I'll tell thee; for thy sake I will lay hold For thee I will arouse my thoughts to try All heavenward flights, all high and holy strains; For thy dear sake I will walk patiently Through these long hours, nor call their minutes pains. I will this dreary blank of absence make A noble task-time; and will therein strive To follow excellence, and to o'ertake More good than I have won since yet I live. So may this doomed time build up in me A thousand graces, which shall thus be thine; FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE. From the Epipsychidion. THIS HIS isle and house are mine, and I have vowed And I have fitted up some chambers there, In thoughts and joys which sleep, but cannot die, COME INTO THE GARDEN, MAUD. Meanwhile, We two will rise, and sit, and walk together, And wander in the meadows, or ascend The mossy mountains, where the blue heavens bend PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. Come into the Garden, Maud. 'OME into the garden, Maud- Co the black For the black bat, night, has flown! Come into the garden, Maud, I am here at the gate alone; And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, And the musk of the roses blown. For a breeze of morning moves, And the planet of Love is on high, Beginning to faint in the light that she loves, On a bed of daffodil sky, To faint in the light of the sun she loves, To faint in his light, and to die. All night have the roses heard The flute, violin, bassoon: All night has the casement jessamine stirred Till a silence fell with the waking bird, 129 I said to the lily, "There is but one Low on the sand and loud on the stone I said to the rose, "The brief night goes O young lord-lover, what sighs are those But mine, but mine," so I sware to the rose, And the soul of the rose went into my blood, As the music clashed in the hall; And long by the garden lake I stood, For I heard your rivulet fall From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood- Our wood, that is dearer than all;— From the meadow your walks have left so sweet That whenever a March-wind sighs, He sets the jewel-print of your feet In violets blue as your eyes— To the woody hollows in which we meet, The slender acacia would not shake The lilies and roses were all awake They sighed for the dawn and thee. THE WELCOME. Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls, In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls, Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls, To the flowers, and be their sun. There has fallen a splendid tear From the passion-flower at the gate. She is coming, my life, my fate! The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near!" She is coming, my own, my sweet! Would start and tremble under her feet, 131 ALFRED TENNYSON. The Welcome. I. `OME in the evening, or come in the morning; COME Come when you're looked for, or come without warning; Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you, And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you! Light is my heart since the day we were plighted; II. I'll pull you sweet flowers, to wear if you choose them! Oh! your step's like the rain to the summer-vexed farmer, I'll sing you sweet songs till the stars rise above me, III. We'll look through the trees at the cliff and the eyrie; IV. ! So come in the evening, or come in the morning: |