Trees unbroken
by the weight of snow—
thanks to strong winds.

CCXV

I see the change from that that was
And how thy faith hath ta'en his flight.
But I with patience let it pass
And with my pen this do I write
To show thee plain by proof of sight
I see the change.

I see the change of wearied mind
And slipper hold hath quit my hire.
Lo, how by proof in thee I find
A burning faith in changing fire.
Farewell, my part. Proof is no liar.
I see the change.

I see the change of chance in love.
Delight no longer may abide.
What should I seek further to prove?
No, no, my trust, for I have tried

I' M full of everything I do not want,
And have not that wherein I should find ease;
For alway till Becchina brings me peace
The heavy heart I bear must toil and pant;
That so all written paper would prove scant
(Though in its space the Bible you might squeeze,)
To say how like the flames of furnaces
I burn, remembering what she used to grant.
Because the stars are fewer in heaven's span
Than all those kisses wherewith I kept tune
All in an instant (I who now have none!)
Upon her mouth (I and no other man!)
So sweetly on the twentieth day of June

The evening sky was as green as Jade,
As Emerald turf by Lotus lake,
Behind the Kafila far she strayed,
(The Pearls are lost if the Necklace break!)

A lingering freshness touched the air
From palm-trees, clustered around a Spring,
The great, grim Desert lay vast and bare,
But Youth is ever a careless thing.

The Raiders threw her upon the sand,
Men of the Wilderness know no laws,
They tore the Amethysts off her hand,
And rent the folds of her veiling gauze.

They struck the lips that they might have kissed,

Goe restlesse ghost, tell that proud faire
She was my cause of dyeinge
And if she still seeme coy to heare
Importune her with cryinge.

If angry looks still threaten warr
O then tell natures Jewell
Though angells are less faire by farr
Yett tigers are less cruell.

Say to-those eles that wrought my ill
Heaven that with lustre stor'de them
Never gave them power to kill
The hart that so adord them.

Tell her I come to begg of her
(O be it not prevented)
Uppon my grave to dropp a teare
And I shall rest contented.

Oh ! Sorrow, Sorrow, scarce I knew
Your name when, shaking down the may
In sport, a little child, I grew
Afraid to find you at my play.
I heard it ere I looked at you;
You sang it softly as you came
Bringing your little boughs of yew
To fling across my gayest game.

Oh! Sorrow, Sorrow, was I fair
That when I decked me for a bride,
You met me stepping down the stair
And led me from my lover's side?
Was I so dear you could not spare
The maid to love, the child to play,
But coming always unaware,
Must bid and beckon me away?

O FOND , but fickle and untrue,
Ianthe take my last adieu.
Your heart one day will ask you why
You forced from me this farewell sigh.
Have you not feign'd that friends reprove
The mask of Friendship worn by Love?
Feign'd, that they whisper'd you should be
The same to others as to me?
Ah! little knew they what they said!
How would they blush to be obey'd!
Too swiftly roll'd the wheels when last
These woods and airy downs we past.
Fain would we trace the winding path,
And hardly wisht for blissful Bath.
At every spring you caught my arm,

Nay, gather not that Filbert, Nicholas,
There is a maggot there, . . it is his house, . .
His castle, . . oh commit not burglary!
Strip him not naked, . . 'tis his clothes, his shell,
His bones, the case and armour of his life,
And thou shalt do no murder, Nicholas!
It were an easy thing to crack that nut
Or with thy crackers or thy double teeth,
So easily may all things be destroy'd!
But 'tis not in the power of mortal man
To mend the fracture of a filbert shell.
There were two great men once amused themselves

Oh, mighty Oi River,
Blow down those clouds of the May rains.

He circled round his Queen, and nearer grew
Each fainting circle; at each meeting-place
His hands with some sweet flower she would grace,
Diverse in perfume, different in hue—
A gracious rose, or hyacinth-bud blue,
To summon up the vision of her face,
To burn before him till his steps retrace
The well-worn path his former footing knew.

But at the last she stood fair, flowerless, white
To meet him: even herself he shall attain
This time, and having traversed icy plain
And fiery seas and penetrated night,
Shall stride—worn weary Dante—into light,