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Their tender I often felt holy, their bitter I sometimes
called sweet ; And whenever their heart has refused me, I fell down straight at their feet.
I have loved,” she said,
“ Man is weak, God is dread, Yet the weak man dies with his spirit at ease, Having poured such an unguent of love but once on the
As I lavished for these."
“Go,” I cried, “ thou hast chosen the Human, and left
the Divine ! Then, at least, have the Human shared with thee their
wild berry-wine? Have they loved back thy love, and when strangers
approached thee with blame, Have they covered thy fault with their kisses, and loved thee the same ?”
But she shrunk and said,
“ God, over my head, Must sweep in the wrath of His judgment-seas, If He shall deal with me sinning, but only indeed the
And no gentler than these."
A MANS REQUIREMENTS.
Love me, Sweet, with all thou art,
Feeling, thinking, seeing ;
Love me in full being.
Love me with thine open youth
In its frank surrender ;
With its silence tender.
Love me with thine azure eyes,
Made for earnest granting ; Taking colour from the skies,
Can Heaven's truth be wanting ? Love me with their lids, that fall
Snow-like at first meeting ; Love me with thine heart, that all
Neighbours then see beating.
Love me with thine hand stretched out
Hearing one behind it.
Love me with thy voice, that turns
Sudden faint above me ;
When I murmur, Love me !
Love me with thy thinking soul,
Break it to love-sighing ;
On through living-dying.
When the world has crowned thee Love me, kneeling at thy prayers,
With the angels round thee. Love me pure, as musers do,
Up the woodlands shady ; Love me gaily, fast and true,
As a winsome lady.
Through all hopes that keep us brave,
Further off or nigher,
And for something higher.
Woman's love no fable,
As a man is able.
THE LADY'S YES.
“YES," I answered you last night ;
“ No," this morning, sir, I say: Colours seen by candle-light
Will not look the same by day.
When the viols played their best,
Lamps above and laughs below,
Fit for yes or fit for no.
Vow, whatever light may shine,-
Any grief for change on mine. Yet the sin is on us both;
Time to dance is not to woo ; Wooing light makes fickle troth,
Scorn of me recoils on you.
Learn to win a lady's faith
Nobly as the thing is high, Bravely, as for life and death,
With a loyal gravity.
Lead her from the festive boards,
Point her to the starry skies ;
Pure from courtship's flatteries.
Ever true, as wives of yore ;
SHALL be Yes for evermore.
You love all, you say,
Round, beneath, above me:
Better than to love me,
Which the blue heavens melt to!
Loathe the sweet looks dealt to
Therefore, Dear, abate me
Shut your eyes and hate me-
FAIR Amy of the terraced house,
Assist me to discover Why you who would not hurt a mouse
Can torture so your lover.
You give your coffee to the cat,
You stroke the dog for coming, And all your face grows kinder at
The little brown bee's humming. But when he haunts your door .. the town
Marks coming and marks going . . You seem to have stitched your eyelids down
To that long piece of sewing! You never give a look, not you,
Nor drop him a 'Good-morning,' To keep his long day warm and blue,
So fretted by your scorning.
She shook her head—“The mouse and bee
For crumb or flower will linger : The dog is happy at my knee,
The cat purrs at my finger.
“ But he . . to him, the least thing given
Means great things at a distance ;
Soul, body, whole existence.
But I 'm a simple maiden,-
I still have smiled and prayed in. “I only know my mother's love
Which gives all and asks nothing, And this new loving sets the groove
Too much the way of loathing.
“ Unless he gives me all in change,
I forfeit all things by him : The risk is terrible and strange
I tremble, doubt, . . deny him.