Our land-wind is the breath
Of sorrows kissed to death
And joys that were;

Our ballast is a rose;

Our way lies where God knows
And love knows where.

We are in love's hand to-day

Our seamen are fledged Loves,
Our masts are bills of doves,
Our decks fine gold;

Our ropes are dead maids' hair,
Our stores are love-shafts fair
And manifold.

We are in love's land to-day

Where shall we land you, sweet?
On fields of strange men's feet,
Or fields near home?

Or where the fire-flowers blow,
Or where the flowers of snow
Or flowers of foam?

We are in love's hand to-day

Land me, she says, where love
Shows but one shaft, one dove,

One heart, one hand,

A shore like that, my dear,

Lies where no man will steer,

No maiden land.

Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909]

MARY BEATON'S SONG

From "Chastelard"

BETWEEN the sunset and the sea
My love laid hands and lips on me;
Of sweet came sour, of day came night,
Of long desire came brief delight:
Ah love, and what thing came of thee
Between the sea-downs and the sea?

Plighted

Between the sea-mark and the sea

Joy grew to grief, grief grew to me;
Love turned to tears, and tears to fire,
And dead delight to new desire;

Love's talk, love's touch there seemed to be
Between the sea-sand and the sea.

Between the sundown and the sea

Love watched one hour of love with me;
Then down the all-golden water-ways
His feet flew after yesterday's;

I saw them come and saw them flee
Between the sea-foam and the sea.

Between the sea-strand and the sea
Love fell on sleep, sleep fell on me;
The first star saw twain turn to one
Between the moonrise and the sun;
The next, that saw not love, saw me
Between the sea-banks and the sea.

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Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909]

PLIGHTED

MINE to the core of the heart, my beauty!
Mine, all mine, and for love, not duty:
Love given willingly, full and free,
Love for love's sake,—as mine to thee.
Duty's a slave that keeps the keys,
But Love, the master, goes in and out
Of his goodly chambers with song and shout,
Just as he please,-just as he please.

Mine, from the dear head's crown, brown-golden,
To the silken foot that's scarce beholden;

Give to a few friends hand or smile,

Like a generous lady, now and awhile,

But the sanctuary heart, that none dare win,

Keep holiest of holiest evermore;

The crowd in the aisles may watch the door,
The high-priest only enters in.

Mine, my own, without doubts or terrors,
With all thy goodnesses, all thy errors,
Unto me and to me alone revealed,

“A spring shut up, a fountain sealed.”

Many may praise thee,-praise mine as thine,
Many may love thee,-I'll love them too;
But thy heart of hearts, pure, faithful, and true,
Must be mine, mine wholly, and only mine.

Mine!-God, I thank Thee that Thou hast given
Something all mine on this side heaven:
Something as much myself to be

As this my soul which I lift to Thee:

Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone,

Life of my life, whom Thou dost make

Two to the world for the world's work's sake,—
But each unto each, as in Thy sight, one.
Dinah Maria Mulock Craik [1826-1887]

A WOMAN'S QUESTION

BEFORE I trust my fate to thee,
Or place my hand in thine,
Before I let thy future give

Color and form to mine,

Before I peril ali for thee, question thy soul to-night for me.

I break all slighter bonds, nor feel

A shadow of regret:

Is there one link within the past

That holds thy spirit yet?

Or is thy faith as clear and free as that which I can pledge to thee?

Does there within thy dimmest dreams
A possible future shine,

Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe,

Untouched, unshared by mine?

If so, at any pain or cost, O, tell me before all is lost.

"Dinna Ask Me"

Look deeper still. If thou canst feel,
Within thy inmost soul,

That thou hast kept a portion back,

While I have staked the whole,

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Let no false pity spare the blow, but in true mercy tell me so.

Is there within thy heart a need

That mine cannot fulfil?

One chord that any other hand

Could better wake or still?

Speak now-lest at some future day my whole life wither and decay.

Lives there within thy nature hid

The demon-spirit change,

Shedding a passing glory still

On all things new and strange?

It may not be thy fault alone, but shield my heart against thy own.

Couldst thou withdraw thy hand one day

And answer to my claim,

That Fate, and that to-day's mistake

Not thou-had been to blame?

Some soothe their conscience thus; but thou wilt surely

warn and save me now.

Nay, answer not,-I dare not hear,

The words would come too late;
Yet I would spare thee all remorse,

So, comfort thee, my Fate,

Whatever on my heart may fall-remember, I would risk it

all!

Adelaide Anne Procter [1825-1864]

"DINNA ASK ME"

O, DINNA ask me gin I lo❜e ye:

Troth, I daurna tell!

Dinna ask me gin I lo’e ye,—

Ask it o' yoursel'.

O, dinna look sae sair at me,

For weel ye ken me true;
O, gin ye look sae sair at me,
I daurna look at you.

When ye gang to yon braw, braw town,
And bonnier lassies see,
O, dinna, Jamie, look at them,
Lest ye should mind na me.

For I could never bide the lass
That ye'd lo'e mair than me;
And O, I'm sure my heart wad brak,
Gin ye'd prove fause to me!

A SONG

John Dunlop [1755-1820]

SING me a sweet, low song of night

Before the moon is risen,

A song that tells of the stars' delight
Escaped from day's bright prison,

A song that croons with the cricket's voice,
That sleeps with the shadowed trees,

A song that shall bid my heart rejoice
At its tender mysteries!

And then when the song is ended, love,
Bend down your head unto me,
Whisper the word that was born above
Ere the moon had swayed the sea;
Ere the oldest star began to shine,
Or the farthest sun to burn,-

The oldest of words, O heart of mine,

Yet newest, and sweet to learn.
Hildegarde Hawthorne [18

THE REASON

Oн, hark the pulses of the night,

The crickets hidden in the field,

That beat out music of delight

Till summoned dawn stands half revealed!