Reflections

She laughed. What good to make ado?
I held the gate, and she came through,

And took her homeward path anon.
From the clear pool her face had fled;
It rested on my heart instead,

Reflected when the maid was gone.

With happy youth, and work content,
So sweet and stately, on she went,
Right careless of the untold tale.
Each step she took I loved her more,
And followed to her dairy door

The maiden with the milking-pail.

1109

II

For hearts where wakened love doth lurk,
How fine, how blest a thing is work!

For work does good when reasons fail,-
Good; yet the ax at every stroke
The echo of a name awoke,-

Her name is Mary Martindale.

I'm glad that echo was not heard
Aright by other men. A bird

Knows doubtless what his own notes tell;

And I know not,-but I can say

I felt as shamefaced all that day

As if folks heard her name right well.

And when the west began to glow
I went I could not choose but go-
To that same dairy on the hill;
And while sweet Mary moved about
Within, I came to her without,

And leaned upon the window-sill.

The garden border where I stood
Was sweet with pinks and southernwood.
I spoke, her answer seemed to fail.

I smelt the pinks,—I could not see.
The dusk came down and sheltered me,
And in the dusk she heard my tale.

And what is left that I should tell?
I begged a kiss,-I pleaded well:

The rosebud lips did long decline;
But yet, I think-I think 'tis true-
That, leaned at last into the dew,

One little instant they were mine!

O life! how dear thou hast become!
She laughed at dawn, and I was dumb!
But evening counsels best prevail.
Fair shine the blue that o'er her spreads,
Green be the pastures where she treads,
The maiden with the milking-pail!

Jean Ingelow [1820-1897]

"ONE MORNING, OH! SO EARLY"

ONE morning, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved,

All the birds were singing blithely, as if never they would

cease;

'Twas a thrush sang in my garden, "Hear the story, hear the story!"

And the lark sang, "Give us glory!"

And the dove said, "Give us peace!"

Then I hearkened, oh! so carly, my beloved, my beloved, To that murmur from the woodland of the dove, my dear, the dove;

When the nightingale came after, "Give us fame to sweeten duty!"

When the wren sang, "Give us beauty!"

She made answer, "Give us love!"

Sweet is spring, and sweet the morning, my beloved, my beloved;

Now for us doth spring, doth morning, wait upon the year's increase,

May Margaret

IIII

And my prayer goes up, "Oh, give us, crowned in youth with

marriage glory,

Give for all our life's dear story,

Give us love, and give us peace!"

Jean Ingelow [1820-1897]

A BIRTHDAY

My heart is like a singing bird

Whose nest is in a watered shoot;

My heart is like an apple-tree

Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is gladder than all these,
Because my love is come to me.

Raise me a dais of silk and down;

Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.

Christina Georgina Rossetti [1830-1894]

MAY MARGARET

IF you be that May Margaret

That lived on Kendal Green,

Then where's that sunny hair of yours
That crowned you like a queen?

That sunny hair is dim, lad,

They said was like a crown-
The red gold turned to gray, lad,
The night a ship went down.

If you be yet May Margaret,

May Margaret now as then,

Then where's that bonny smile of yours
That broke the hearts of men?

The bonny smile is wan, lad,
That once was glad as day—
And oh! 'tis weary smiling
To keep the tears away.

If you be that May Margaret,
As yet you swear to me,

Then where's that proud, cold heart of yours
That sent your love to sea?
Ah, me! that heart is broken,

The proud, cold heart has bled
For one light word outspoken,
For all the love unsaid.

Then Margaret, my Margaret,
If all you say be true,

Your hair is yet the sunniest gold,
Your eyes the sweetest blue.
And dearer yet and fairer yet

For all the coming years—

The fairer for the waiting,

The dearer for the tears!

Théophile Marzials [1850

RONDEL

KISSING her hair, I sat against her feet,

Wove and unwove it, wound and found it sweet; Made fast therewith her hands, drew down her eyes, Deep as deep flowers and dreamy like dim skies; With her own tresses bound and found her fair, Kissing her hair.

Sleep were no sweeter than her face to me,
Sleep of cold sea-bloom under the cold sea;
What pain could get between my face and hers?
What new sweet thing would love not relish worse?
Unless, perhaps, white death had kissed me there,
Kissing her hair.

Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909]

The Brookside

1113

"I LOVE MY LOVE"

WHAT is the meaning of the song
That rings so clear and loud,
Thou nightingale amid the copse,
Thou lark above the cloud?

What says thy song, thou joyous thrush,
Up in the walnut-tree?

"I love my Love, because I know
My Love loves me."

What is the meaning of thy thought,
O maiden fair and young?
There is such pleasure in thine eyes,
Such music on thy tongue;

There is such glory on thy face-
What can the meaning be?
"I love my Love, because I know
My Love loves me."

O happy words! at Beauty's feet
We sing them ere our prime;
And when the early summers pass,

And Care comes on with Time,
Still be it ours, in Care's despite,
To join the chorus free→

"I love my Love, because I know,
My Love loves me."

Charles Mackay [1814-1889]

THE BROOKSIDE

I WANDERED by the brookside,

I wandered by the mill;

I could not hear the brook flow,

The noisy wheel was still;

There was no burr of grasshopper,

No chirp of any bird,

But the beating of my own heart

Was all the sound I heard.