It’s little I can tell
    About the birds in books;
  And yet I know them well,
    By their music and their looks: 
        When May comes down the lane,
        Her airy lovers throng
        To welcome her with song,
        And follow in her train: 
        Each minstrel weaves his part
        In that wild-flowery strain,
        And I know them all again
        By their echo in my heart.

  It’s little that I care
    About my darling’s place
  In books of beauty rare,
    Or heraldries of race: 
        For when she steps in view,
        It matters not to me
        What her sweet type may be,
        Of woman, old or new. 
        I can’t explain the art,
        But I know her for my own,
        Because her lightest tone
        Wakes an echo in my heart.

“UNDINE”

  ’Twas far away and long ago,
    When I was but a dreaming boy,
  This fairy tale of love and woe
    Entranced my heart with tearful joy;
  And while with white Undine I wept
    Your spirit,—­ah, how strange it seems,—­
  Was cradled in some star, and slept,
    Unconscious of her coming dreams.

“RENCONTRE”

  Oh, was I born too soon, my dear, or were you born too late,
  That I am going out the door while you come in the gate? 
  For you the garden blooms galore, the castle is en fete;
  You are the coming guest, my dear,—­for me the horses wait.

  I know the mansion well, my dear, its rooms so rich and wide;
  If you had only come before I might have been your guide,
  And hand in hand with you explore the treasures that they hide;
  But you have come to stay, my dear, and I prepare to ride.

  Then walk with me an hour, my dear, and pluck the reddest rose
  Amid the white and crimson store with which your garden glows,—­
  A single rose,—­I ask no more of what your love bestows;
  It is enough to give, my dear,—­a flower to him who goes.

  The House of Life is yours, my dear, for many and many a day,
  But I must ride the lonely shore, the Road to Far Away: 
  So bring the stirrup-cup and pour a brimming draught, I pray,
  And when you take the road, my dear, I’ll meet you on the way.

LOVE IN A LOOK

  Let me but feel thy look’s embrace,
    Transparent, pure, and warm,
  And I’ll not ask to touch thy face,
    Or fold thee in mine arm. 
  For in thine eyes a girl doth rise,
    Arrayed in candid bliss,
  And draws me to her with a charm
    More close than any kiss.

  A loving-cup of golden wine,
    Songs of a silver brook,
  And fragrant breaths of eglantine,
    Are mingled in thy look. 
  More fair they are than any star,
    Thy topaz eyes divine—­
  And deep within their trysting-nook
    Thy spirit blends with mine.