The bridegroom stamped and called her vile: 
     Red rose and white in the garden;
     He did but waken a little smile: 
     And the bird sings over the roses.

     The bridegroom raged and called her foul: 
     Red rose and white in the garden;
     She heard from the woods the hooting owl: 
     And the bird sings over the roses.

     He muttered a name full bitter and sore: 
     Red rose and white in the garden;
     She fell in a lump on the still dead floor: 
     And the bird sings over the roses.

     O great was the wonder, and loud the wail: 
     Red rose and white in the garden;
     When through the household flew the tale: 
     And the bird sings over the roses.

     The old grey mother she dressed the bier: 
     Red rose and white in the garden;
     With a shivering chin and never a tear: 
     And the bird sings over the roses.

     O had you but done as I bade you, my child! 
     Red rose and white in the garden;
     You would not have died and been reviled: 
     And the bird sings over the roses.

     The bridegroom he hung at midnight by the bier: 
     Red rose and white in the garden;
     He eyed the white girl thro’ a dazzling tear: 
     And the bird sings over the roses.

     O had you been false as the women who stray: 
     Red rose and white in the garden;
     You would not be now with the Angels of Day! 
     And the bird sings over the roses.

     Marian

     I

     She can be as wise as we,
     And wiser when she wishes;
     She can knit with cunning wit,
     And dress the homely dishes. 
     She can flourish staff or pen,
     And deal a wound that lingers;
     She can talk the talk of men,
     And touch with thrilling fingers.

     II

     Match her ye across the sea,
     Natures fond and fiery;
     Ye who zest the turtle’s nest
     With the eagle’s eyrie. 
     Soft and loving is her soul,
     Swift and lofty soaring;
     Mixing with its dove-like dole
     Passionate adoring.

     III

     Such a she who’ll match with me? 
     In flying or pursuing,
     Subtle wiles are in her smiles
     To set the world a-wooing. 
     She is steadfast as a star,
     And yet the maddest maiden: 
     She can wage a gallant war,
     And give the peace of Eden.

     By morning twilight

     Night, like a dying mother,
     Eyes her young offspring, Day. 
     The birds are dreamily piping. 
     And O, my love, my darling! 
     The night is life ebb’d away: 
     Away beyond our reach! 
     A sea that has cast us pale on the beach;
     Weeds with the weeds and the pebbles
     That hear the lone tamarisk rooted in sand
     Sway
     With the song of the sea to the land.