TO MY FIOR-DI-LISA SLEEPING AT LAST THE Rose is Love's own flower, and SLEEPING at last, the trouble and Yet once this was a home brimfull of life, III Full of the hopes and fears and WOULDST thou give me a heavy love of youth, Full of love's language speaking Here honour was enshrined and kindly truth; Hither the young lord brought his blushing wife, jewelled crown And purple mantle and embroidered vest? Dear Child, the colours of the glorious West Are far more gorgeous when the sun sinks down. And here the bridal garlands The diadem would only make me were unbound. frown With its own weight; nay give me for my crest II Pale violets dreaming in perfect rest, I SIT among green shady valleys Or rather leaves withered to autumn hinder - Listening to echo-winds sighing A purple flowing mantle would but of woe; The grass and flowers are strong and sweet below; Yea I am tired, and the smooth turf is soft. I sit and think, and never look aloft, My careless walk, and an embroidered robe Would shame me. What is the best man who stept On earth more than the naked worm that crept Save to the tops of a tall poplar- Over its surface? Earth shall be a Then, sitting by its lazy stream, I Rejoice.'-But who can be made hear glad by rule? Silence more loud than any other My heart and soul and spirit are no thing, What time the trees weep o'er me honey-dew. tool To play with and direct; my cheek is wan With memory; and ever and anon I weep, feeling life is a weary school. VI There is much noise and bustle in AH welladay and wherefore am I the street; It used to be so, and it is so now ; All are the same, and will be many a year. here? I sit alone all day, I sit and think— I watch the sun arise, I watch it sink, Spirit that canst not break and And feel no soul-light, though the wilt not bow, day is clear. Fear not the cold, thou who hast Surely it is a folly, it is mere Telling my heart-want to smooth Thankful if one would take her by I FANCY the good fairies dressed in Towering above her sex with horrid white, height. Glancing like moonbeams through If all the world were water fit to the shadows black, Without much work to do for king or hack. Training perhaps some twisted branch aright; Or sweeping faded autumn-leaves from sight drown, There are some whom you would not teach to swim, Rather enjoying if you saw them sink; Certain old ladies dressed in girlish pink, To foster embryo life; or binding With roses and geraniums on their |