The potter at Mimaki in Kusuha —
he makes pots, but his daughter's good-looking.
Ah, she's so beautiful!
If I could put her on a love cart
in a procession of three carts, four carts,
and have her called " the governor's lady " !

" Much, much in love, you see her by chance,
then go to bed; that night,
what kind of dream will you have? "
" Thrusting, thrusting, then
holding her tight — that's what I'll dream! "

Let's make love. The night has turned
to daybreak. Bells are ringing.
We've made love since evening
but I'm not tired.
What shall I do?

XVIII SEATHWAITE CHAPEL

Sacred Religion! " mother of form and fear,"
Dread arbitress of mutable respect,
New rites ordaining when the old are wrecked,
Or cease to please the fickle worshipper;
Mother of Love! (that name best suits thee here)
Mother of Love! for this deep vale, protect
Truth's holy lamp, pure source of bright effect,
Gifted to purge the vapoury atmosphere
That seeks to stifle it; — as in those days
When this low Pile a Gospel Teacher knew,
Whose good works formed an endless retinue:

Now what is love I pray thee tell:
It is the fountain and the well,
Where pleasure and repentance dwell,
It is perhaps the sansing bell
That rings all in to heaven and hell:
And this is love, and this is love, as I hear tell.

Now what is love I pray you show:
A thing that creeps and cannot go:
A prize that passeth to and fro,
A thing for me, a thing for moe,
And he that proves shall find it so,
And this is love, and this is love, sweet friends, I trow.

Between the lover and love is a wordless road
crossed only by the spirit

You came, and looked and loved the view
Long-known and loved by me,
Green Sussex fading into blue
With one gray glimpse of sea.

VI. — THE CHILDREN WHOM JESUS BLEST .

Happy were they, the mothers, in whose sight
Ye grew, fair children! hallow'd from that hour
By your Lord's blessing! surely thence a shower
Of heavenly beauty, a transmitted light
Hung on your brows and eyelids, meekly bright,
Through all the after years, which saw ye move
Lowly, yet still majestic, in the might,
The conscious glory of the Saviour's love!
And honor'd be all childhood, for the sake

" Strew me with blossoms when I die,
Nor lay me 'neath the earth below;
Beyond those walls, there let me lie,
Where oftentimes we used to go.
There lay me to the wind and rain;
Dying for you, I feel no pain:
There lay me to the sun above;
Dying for you, I die of love. "

Blest hour of Peace, of Poetry, and Love!
Spell-breathing season--care-subduing time!
Dim emanation of a world above,
Hallowed and still, soft, soothing, and sublime!
My heaven-aspiring spirit seems to climb
Nearer to God, whose all-protecting wing
Shadows the universe; my feelings chime
In unison with every holy thing,
That memory can give, or meditation bring!

The voice of nature is a voice of power,
More eloquent than mortal lips can make;
And even now in this most solemn hour,
She bids my noblest sympathies awake.