Poems eBook

("L’aube nait et ta porte est close.")

[XXIII., February, 18—.]

Though heaven’s gate of light uncloses,
  Thou stirr’st not—­thou’rt laid to rest,
Waking are thy sister roses,
  One only dreamest on thy breast. 
        Hear me, sweet dreamer! 
          Tell me all thy fears,
        Trembling in song,
          But to break in tears.

Lo! to greet thee, spirits pressing,
  Soft music brings the gentle dove,
And fair light falleth like a blessing,
  While my poor heart can bring thee only love. 
Worship thee, angels love thee, sweet woman? 
  Yes; for that love perfects my soul. 
None the less of heaven that my heart is human,
  Blent in one exquisite, harmonious whole.

H.B.  FARNIE.

[Footnote 1:  Set to music by Sir Arthur Sullivan.]

MORE STRONG THAN TIME.

("Puisque j’ai mis ma levre a ta coupe.")

[XXV., Jan. 1, 1835.]

Since I have set my lips to your full cup, my sweet,
  Since I my pallid face between your hands have laid,
Since I have known your soul, and all the bloom of it,
  And all the perfume rare, now buried in the shade;

Since it was given to me to hear one happy while,
  The words wherein your heart spoke all its mysteries,
Since I have seen you weep, and since I have seen you smile,
  Your lips upon my lips, and your gaze upon my eyes;

Since I have known upon my forehead glance and gleam,
  A ray, a single ray, of your star, veiled always,
Since I have felt the fall upon my lifetime’s stream,
   Of one rose-petal plucked from the roses of your days;

I now am bold to say to the swift-changing hours,
  Pass—­pass upon your way, for I grow never old. 
Flee to the dark abysm with all your fading flowers,
  One rose that none may pluck, within my heart I hold.

Your flying wings may smite, but they can never spill
  The cup fulfilled of love, from which my lips are wet. 
My heart has far more fire than you have frost to chill,
  My soul more love than you can make my love forget.

A. LANG.

ROSES AND BUTTERFLIES.

("Roses et Papillons.")

[XXVII., Dec. 7, 1834.]

The grave receives us all: 
  Ye butterflies and roses gay and sweet
Why do ye linger, say? 
  Will ye not dwell together as is meet? 
Somewhere high in the air
  Would thy wing seek a home ’mid sunny skies,
In mead or mossy dell—­
  If there thy odors longest, sweetest rise.

Have where ye will your dwelling,
  Or breath or tint whose praise we sing;
Butterfly shining bright,
  Full-blown or bursting rosebud, flow’r or wing. 
Dwell together ye fair,
  ’Tis a boon to the loveliest given;
Perchance ye then may choose your home
  On the earth or in heaven.