Sweet mother, in a minute's span
Death parts thee and my love of thee;
Sweet love, that yet art living man,
Come back, true love, to comfort me.
Back, ah, come back! ah wellaway!
But my love comes not any day.

As roses, when the warm West blows,
Break to full flower and sweeten spring,
My soul would break to a glorious rose
In such wise at his whispering.
In vain I listen; wellaway!
My love says nothing any day.

You that will weep for pity of love
On the low place where I am lain,
I pray you, having wept enough,

Now in the summer of life sweet-heart, You say you love but
me, Gladly I give all my heart to you,
Throbbing with ecstacy. But last night I saw while a-
dreaming, The future old and gray, And I
wondered if you'll love me then dear, Just as you do today.
You say the glow on my cheek sweet-heart, Is like the rose so
sweet; But when the bloom of fair youth has flown,
Then will our lips still meet? When life's setting sun fades a-
way dear, And all is said and done, Will your
arms still entwine and caress me, Will our hearts beat as one?

Like the first star that heralds glorious eve,
Like the first blush that beckons in the day,
Like the first snowdrop lavish Aprils weave
To deck the bosom of the festive May;
Like the warm carol of the early bird
Whose note was mute before, or idly heard;
Like all dear things just bursting; like the bloom

Of the first rosebud rending its green tomb,—
So burst thy love upon my helpless life,
Dear Mother, when that hour of pain and strife
That laid me in thine arms, gave place to tears
Of exquisite, sweet joy and holy fears!

Leave this gawdy guilded Stage
From custome more than use frequented
Where fooles of either sex and age
Crowd to see themselves presented.
To loves Theatre the Bed
Youth and beauty fly together
And Act soe well it may be said
The Lawrell there was due to either.
Twixt strifes of Love and war the difference Lies in this
When neither overcomes Loves triumph greater is.

As love and I, late harbour'd in one Inne,
With Proverbs thus each other intertaine:
In Love there is no lack, thus I begin,
Faire words make Fooles, replyeth he againe;
Who spares to speake, doth spare to speed (quoth I)
As well (sayth he) too forward, as too slow;
Fortune assists the boldest, I reply,
A hastie Man (quoth he) ne'r wanted Woe;
Labour is light, where Love (quoth I) doth pay,
(Saith he) Light Burthen's heavy, if farre borne;
(Quoth I) The Maine lost, cast the By away;
You have spunne a faire Thred, he replyes in scorne.

Since to obtaine thee, nothing me will sted,
I have a Med'cine that shall cure my Love,
The powder of her Heart dry'd, when she is dead,
That Gold nor Honour ne'r had pow'r to move;
Mix'd with her Teares, that ne'r her true-Love crost,
Nor at Fifteene ne'r long'd to be a Bride,
Boyl'd with her Sighes, in giving up the Ghost,
That for her late deceased Husband dy'd;
Into the same then let a Woman breathe,
That being chid, did never word replie,
With one thrice-marry'd's Pray'rs, that did bequeath
A Legacie to stale Virginitie.

That learned Father, which so firmely proves
The Soule of Man immortall and divine,
And doth the sev'rall Offices define:
Gives her that Name, as she the Body moves,
Then is she Love, imbracing Charitie,
Moving a Will in us, it is the Mind,
Retayning Knowledge, still the same in kind;
As intellectuall, it is Memorie,
In judging, Reason onely is her Name,
In speedie apprehension, it is Sense,
In Right or Wrong, they call her Conscience,
The Spirit, when it to God-ward doth inflame:
These of the Soule the sev'rall Functions bee,

Nothing but No and I, and I and No,
How fals it out so strangely you reply?
I tell yee (Faire) ile not be answered so,
With this affirming No, denying I.
I say, I Love, you sleightly answere I:
I say, You Love, you peule me out a No:
I say, I Die, you Eccho me with I:
Save mee I Crie, you sigh me out a No;
Must Woe and I, have naught but No and I?
No I, am I, if I no more can have;
Answere no more, with Silence make reply,
And let me take my selfe what I doe crave,
Let No and I, with I and you be so:
Then answere No and I, and I and No.

Who says
That it's by my desire,
This separation, this living so far from you?
My dress still smells of the lavender you gave:
My hand still holds the letter that you sent.
Round my waist I wear a double sash:
I dream that it binds us both with a same-heart knot.
Did not you know that people hide their love,
Like a flower that seems too precious to be picked?

Is any one sad in the world, I wonder?
Does any one weep on a day like this,
With the sun above, and the green earth under?
Why, what is life but a dream of bliss?

With the sun, and the skies, and the birds above me,
Birds that sing as they wheel and fly—
With the winds to follow and say they love me—
Who could be lonely? O ho, not I!

Somebody said, in the street this morning,
As I opened my window to let in the light,
That the darkest day of the world was dawning;
But I looked, and the East was a gorgeous sight.