“ Love has gone and left me and the days are all alike, 70 Love me at last, or if you will not, 6 Many in aftertimes will say of you, 78 My Dear was a mason, 36 My debt to you, Belovèd, 46 My heart is like a singing bird, 17 My life closed twice before its close, 53 Never the nightingale, 100 Now evening comes. Now stirs my discontent, 68 O my Lover, blind me, 42 O strong sun of heaven, harm not my love, 21 Of all the souls that stand create, 19 Oh, have you not a message, you who come over the sea?, 85 Oh! ”

“ Let me count the ways, 43 I am the Other—I who come, 86 I am the wind that wavers, 80 I came into your room and spoke, 58 I cannot always feel his greatness, 37 I have always hated the rain, 29 I have seen the proudest stars, 3 I have wandered to a spring in the forest green and dim, 5 I knew his house by the poplar trees, 120 I leaned out my window, I smelt the white clover, 31 I love my life, but not too well, 59 I love thee, dear, and knowing mine own heart, 51 I must not think of thee ”

“ Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.
Oh, to call back the days that are not!
My eyes were blinded, your words were few;
Do you know the truth now up in heaven,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true?
I never was worthy of you, Douglas;
Not half worthy the like of you:
Now all men beside seem to me like shadows—
I love you, Douglas, tender and true. [Pg 115]
Stretch out your hand to me, Douglas, Douglas,
Drop forgiveness from heaven like dew;
As I lay my heart on your dead heart, Douglas,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true. ”

“ Having a querulous heart to beguile,
Never had woman a tenderer lover—
For a little while.
Oh, there never were eyes more eager to read her
In her saddest mood or her moments gay,
Oh, there never were hands more strong to lead her—
For a little way.
There never were loftier promises given
Of love that should guard her the ages through,
As great, enduring and steadfast as Heaven—
For a week or two. ”

“ Oh, just beyond the fairest thoughts that throng
This breast, the thought of thee waits, hidden yet bright;
But it must never, never come in sight;
I must stop short of thee the whole day long.
But when sleep comes to close each difficult day,
When night gives pause to the long watch I keep,
And all my bonds I needs must loose apart,
Must doff my will as raiment laid away,—
With the first dream that comes with the first sleep
I run, I run, I am gathered to thy heart. Alice Meynell ”

“ Once let in either to the other’s heart.
Only we’ll sit upon the daisied grass
And hear the larks and see the swallows pass;
Only we’ll live awhile, as children play,
Without to-morrow, without yesterday. A. Mary F. Robinson
[Pg 77]
RISPETTO
III
Ah, Love, I cannot die, I cannot go
Down in the dark and leave you all alone,
Ah, hold me fast, safe in the warmth I know,
And never shut me underneath a stone.
Dead in the grave! And I can never hear
If you are ill, or if you miss me, dear,
Dead, oh, my God! ”

“ By the sycamore passed he, and through the white clover,
Then all the sweet speech I had fashioned took flight;
But I’ll love him more, more
Than e’er wife loved before,
Be the day dark or bright. Jean Ingelow
[Pg 33]
RAIN, RAIN!
Rain, rain,—fall, fall,
In a heavy screen—
That my lover be not seen!
Wind, wind,—blow, blow,
Till the leaves are stirred—
That my lover be not heard!
Storm, storm,—rage, rage,
Like a war around—
That my lover be not found!
... Lark, lark,—hush ... hush ...
Softer music make—
That my lover may not wake.... ”

“ Oh, I gave my lips away and all my soul behind them.
Why should trouble follow and the quick tears start?
The little birds may love and fly with only God to mind them,
But the green nuts are falling on my heart. ”

“ My lad a-singin’ in the night when I am sick wi’ fear;
A-singin’ when the moonlight over a’ the land is white—
Oh God! I’ll up an’ go to him a-singin’ in the night,
A-callin’ in the night.
Grandmither, give me your clay-cold heart that has forgot to ache,
For mine be fire within my breast and yet it cannot break.
It beats an’ throbs forever for the things that must not be,—
An’ can ye not let me creep in an’ rest awhile by ye?
A little lass afeared o’ dark slept by ye years agone—
Ah, she has found what night can hold ’twixt sunset an’ the dawn! ”

“ Fallen on a turf grown green. Christina Rossetti
[Pg 2]
THE BIRCH TREE AT LOSCHWITZ
At Loschwitz above the city
The air is sunny and chill;
The birch trees and the pine trees
Grow thick upon the hill.
Lone and tall, with silver stem,
A birch tree stands apart;
The passionate wind of spring-time
Stirs in its leafy heart.
I lean against the birch tree,
My arms around it twine;
It pulses, and leaps, and quivers,
Like a human heart to mine.
One moment I stand, then sudden
Let loose mine arms that cling:
O God! the lonely hillside,
The passionate wind of spring! Amy Levy ”

“ Seem strange and old as pagan priests in swaying mysteries.
You need not think one thought of me, as up the trail we go
(Hill-trail, still-trail, all in the hiding snow) ;
You need not think one thought of me, although a hare runs by,
And off behind the tumbled cairn we hear a red fox cry.
Oh, good and rare it is to feel, as through the night we go
(Wild-wise, child-wise, all in the secret snow) , [Pg 50]
That we are free of heart and foot as hare and fox are free,
And yet that I am glad of you, and you are glad of me! ”

