Oh! How severe is our poor Poets Fate!
Who in this barren Trade begins so late.
True Wit' s no longer currant, 'tis cry'd down ,
And all your half-wits into Knavery grown,
Those who once lov'd the Stage, are now in years,
And leave good Poets for dull Pamphleteers;
Nay, for the worst of Rascals , Libellers.
In none of these will the young Sparks delight,
They never read, and scorn all those that write.
They only come the Boxes to survey,
Laugh, roar, and bawl, but never hear the Play
In Monkey's tricks they pass the time away,

An Imitation of Anacreon.

Oft I string the Lydian Lyre,
Oft in noble Strains aspire
To sing the Glories of that Face,
Each secret Charm, each nameless Grace;
But still the disobedient Strings do move
In softest Notes, and murmur nought but Love.

Oft with witty quaint Conceit,
I vainly strive to celebrate
That, which no Colours can reveal
Which we only see, and only feel:
But still the disobedient Strings do move
In softest Notes, and murmur nought but Love.

Farewel, wild impetuous Ode;

I.

Like the rising of the sun,
Herald of bright hours to follow,
Lo! the marriage rites are done,
And begun the Mi-na-Meala .

II.

Heart to heart, and hand to hand,
Vowed 'fore God to love and cherish,
Each by each in grief to stand,
Never more apart to flourish.

III.

Now their lips, low whisp'ring, speak
Thoughts their eyes have long been saying.
Softly bright, and richly meek,

As the strong sweet light of the morning,
As the strong sweet air of the sea,
As the strong sweet music of the wind among the leaves
Comes the voice of our good will to a weary world that grieves,
Crying " Be glad! Be free! "

Waste no sorrow on the days that lie behind you,
Waste no fear upon the days that rise before,
Waste no time in fierce complaining that the world is thus and so,
The world is ours my brothers, and we make it as we go
Make it more and more

Truth is shining in our souls like the morning,

You ask me why I love her,
As I love nought on earth?
Why I'll put none above her
For sorrow or for mirth?
Though there be others fairer;
In spirit, richer, rarer;
With none will I compare her,
Who is to me all worth!

I love her for her beauty,
Her force, her fire, her youth;
For kisses cold as duty
Bespeak not love, but ruth.
I love her for the treasure
Of all the rapturous pleasure
Her love gives without measure
Of passion and of truth!

I love her firm possession
Of instincts fair and true;

TO HIS LOVE.

Sweetest, in desperate hours
Of clouds and lightning and rain,
You came like a vision of flowers
And summer and song once again:
You came, and I could not receive you,
Seared in my flesh, in my sight.
I heedlessly turned back to leave you;
We passed on into the night.
(Heart, soul and all, sweet, never to sever,
Love me for ever!)

Dearest, in hours of twilight,

HE

Long ago, long ago,
In a far and fairer land,
There I wandered with my true love
Hand in hand, hand in hand;
And was it earth or heaven,
Where this joy to me was given? —
Nay, I do not rightly know,
It was all so long ago.

SHE

Long ago, long ago,
Were ye children twain that went,
With no thought of any morrow,
In your souls' divine content?
While ye wandered blossom-hearted,
Did a storm-cloud rise that parted

Shall we meet again, love,
In the distant When, love,
When the Now is Then, love,
And the Present Past?
Shall the mystic Yonder,
On which I ponder,
I sadly wonder,
With thee be cast?

Ah, the joyless fleeting
Of our primal meeting,
And the fateful greeting
Of the How and Why!
Ah, the Thingness flying
From the Hereness, sighing
For a love undying
That fain would die!

Ah, the Ifness sadd'ning,
The Whichness madd'ning,
And the But ungladd'ning,
That lie behind!
When the signless token

I.

This did not once so trouble me,
That better I could not love Thee;
But now I feel and know
That only when we love, we find
How far our hearts remain behind
The love they should bestow.

II.

While we had little care to call
On thee, and scarcely prayed at all,
We seemed enough to pray:
But now we only think with shame,
How seldom to thy glorious Name
Our lips their offerings pay.

III.

I.

Some murmur when their sky is clear,
And wholly bright to view,
If one small speck of dark appear
In their great heaven of blue.
And some with thankful love are filled,
If but one streak of light,
One ray of God's good mercy, gild
The darkness of their night.

II.

In palaces are hearts that ask,
In discontent and pride,
Why life is such a dreary task,