's bloom Till autumn ruins all. Let snowdrops early in the year Droop o'er her silent breast ”

“ For she to me is dearer Than castles strong, or lands, or life. An outlaw—so I'm near her To love till death my Irish wife. O what would be this home of mine, A ruined, hermit-haunted place, But for the light that nightly shines Upon its walls from Kathleen's face! What comfort in a mine of gold, What pleasure in a royal life, If the heart within lay dead and cold, If I could not wed my Irish wife? I knew the law forbade the banns; I knew my king abhorred her race; Who never bent before their clans Must bow before their ladies' grace. ”

“ A MARRIAGE CHARM I set a charm upon your hurrying breath, I set a charm upon your wandering feet, You shall not leave me—not for life, nor death, Not even though you cease to love me, Sweet. A woman's love nine Angels cannot bind, Nor any rune that wind or water knows, My heart were all as well set on the wind, Or bound, to live or die, upon a rose. I set a charm upon you, foot and hand, That you and Knowledge, love, may never meet, That you may never chance to understand How strong you are, how weak your lover, Sweet. ”

“ Perchance my heart may pardon you this deed: But be no coward:—you that made Love bleed, You must bear all the venom of his tooth! XLI How many a thing which we cast to the ground, When others pick it up becomes a gem! We grasp at all the wealth it is to them; And by reflected light its worth is found. Yet for us still 'tis nothing! and that zeal Of false appreciation quickly fades. This truth is little known to human shades, How rare from their own instinct 'tis to feel! They waste the soul with spurious desire, That is not the ripe flame upon the bough. ”

“ Sighs which are from lovers blown Do but gently heave the heart: Even the tears they shed alone Cure, like trickling balm, their smart: Lovers, when they lose their breath, Bleed away in easy death. Love and Time with reverence use, Treat them like a parting friend; Nor the golden gifts refuse Which in youth sincere they send: For each year their price is more, And they less simple than before. Love, like spring-tides full and high, Swells in every youthful vein; But each tide does less supply, Till they quite shrink in again: If a flow in age appear, 'Tis but rain, and runs not clear. ”