Once I was young, and fancy was my all,
My love, my joy, my grief, my hope, my fear,
And ever ready as an infant's tear,
Whate'er in Fancy's kingdom might befal,
Some quaint device had Fancy still at call,
With seemly verse to greet the coming cheer;
Such grief to soothe, such airy hope to rear,
To sing the birth-song, or the funeral,
Of such light love, it was a pleasant task;
But ill accord the quirks of wayward glee,
That wears affliction for a wanton mask,
With woes that bear not Fancy's livery;
With Hope that scorns of Fate its fate to ask,

Lord God, I have been guilty in my life,
Yet worshiped Beauty, and aspire to make
A work that shall have love and faith, heart-break,
Passion and joy and triumph after strife,
And all the glow wherewith the sky is rife.

And I implore thee, Master, for the sake
Of this, the longing of my soul, to give
Thy potent aid: since thou art pain and bliss
And faith and love and everything that is.
Look down upon my work and let it live
And be for ever lovely; and for this
Great boon of thine, I swear to do Thy will
Each several hour, all other wills above;

All is divine.
which the Highest has made,
Through the days that he wrought,
till the day when He stay'd;
Above and below,
within and around,
From the centre of space,
to its uttermost bound.

In beauty surpassing
the Universe smiled,
On the morn of its birth,
like an innocent child,
Or like the rich bloom,
of some delicate flower
And the Father rejoiced
in the work of His power.

Yet worlds brighter still,
and a brighter than those,
And a brighter again,
He had made, had he chose;
And you never could name

Lulls swears he is all heart; but you'l suppose
By his Probossis that he is all nose.

None but a Tuscan hand could fix ye here
In rigidness of sober coloring.
Pale are ye, mighty Triad, not with fear,
But the most awful knowledge, that the spring
Is in you of all birth, and act, and sense.
I sorrow to behold ye: pain is blent
With your aloof and loveless permanence,
And your high princedom seems a punishment.
The cunning limner could not personate
Your blind control, save in th' aspect of grief;
So does the thought repugn of sovran fate.
Let him gaze here who trusts not in the love
Toward which all being solemnly doth move:

So quietly, so gently the Dunai's waters flow
A maiden combs her hair, and sees reflected far below
A wealth of silken tresses the breeze blows to and fro.

So quietly, so gently the loose hair drifts adown—
“Float there!” she cries, “float onward through vale and busy town,
But wait for me a moment, wait, ere I leap to drown!

“You know the veiling willow upon the river brim?
Wait there—and my sore heart shall come to tell the tale of him—
No end there is to Dunai; no eyes for me shall dim.

“The widow's son was handsome, he loved me, as I thought,

O LOVE , love, never turn away thy face!
If I am faithful—if the stormy sea
Gives its wild strength and wilder song to thee,
Hold thou, sweet river, full of light and grace,
River whose tides green thymy shores embrace,
Hold thou for ever firm of heart to me!
If my fierce waves defy eternity,
Within those waves thy soft blue waters place.

I tire of images—I tire of song—
Song leads to love, and love bestows at last
Not fame but rest. Sweeter it is to me
The soft love-light within thine eyes to see
Than all old triumphs won by labour strong,

A golden robe, yet will she wear
Only a rose in her golden hair.

Must you dance ev'ry dance
With the same fortunate man?
You have danced with him since the music began,
Won't you change partners and dance with me?
Must you dance quite so close
With your lips touching his face?
Can't you see I'm longing to be in his place?
Won't you change partners and dance with me?
Ask him to sit this one out, and while you're alone
I'll tell the waiter to tell him he's wanted on the telephone.
You've been locked in his arms
Ever since heaven knows when,
Won't you change partners, and then
You may never want to change partners again.

Painted and enamelled, on the air he shook
Scented flaxen ringlets from his wide peruke,
And his treble quavered: “Lo, the stage whereon
A Bracegirdle hath been, sir, and alike a Woffington!”

Queried I: “And do you know the stage as now for us?”
“Truth, I know”, cried Cibber, “and oh truth, 'tis marvellous!
Yet my heart hangs after the little mellow ring
Where Barry fired with love, sir, and where Betterton was king.

“Rays have brought you riches. Fathomed lies the sea.
Deep may call to deep and world to world at your decree.