CCLXV.-WALK

I THE pain is not so bad that I endure
As I voy loyalty
By traison last desconfiture;
For I have long time im perfectly,
Loyally, in good faith,
One more day ui hate doy
And my cuer takes more grant undersigned,
For me it was evilly tray.

I amoie such a very pure love
Qu'onques to do li pensay falsehood
And his desloial and perjury
Is and will be all day and ha beene,
If that from gold but Renoy
He and his love is and loy,
I do not but trust in aray ja li

This antique song, new sung in fashion new,
From me, half silent fallen, with love to you,
O singer of unvexed scenes and virgin themes
In strait, quaint, ancient metres, thronged with dreams!

To you, dear girl, and other friends like you,
No many, but well proved and loved, my pen,
To steal a little from the sting of parting,
Writes not " Farewell " but " Till we meet again. "

Sullenly falls the rain,
Still hangs the dripping leaf,
And ah, the pain!—
The slow, dull ache of my grief,
That throbs—“In vain, in vain,—
You have garnered your sheaf!”

You have garnered your sheaf, with the tares
Therein, and unripe wheat,—
All that Death spares,
Who has come with too swift feet,
Not turning for any prayers
Nor all who entreat.

They entreated with tears. But I—
Ah me, all I can say
Is only a cry!
I had loved you many a day,
Yet never had fate drawn nigh
My way to your way.

If all my loaves of bread were two,
I would divide my store
And buy me fragrant hyacinths
To glad the grated door
Of some one hedged in and confined;
Of one whose bolts and bars
Have shut out almost everything
But friendship, love and stars.

A child was she but yesterday,
To-day a child no longer — no!
The bud its flower doth now display,
And now — half closed — scarce seems to blow.
What means this wonder, who can say?
Or am I mocked by outward show?

Such childish thoughts her words express,
So artless seem her glances bold,
Yet fuller meanings oft I guess
And depths without an end behold;
Such wonders Love's first dawn confess,
For Love hath wonders manifold!

Hail! as though sweet spring were nigh,
Golden sun and azure sky!
Hark! from yonder bowers above
Strains I hear of mirth and love.

Think'st thou, soul, again to hear
Spring's sweet carols, soft and clear?
Lo! how sere the forests seem;
Ah! thou didst but fondly dream.

Think ye that joys I never knew,
That ever thus my lay was sad?
Not so—my days once brightly flew,
With lays of love my life was glad.
The presence sweet of her I loved
Made flow'rs to bloom throughout the year;
What morning's dreams had promised, proved
Reality when eve drew near.

To joys of mine might witness bear
The sky's bright blue, the streamlet's sheen,
The grove with sprouting branches fair,
The garden gay and meadow green.
For these have oft beheld me glad,
For these full oft have heard my lays;

Will it neuer better be?
Do the heavnelie fates agree
There shall be no helpe for me?
Nor these eyes shall euer see
Fruite of my desired tree?

No, thoughe fortune haue forsworne me
And faire beawtie so do scorne me,
That suche hatefull thoughtes are borne me
As with cruell cares haue torne me;
Yett hath loue not quite forlorne me.

Love? how (lord) am I deceyued?
Kindnes all amisse conceiued
Where no comfort is receiued
But to plainlie is perceiued
Will of witt and reason reaved.

But what doth this humor move?

All my witte hath will enwrapped
All my sence desire entrapped,
All my faith to fancy fixed,
All my joye to loue annexed
All my loue I offer thee.
Once for all yett looke one me.

Let me see that heavnely feature
Oh heavnes, what a heavnelle creature!
All the powres of heavne preserue thee.
All the powres on earthe do serue thee.
Princesse' will [and] goddesse' place
Blessed be that Angells face.

Looke oh Angell, looke vpon me
See howe I am woe begone me!
Of hoth witt and sence depriued
But of thee to be revived;