This is love's vintage hour; within my arms
I hold imprisoned all thy rosy charms,
The crown of my desire, nor can see
In spring or summer aught so fair as thee.
Thy autumn beauties every treasure hold,
Oh, may they bloom for aye, nor e'er grow old.
And yet, what care I? When the grapes lie piled,
Men do not heed the curling tendrils wild.
And so my love will constant last, I trow,
E'en when the tendril wrinkles line thy brow.

O Lord! whose forming hand one blood
To all the tribes and nations gave,
And giv'st to all their daily food,
Look down in pity on the slave!

Fetters and chains and stripes remove,
Deliv'rance to the captives give;
And pour the tide of light and love
Upon their souls, and bid them live.

Oh! kindle in our hearts a flame
Of zeal, thy holy will to do;
And bid each one, who loves thy name,
Love all his bleeding brethren too.

Through all thy temples, let the stain
Of prejudice each bosom flee;

Love and Desire play the set,
My heart's the flying ball,
To Heliodore across the net
They send it, rise and fall.

Be heedful, sweetest; watch thy art
Nor mock me in my need;
To miss the stroke and lose my heart,
That were a fault indeed.

The wine-cup flew with treacherous haste
As in your arms I lay embraced,
While low you murmured in my ear
Whispers of love so sweet to hear.
I fell asleep, a maiden free;
And in my sleep you conquered me.

So now to Venus here I bring
These sandals for an offering,
And these soft bands with perfume wet
Which on my bosom then were set,
That they may witness how I strove
Before I yielded to my love.

By Timo's wealth of ringlets
In lovers' true-knots drest,
By Demo's fragrant perfumes
And sleep-beguiling breast,

By Ilias' sportive fancies
And by my lamp's dim light —
The lamp that's seen the revels
Of many a vigil night —

Upon my lips my spirit faints;
But while I breathe and live,
All that to me of life remains
To thee, great Love, I give.

See how the Cupids string their bows
As from her couch Irene goes,
The golden couch of Love.
A statue with a maiden's face
From head to foot arrayed in grace
Her power they soon will prove.
From purple cord they speed the dart
Which quick shall pierce some youthful heart.

In the leafless sycamore
Lo! a winter nest.
Round it all the ceaseless roar
Of the storm's unrest.
Here love's palace once was seen
Swinging to the breeze,
Roofed and guarded by the green,
Full of melodies.
Here the sunset loved to rest,
Smiling on the thrush's nest.

In yon London attic room
Once a painter wrought;
All our dense November gloom
Darkened not his thought.
Woman's love was here as well;
Woman's loving eyes
Met the painter's when they fell
From the pictured skies.
Love forsook his fiery quest,

Long are the hours, the storm winds blow,
Night passes ere the Pleiads set,
But still before her door I go
With driving rain all wet.

This is not love, this torturing smart,
These arrows forged in flaming fire;
I know her false, but yet my heart
Still burns with mad desire.

I.

Love with all thy strength of being, while the summer days are long,
While thy heart can mix its music with the lark's and thrush's song;
While the heart of woman seeks thee for the sake of love alone,
While thine ardour wins her sweetness, lures her from her starry throne.

II.

Love with all thy might of manhood, while the summer nights are sweet,
While the honeysuckle listens for the sound of lovers' feet;
While thy voice can ring with passion, while keen rapture can be won,

The Lord, the Judge, his churches warns;
Let hypocrites attend and fear,
Who place their hope in rites and forms,
But make not faith nor love their care.

Vile wretches dare rehearse his name,
With lips of falsehood and deceit;
A friend or brother they defame,
And sooth and flatter those they hate.

They watch to do their neighbors wrong,
Yet dare to seek their Maker's face;
They take his cov'nant on their tongue,
But break his laws, abuse his grace.

To heav'n they lift their hands unclean;