You sit demure, a silhouette
Against the rosy-flooded west; —
See, on your skirt's soft violet,
That white-winged butterfly at rest;
How rustic Dolly's artless breast
Would flutter fast, if you were she!
She'd whisper, " One that loves me best
Is thinking now of me, — of me! "
Ah well! such quaint beliefs as those
Can't meet a scientific stare,
And Darwin doubtless plainly shows

What possesses countless gain? —
Surely that Good Counsel is.
He who grants only to the importunate,
In this what Generosity is there?
If there be Hell upon Earth,
It is the companionship of the fool.
Keep ever thy Intentions pure, Khush-hal:
If there is any good at all it is in the intention.

What is that, if not Good Health,
Which better than an Empire is?
If aught more precious is than wealth,
Than wealth sure Honour dearer is.
What far better than indulgence,
One Self-restraint, next Sincerity?
What does man from trouble free?
No other it is than Contentment.
If thou dost make thy boast of piety,
Purposeless is such Devotion.

Let Mincio now in humble Waves subside;
The Mantuan Swan no more supports his Pride;
No more let Meles boast of H OMER'S Lays;
No more Sebetus murmur T ASSO'S Praise:
Since Thames can glory in our M ILTON'S Name,
Thames shall be equal to them all in Fame.

1

C. C. Rider, just see what you have done!
You made me love you, now yo' woman's done come!
You made me love you, now yo' woman's done come!
You made me love you, now yo' woman's done come!

2

You caused me, Rider, to hang my head and cry;
You put me down; God knows I don't see why!
You put me down; God knows I don't see why!
You put me down; God knows I don't see why!

Jesus never in his life made a fool a wise man,
Though by miracles he made many blind ones seeing.
He whom God at his birth has not with wisdom gifted,
Who can have the power to make such foolish wise?
What though the fool learns lessons, what will be his state?
As though the dye upon his hair restored to age his youth!

The voice of the bird, — in a primrose lane,
When my love and I were young;
Standing together to catch again
The story the lark had sung.

The voice of the bird, — the answering thrills
Of lovers passion-pale,
Under the moon, to the longing trills
Of the tireless nightingale.

The voice of the bird, — a livid sky,
A tempest of whirling leaves,
To hearts that sever, a long good-bye
From the swallows that line the eaves.

The voice of the bird, — when a spirit wings
Its return to Him who gave,

Love! It began with a glance,
Grew with the growing of flowers,
Smiled in a dreamful trance,
Recked not the passage of hours:
Our passion's flood rose ever,
Flowing for her and me,
Till the brook became a river,
And the river became a sea

Grief! It began with a word,
Grew with the winds that raved;
A prayer for pardon unheard,
Pardon in turn uncraved;
The bridge so easy to sever,
The stream so swift to be free!
Till the brook became a river,
And the river became a sea.

Life! It began with a sigh,

The joyous Paradise of Fools
Has space to spare for young and old;
There Love is infinitely bold,
And there his altar never cools:

For neighbour oars on silent pools,
For comrade feet in meads of gold,
The joyous Paradise of Fools
Has space to spare, — for young and old.

But once we leave its fairy Rules
For Reason's realm of doubt and cold,
Our eyes may never more behold
That dear despair of all the Schools, —
The joyous Paradise of Fools.

Cloe, this comes to let you know
With me your Slave how Matters go——
But oh, what Words contain the Force!
'Tis cold, to say they ne'er were worse——
For Bus'ness I am no more fit
Than powder'd Fop, or pension'd Wit:
I feed not as I us'd to do;
And if I Sleep I dream of you.
In sober sadness I'm so bad,
You must be kind, or I run mad;
Or, what's still worse, my Heart will break,
Dear cruel Cloe , for thy Sake.
 If this wont move a Heart of Flint,
If this be'nt Love, the Devil's in't;
When you, or Bedlam , or the Grave,