And I would lie so light, so light, I scarce should be unclasped at night. A trifle, sweet! which true love spells- So, if I waste words now, in truth You must blame Love. His early rage Had force to make me rhyme in youth, And makes me talk too much in age. And now those vivid hours are gone, Love that hath us in the net, Many suns arise and set. Many a chance the years beget. Love is hurt with jar and fret. Love is made a vague regret. Eyes with idle tears are wet. Idle habit links us yet. What is love? for we forget: Ah, no! no! Look through mine eyes with thine. True wife, Round my true heart thine arms entwine; My other dearer life in life, Look through my very soul with thine! Dear eyes, since first I knew them well. Yet tears they shed: they had their part Became an outward breathing type, That into stillness past again, And left a want unknown before; Although the loss that brought us pain, That loss but made us love the more, With farther lookings on. The kiss, Two spirits to one equal mind who wrought With blessings beyond hope or thought, Arise, and let us wander forth To yon old mill across the wolds; Is dry and dewless. Let us go. FATIMA. I. O Love, Love, Love! O withering might! II. Last night I wasted hateful hours I thirsted for the brooks, the showers: I crushed them on my breast, my mouth: I looked athwart the burning drouth Of that long desert to the south. III. Last night, when some one spoke his name, Were shivered in my narrow frame. O Love, O fire! once he drew With one long kiss my whole soul through IV. Before he mounts the hill, I know V. The wind sounds like a silver wire, And, isled in sudden seas of light, |