Ile get me hence,
Because no fence,
Or Fort that I can make here;
But Love by charmes,
Or else by Armes
Will storme, or starving take here.

Love-dazed, on rosy paths I sought thee far;
That was the spring, my gay and stormy prime.
Then I encountered thee with smiles and war;
Those were the manhood years of summer-time.
I thank thee for the joy thy presence gave;
'T is autumn, when our bed must be—the grave.

At my threshold stands a guest;
Shall I, dare I, bid him enter?
'T is the very dead of winter;
Snowy roads his feet have pressed;
Inhospitably I wait,
Trembling, still I hesitate.

With his wings he veils his face,
And a glory half divine
Like a nimbus seems to shine
Round him, making bright the place.
Cold the night, and yet I stand,
On the latch a halting hand.

What if I should bid him come,
And with him should enter Woe?
For 't is whispered, well we know,
That the pair together roam;
And who welcomes Love, they say,

If I had chosen, my tears had all been dews;
I would have drawn a bird's or blossom's breath,
Nor outmoaned yonder dove. I did not choose—
And here is Life for me, and there is Death.

Ay, here is Life. Bloom for me, violet;
Whisper me, Love, all things that are not true;
Sing, nightingale and lark, till Iforget—
For here is Life, and I have need of you.

So, there is Death. Fade, violet, from the land;
Cease from your singing, nightingale and lark;
Forsake me, Love, for I without your hand
Can find my way more surely to the dark.

Now summer's come,
smoky torches at every house
drive away mosquitoes—
and I—how long will I go on
smoldering with love?

My love
Is like the grasses
Hidden in the deep mountain:
Though its abundance increases,
There is none that knows.

If love could be bought
at the price of a life,
how willingly

If a seed is there
the pine will sprout
even among boulders;
if I love and keep on loving,
can we fail to meet?

Because I loved someone
who didn't love back,
I wail till the
mountain echoes answer

“If there were any power in human love,”
Or in th' intensest longing of the heart,
Then should the oceans and the lands that part
Ye from my sight all unprevailing prove,
Then should the yearning of my bosom bring
Ye here, through space and distance infinite;
And life 'gainst love should be a baffled thing,
And circumstance 'gainst will lose all its might.
Shall not a childless mother's misery
Conjure the earth with such a potent spell—
A charm so desperate—as to compel
Nature to yield to her great agony?
Can I not think of ye till ye arise,