“ He sings, he sings, to stars and listening skies.
A white and haunted place my garden seems.—
I see the pleading beauty of his eyes
As faces glimmer in a pool of dreams.
So wooing wind might sweep a harp awake.
(Oh, muting fingers on each quivering string!)
I must not yield ... I think my heart will break.
Mother of Heaven, if he would not sing! Nora May French
[Pg 64]
“GO FROM ME”
Go from me. ”

“ That hung on the churchyard wall that day.
He would have taken a long, long grave—
A long, long grave, for he stood so tall....
Oh, God! the crash of a breaking wave,
And the smell of the nets on the churchyard wall! Amelia Josephine Burr
[Pg 119]
“LESS THAN THE DUST”
Less than the dust, beneath thy Chariot wheel,
Less than the rust, that never stained thy Sword,
Less than the trust thou hast in me, O Lord,
Even less than these!
Less than the weed, that grows beside thy door,
Less than the speed of hours spent far from thee,
Less than the need thou hast in life of me. ”

“ An’ wander the old ways again an’ tread them up an’ down.
I never smell the clover bloom, nor see the swallows pass,
Without I mind how good ye were unto a little lass.
I never hear the winter rain a-pelting all night through,
Without I think and mind me of how cold it falls on you. ”

“ I saw my Jamie’s ghaist, for I couldna think it he,
Till he said: “I’m come hame, love, to marry thee!” [Pg 106]
Oh, sair, sair did we greet, and mickle say of a’,
I gied him ae kiss, and bade him gang awa’—
I wish that I were dead, but I’m na like to dee,
For, though my heart is broken, I’m but young, wae is me!
I gang like a ghaist, and I carena much to spin,
I darena think o’ Jamie, for that wad be a sin,
But I’ll do my best a gude wife to be,
For, oh! Robin Gray, he is kind to me. ”

“ In most cases the finest utterance of women poets has been on love, so that this book is, I venture to hope, a golden treasury of lyrics by women.
I have included no long poems, and no translations, and I have avoided poems in which the poet dramatized a man’s feelings rather than her own. ”

“ I have tried to bring together in this book the most beautiful love-lyrics written in English by women since the middle of the last century. During this period, for the first time in the history of English literature, the work of women has compared favorably with that of men; and in no other field have they done such noteworthy work as in poetry. Before this period, for reasons well known to the student of feminism, sincere love poems by women were very rare in England and America. ”

“ The divers may come and go,
The tides, they arise and fall;
The pearl in its shell lies sealed,
And the Deep Sea covers all. Edith M. Thomas
[Pg 104]
AULD ROBIN GRAY
When the sheep are in the fauld, when the kye’s come hame,
And a’ the weary warld to rest are gane,
The waes o’ my heart fa’ in showers frae my ee,
Unkent by my gudeman, wha sleeps sound by me.
Young Jamie lo’ed me weel, and sought me for his bride,
But saving ae crown-piece he had naething beside;
To make the crown a pound my Jamie gaed to sea,
And the crown and the pound—they were baith for me. ”

“ Yet I feel that I shall stand, 64 Good-bye!—no, do not grieve that it is over, 66 Grandmither, think not I forget, when I come back to town, 108 [Pg 126] He was straight and strong, and his eyes were blue, 118 He whistled soft whistlings I knew were for me, 14 Hill people turn to their hills, 23 How do I love thee? ”

“ Quick, one kiss,—sure, there’s some one at the turn!
“Oh, we’re afther cuttin’ rushes on the mountain.”
Yesterday, yesterday, or fifty years ago....
I waken out o’ dreams when I hear the summer thrushes.
Oh, that’s the Brabla’ burn, I can hear it sing an’ flow,
For all that’s fair I’d sooner see a bunch o’ green rushes.
Run, burn, run! can ye mind when we were young?
The honeysuckle hangs above, the pool is dark an’ brown:
Sing, burn, sing! can ye mind the song ye sung
The day we cut the rushes on the mountain? Moira O’Neill
[Pg 96]
TO A LATE COMER
Why didst thou come into my life so late? ”

“ Margaret Widdemer
[Pg 99]
A REMINISCENCE
It is so long gone by, and yet
How clearly now I see it all!
The glimmer of your cigarette,
The little chamber, narrow and tall.
Perseus; your picture in its frame;
(How near they seem and yet how far!)
The blaze of kindled logs; the flame
Of tulips in a mighty jar.
Florence and spring-time: surely each
Glad things unto the spirit saith.
Why did you lead me in your speech
To these dark mysteries of death? Amy Levy
[Pg 100]
DIRGE
Never the nightingale ”

“ To The Strange Company (San Francisco) for poems from “Poems,” by Nora May French.
To T. Fisher Unwin, Limited (London) , for poems from “An Italian Garden,” by A. Mary F. Robinson, and “A London Plane Tree,” by Amy Levy.
[Pg xvi]
To The John C. Winston Company (Philadelphia) for poems from “Factories with Other Lyrics,” by Margaret Widdemer.
And to the editors of Poetry for permission to reprint poems by Helen Dudley, Alice Corbin, and Jean Starr Untermeyer; to The Independent for a poem by Helen Hoyt; to The Trimmed Lamp for a poem by Marguerite Wilkinson ”

“ Rippin’ round the bog pools high among the heather,
The hook it made me hand sore, I had to leave it go,
’Twas he that cut the rushes then for me to bind together.
Come, dear, come!—an’ back along the burn [Pg 95]
See the darlin’ honeysuckle hangin’ like a crown. ”