The love of one who never spoke
A word to her he loved the best,
Whose hidden worship never woke
A thought in her unconscious breast;
The love of one who truly tried
To live for her sweet sake alone,
With thought and labour sanctified
As if herself had seen and known;
The love of one who once or twice,
Just for a moment, held her gaze,
And gathered there a thought of price
To cheer the darkness of the days;
The love of one who looks to stand,
With freer friendship, face to face,
And hear her voice and touch her hand

When birds with busy beaks their nests were building
Love found a nest prepared — Love found my heart
I gave him place — to Love who is not yielding
When sheltering Love is sharing Heaven's part?

When little birds were but half-clad with feathers
And all their nests were full of nestlings' play,
My life was full of glad sunshiny weathers,
For growing Love within my heart made gay.

When full fledged broods flew off on wings ungrateful
And lightly left deserted many a nest,
Love left my heart, for Love was false, deceitful —

1.

The blue-eyed maidens of the sea
With trembling haste approach the lee,
So small and smooth, they seem to be
Not waves, but children of the waves;
And as each linked circle laves
The crescent marge of creek and bay,
Their mingled voices all repeat —
O lovely May! O long'd-for May!
We come to bathe thy snow-white feet.

2.

We bring thee treasures rich and rare,
White pearls to deck thy golden hair,
And coral-beads, so smoothly fair
And free from every flaw or speck,

One thought — two words and so the lines are lengthened,
And loving souls receiving them are strengthened.

One love — two lives — that join together dearly,
While clefted heaven sheds its rays more clearly.

One soul — two worlds — till dying makes a single,
And all beatitudes forever mingle.

Demurely mute as Marion sits
And dreams, or reads, or draws, or knits,
One might suppose her merely fair,
But one who knows esteems her share
Of wisdom, and her wealth of wits.

For Marion wears the mood that fits,
And when the merry moment flits
Returns to some still sweeter air
Demurely mute.

If that might be which love permits —
A new dream comes, an old dream quits —
One might forget a buried care
And Marion hear the new love swear
The old dead vows — love's favourites —
Demurely mute.

In every Christian song or Christian story
Adam is good and Mother Eve is evil.
Thus do the men keep God for their own glory
And leave their loving women to the Devil!

Roses for love and roses for decoration.
Roses to scent a sentimental nation.
Roses a woman wants but wouldn't reach for.
Roses a man must bring to speak his speech for.
Roses that yield their fields to avid fingers.
Roses that lose their lives to opera singers.
Roses that have to climb a house on cables.
Roses that swim in bowls on dining tables.

Did ever a man see roses as we are?
Did ever a rose pretend to own a star?
Nature and love can never be related.
Never a rose a rose decapitated.
Did ever a one escape man's universes?

KEY TO CLOSET .

There is a key.
There is a key to a closet that opens the drawer. And she keeps both so that neither money nor candy will go suddenly, Fancy, baby, new year. She keeps both so that neither money nor candy will go suddenly, Fancy baby New Year, fancy baby mine, fancy.

HAPPEN TO HAVE .

Who , harnessed in his mail of Self, demands
To be men's master and their sovran guide? —
Proclaims his place, and by sole right of pride
A candidate for love and reverence stands,
As if the power within his empty hands
Had fallen from the sky, with all beside,
So oft to longing and to toil denied,
That makes the leaders and the lords of lands?
He who would lead must first himself be led;
Who would be loved be capable of love
Beyond the utmost he receives; who claims
The rod of power must first have bowed his head,

I THOUGHT she was wayward — inconstant in part,
But thought not the weakness e'er reached to her heart;
'Twas a lightness of mood which but tempted a lover
The more the true way to that heart to discover.

What changeful seem'd there, was the play of the wave
Which veileth the depth of the firm ocean cave;
I cared not how fitful that light wave might flow,
I would dive for the pearl of affection below.

I won it, methought! and now welcome the strife,
The burthen, the toil, the worst struggles of life;