I

O come with me and through my gardens run,
And we shall pluck strange flowers that love the sun,
Of which the sap is blood, the petals flame,
The sweet, forbidden blossoms of no name!
O splendid are my gardens walled with night,
Dim-torched with stars and secret for delight;
And winds breathe there the lure of smitten strings,
Vocal of the immensity of things!
Come, Wailer out of Nothing, nowhere hurled,
Frustrate the bitter purpose of the World!
Thou shalt drink deep of all delights that be —
So come with me!

II

AN OLD IDYL OF A RICHMOND STREET-CAR

All up the street at a stately pace
The maiden passed with her April-face,
And the roses I 'd paid for, on her breast
Were white as the eggs in a partridge-nest,
While behind her — driver upon his stool —
Tinkled the bell of the street-car mule.

" Going to walk up the street? " I said;
She graciously bowed her beautiful head.
" Then I 'll walk, too; 't is a lovely day. " —
Thus I opened the ball in my usual way.
" Do you see the car anywhere? " inquired

No wonder now, if mistes beclowde our day,
Sith late our earth lakes her celestiall Ray;
And Phaebus murnes his priest, and all his quire,
In sables wrapt, weep out their sacred fire;
Farewell, of Latin Muses greatest praise,
Whether thou read graue proses, or did raise
Delight and wonder by a numbrous straine;
Farewell, Quintilian once more dead againe;
With ancient Plautus, Martiall combined,
Maro and Tullie, here in one enshrined.
Bright Ray of learning, which so cleare didst streame,
Farewell, soule which so many soules did frame.

Sylvia, forbear the Youth to blame,
Who would have fain with you been bless'd;
The Youth who realy felt a Flame,
Strong as the Words in which express'd;
Who than your Wishes could have been more kind,
And so remain'd as long as Love could bind.

Well you remember how he strove,
How at your Feet he sighing lay,
How many Times you scorn'd his Love,
E'er he receiv'd the dreadful Nay:
But Fire itself, against a Marble Stone,
Will by Degrees do as his Love has done.

Had but your Lips or Eyes betray'd

Love taught me, then, the one way to woo her—
In the golden days when the world was young—
And all of my soul I gave unto her,
And all of my songs for her were sung.

(Heart of my heart! my soul's undoing,
I charge against thee, in my bitterness,
For I lost my soul in thy soul's wooing—
And I would to god I could love thee less!)

We dwelt in an eden of our own making—
My love and I, in those dear dead days—
And we dreamed bright dreams ere the fatal waking,
And joy walked with us in all our ways.

Both her lips has she now parted,
Pearls she pours upon her lover.
When I look upon thy face,
No wish is mine for flowers or garden;
The Rose from shame forgets to blossom
When it looks upon thy cheeks.
May good fortune now betide me,
I am waiting for our meeting.
Whether faithful they or false,
Breathe not once upon my rivals;
Take one glance but in thy mirror
If the choicest flower thou'dst see.
To whom complainest thou, Khush-hal?
Who is there that hears thy plaints?

De old place on de Ches'peake Bay
Is in my heart to-night—
I hopes to git back d'yar some day,
An' hongers for de sight.

Dee come an' tole me I was free,
An' all my work was done;
I left dem whar was good to me,
An' now I 'se all alone.

De name of ole Virginia
Is sweet as rain in drouf—
Oh! Master, say, has you been dy'ar?
Hit 's way down in de Souf.

De grass dat grows 'pon top de hill
De ones I love does hide,
I pray de Lord to spyah me still
To sleep dyar by dee side.
De ole plantation 's sole an' all,

At ease I red your worke, and am right sorrye
It came not forth before Encomium Moriae ,
Or in the dayes when good King James the First
Carowsed the horse's spring to quench his thirst;
I durst haue giuen my thombe and layed a wager
Thy name had grac't the Chronicles of Jhon Major.
Had thou liu'd in the dayes of great Augustus,
(Hence, vulgare dotards, hence, unlesse yee trust us,)
Thy workes, with geese, had kept the Capitole,
And thou for euer been a happy soule,
Thy statue had been raised neare Claudianus,

Come listen, thou hast heard it, famous is that saying,
That which has gone from the eyes has gone from forth the heart.
I die when thou art from me, my life thou art, didst thou but know it.
Go thou not then from me, stay thou ever by my side,
Lost is my good fortune when thou lookest upon others,
Found again is it when on me thy glances light.
Thy beauties without rival, greater each than those of Leila,
Me have they made like Majnun by their sight, O thou enchantress!
Many are the fair ones with eyes like deer and forms like fairies,

Rames ay runne backward when they would advance;
Who knowes if Ramsay may find such a chance,
By playing the stiff Puritane, to weare
A bishope's rocket yet another yeare.