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I.

NAY but you, who do not love her,
Is she not pure gold, my mistress?
Holds earth aught—speak truth—above her ?
Aught like this tress, see, and this tress,
And this last fairest tress of all,

So fair, see, ere I let it fall?

II.

Because, you spend your lives in praising;
To praise, you search the wide world over ;
Then why not witness, calmly gazing,

If earth holds aught-speak truth—above her?
Above this tress, and this, I touch

But cannot praise, I love so much!

A SERENADE AT THE VILLA.

I.

THAT was I, you heard last night,
When there rose no moon at all,
Nor, to pierce the strained and tight
Tent of heaven, a planet small :
Life was dead, and so was light.

II.

Not a twinkle from the fly,

Not a glimmer from the worm. When the crickets stopped their cry, When the owls forbore a term, You heard music; that was I.

III.

Earth turned in her sleep with pain,

Sultrily suspired for proof:

In at heaven and out again,

Lightning !—where it broke the roof, Bloodlike, some few drops of rain.

IV.

What they could my words expressed,
O my love, my all, my one!
Singing helped the verses best,

And when singing's best was done,
To my lute I left the rest.

V

So wore night; the East was gray,

White the broad-faced hemlock-flowers;

There would be another day;

Ere its first of heavy hours Found me, I had passed away.

VI.

What became of all the hopes, Words and song and lute as well? Say, this struck you-" When life gropes "Feebly for the path where fell "Light last on the evening slopes,

VII.

"One friend in that path shall be,
"To secure my step from wrong;
"One to count night day for me,

66

"Patient through the watches long,

Serving most with none to see."

VIII.

Never say as something bodes

"So, the worst has yet a worse!

"When life halts 'neath double loads,

"Better the task-master's curse "Than such music on the roads!

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IX.

When no moon succeeds the sun,

"Nor can pierce the midnight's tent,

Any star, the smallest one,

"While some drops, where lightning rent, “Show the final storm begun

X.

"When the fire-fly hides its spot,
"When the garden-voices fail
"In the darkness thick and hot,—
"Shall another voice avail,
"That shape be where these are not?

XI.

"Has some plague a longer lease,

"Proffering its help uncouth?

"Can't one even die in peace?

"As one shuts one's eyes on youth, “Is that face the last one sees ?"

XII.

Oh how dark your villa was,

Windows fast and obdurate! How the garden grudged me grass Where I stood-the iron gate Ground its teeth to let me pass !

YOUTH AND ART.

I.

Ir once might have been, once only:
We lodged in a street together,
You, a sparrow on the housetop lonely,
I, a lone she-bird of his feather.

II.

Your trade was with sticks and clay,

You thumbed, thrust, patted and polished, Then laughed "They will see, some day, "Smith made, and Gibson demolished."

III.

My business was song, song, song;

I chirped, cheeped, trilled and twittered, "Kate Brown's on the boards ere long, "And Grisi's existence embittered!"

IV.

I earned no more by a warble

Than you by a sketch in plaster;

You wanted a piece of marble,

I needed a music-master.

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