Laughing, for token she gave to me
  Three petals out of the sunflower;—­
When the petals are withered and gone, shall be
  Three verses of mine for praise of her,
That a tender dream of her face may rise
  And lighten me yet in another hour,
Of her sunny hair and her beautiful eyes,
  Laughing over the golden sunflower.

PASSION

As a weed beneath the ocean,
  As a pool beneath a tree
Answers with each breath or motion
  An imperious mastery;

So my spirit swift with passion
  Finds in every look a sign,
Catching in some wondrous fashion
  Every mood that governs thine.

In a moment it will borrow,
  Flashing in a gusty train,
Laughter and desire and sorrow
  Anger and delight and pain.

A BALLADE OF WAITING

No girdle hath weaver or goldsmith wrought
  So rich as the arms of my love can be;
No gems with a lovelier lustre fraught
  Than her eyes, when they answer me liquidly. 
  Dear lady of love, be kind to me
    In days when the waters of hope abate,
  And doubt like a shimmer on sand shall be,
    In the year yet, Lady, to dream and wait.

Sweet mouth, that the wear of the world hath taught
  No glitter of wile or traitorie,
More soft than a cloud in the sunset caught,
  Or the heart of a crimson peony;
  Oh turn not its beauty away from me;
    To kiss it and cling to it early and late
  Shall make sweet minutes of days that flee,
    In the year yet, Lady, to dream and wait.

Rich hair, that a painter of old had sought
  For the weaving of some soft phantasy,
Most fair when the streams of it run distraught
  On the firm sweet shoulders yellowly;
Dear Lady, gather it close to me,
  Weaving a nest for the double freight
Of cheeks and lips that are one and free,
  For the year yet, Lady, to dream and wait.

Envoi.

So time shall be swift till thou mate with me,
  For love is mightiest next to fate,
And none shall be happier, Love, than we,
  In the year yet, Lady, to dream and wait.

BEFORE SLEEP

Now the creeping nets of sleep
  Stretch about and gather nigh,
And the midnight dim and deep
  Like a spirit passes by,
Trailing from her crystal dress
  Dreams and silent frostiness.

Yet a moment, ere I be
  Tangled in the snares of night,
All the dreamy heart of me
  To my Lady takes its flight,
To her chamber where she lies,
  Wrapt in midnight phantasies.

Over many a glinting street
  And the snow capped roofs of men,
Towers that tremble with the beat
  Of the midnight bells, and then,
Where my body may not be,
  Stands my spirit holily.