WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. 1775. ["Works." 1846.] ONE year ago my path was green, There is a love that is to last When the hot days of youth are past: One year ago. I took a leaflet from her braid And gave it to another maid. Love! broken should have been thy bow I love to hear that men are bound Against your beauty's silent spell. Have I, this moment, led thee from the beach My heavy eyes, and sometimes can attain I curse it present, I regret it past. Here, ever since you went abroad, If there be change, no change I see, I only walk our wonted road, The road is only walked by me. Yes; I forgot; a change there is; Was it of that you bade me tell? I catch at times, at times I miss, The sight, the tone, I know so well. Only two months since you stood here! Voices are harsher than they were, And tears are longer ere they dry. Little it interests me how Some insolent usurper now Divides your narrow chair; Little heed I whose hand is placed Or paddles in your hair. A time, a time there may have been Was brightened by your eyes. And dare you ask what you have done? The weak have taught the wise. The maid I love ne'er thought of me Amid the scenes of gaiety; But when her heart or mine sank low, Ah, then it was no longer so. From the slant palm she raised her head, And kissed the cheek whence youth had fled. Angels! some future day, for this, Give her as sweet and pure a kiss. Often I have heard it said When she kissed me once in play, Rubies were less bright than they, And less bright were those which shone In the palace of the sun. Will they be as bright again? Not if kissed by other men. RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES. 1809. [“Poems of Many Years." 1846.] THE words that trembled on your lips Were little more than others won, And yet you are not wholly true, Nor wholly just what you have done. You know, at least you might have known, Your voice's somewhat lowered tone, Your hand's faint shake, or parting wave, Your every sympathetic look At words that chanced your soul to touch, You might have seen, perhaps you saw, And higher raised my venturous head, May be, without a further thought, And thus when fallen, faint, and bruised, I may have wrongfully accused I cannot deem you wholly true, |