THREE FLOWERS

I made a little song about the rose
  And sang it for the rose to hear,
Nor ever marked until the music’s close
  A lily that was listening near.

The red red rose flushed redder with delight,
  And like a queen her head she raised. 
The white white lily blanched a paler white,
  For anger that she was not praised.

Turning I left the rose unto her pride,
  The lily to her enviousness,
And soon upon the grassy ground espied
  A daisy all companionless.

Doubtless no flattered flower is this, I deemed;
  And not so graciously it grew
As rose or lily:  but methought it seemed
  More thankful for the sun and dew.

Dear love, my sweet small flower that grew’st among
  The grass, from all the flowers apart,—­
Forgive me that I gave the rose my song,
  Ere thou, the daisy, hadst my heart!

THREE ETERNITIES

Lo, thou and I, my love,
And the sad stars above,—­
Thou and I, I and thou! 
Ah could we lie as now
Ever and aye, my love,
Hand within hand, my love,
Heart within heart, my dove,
  Through night and day
    For ever!

Lo, thou and I, my love,
Up in the sky above,
Where the sun makes his home
And the gods are, my love,
One day may wander from
Star unto star, my love,—­
Soul within soul, my love,
  Yonder afar
    For ever!

Lo, thou and I, my love,
Some time shall lie, my love,
Knowing not night from day,
Knowing not toil from rest,—­
Breast unto breast, my love,
Even as now for aye: 
Clay within clay, my love,
  Clay within clay
    For ever!

LOVE OUTLOVED

I

      Love cometh and love goeth,
      And he is wise who knoweth
      Whither and whence love flies: 
      But wise and yet more wise
Are they that heed not whence he flies or whither
Who hither speeds to-day, to-morrow thither;
Like to the wind that as it listeth blows,
And man doth hear the sound thereof, but knows
Nor whence it comes nor whither yet it goes.

II

O sweet my sometime loved and worshipt one
  A day thou gavest me
That rose full-orbed in starlike happiness
And lit our heaven that other stars had none:—­
Sole as that westering sphere companionless
    When twilight is begun
And the dead sun transfigureth the sea: 
      A day so bright
Methought the very shadow, from its light
    Thrown, were enough to bless
(Albeit with but a shadow’s benison)
The unborn days its dark posterity. 
  Methought our love, though dead, should be