— I DO not love thee! — no! I do not love thee!
And yet when thou art absent I am sad;
— And envy even the bright blue sky above thee,
Whose quiet stars may see thee and be glad.

— I do not love thee! — yet, I know not why,
Whate'er thou dost seems still well done, to me:
— And often in my solitude I sigh
That those I do love are not more like thee!

— I do not love thee! — yet, when thou art gone,
I hate the sound (though those who speak be near)
— Which breaks the lingering echo of the tone
Thy voice of music leaves upon my ear.

I BRING you all my olden days,
— My childhood's morning glow;
I love you down the meadow ways
— Where early blossoms blow:
And up deep lanes of long-gone-by,
— Shining with dew-drops yet, —
I wander still, till you and I
— Over the world are met.

I bring you all my lonely days,
— My heart that hungered so;
I love you through the wistful haze
— Of autumns burning low;
And on pale seas, beneath wan sky,
— By weary tides beset,
I voyage still, till you and I
— Over the world are met.

I bring ye love, Quest. What will love do?
Ans. Like, and dislike ye:
I bring ye love: Quest. What will love do?
Ans. Stroake ye to strike ye.
I bring ye love: Quest. What will Love do?
Ans. Love will be-foole ye:
I bring ye love: Quest. What will love do?
Ans. Heate ye to coole ye:
I bring ye love: Quest. What will love do?
Ans. Love gifts will send ye:
I bring ye love: Quest. What will love do?
Ans. Stock ye to spend ye:
I bring ye love: Quest. What will love do?
Ans. Love will fulfill ye:
I bring ye love: Quest. What will love do?

I BEAR an unseen burden constantly;
Waking or sleeping I can never thrust
The load aside; through summer's heat and dust
And winter's snows it still abides with me.
I cannot let it fall, though I should be
Never so weary; carry it I must.
Nor can the bands that bind it on me rust
Or break, nor ever shall I be set free.
Sometimes 't is heavy as the weight that bore
Atlas on giant shoulders; sometimes light
As the frail message of the carrier dove;
But, light or heavy, shifting nevermore.
What is it thus oppressing, day and night?

I am a black Pierrot:
She did not love me,
So I crept away into the night
And the night was black, too.

I am a black Pierrot:
She did not love me,
So I wept until the dawn
Dripped blood over the eastern hills
And my heart was bleeding, too.

I am a black Pierrot:
She did not love me,
So with my once gay-colored soul
Shrunken like a balloon without air,
I went forth in the morning
To seek a new brown love.

Hush-a-by, baby,
Your name is so lovely.
He who gave it to you is a gallant fellow.
Bo, bo, bo, bo, bo.
Hush-a-by, darling.

Hush-a-by, baby,
May sleep come to my darling,
Let it come swiftly, not on foot, but on horseback.
Bo, bo, bo, bo, bo.
Hush-a-by, my lovely child.

LOVE AND JEALOUSY .

How much are they deceiv'd who vainly strive
By jealous fears to keep our flames alive!
Love's like a torch, which, if secur'd from blasts,
Will faintlier burn, but then it longer lasts
Expos'd to storms of jealousy and doubt,
The blaze grows greater, but 'tis sooner out.

He's gone, and all our plans
Are useless indeed.
We'll walk no more on Cotswold
Where the sheep feed
Quietly and take no heed.

His body that was so quick
Is not as you
Knew it, on Severn river
Under the blue
Driving our small boat through.

You would not know him now . . .
But still he died
Nobly, so cover him over
With violets of pride
Purple from Severn side.

Cover him, cover him soon!
And with thick-set
Masses of memoried flowers —
Hide that red wet
Thing I must somehow forget.

An heritage of hopes and fears
And dreams and memory,
And vices of ten thousand years
God gives to thee.

A house of clay, the home of Fate,
Haunted of Love and Sin,
Where Death stands knocking at the gate
To let him in.

Here doth Dionysia lie:
She whose little wanton foot,
Tripping (ah, too carelessly!)
Touched this tomb, and fell into 't.

Trip no more shall she, nor fall.
And her trippings were so few!
Summers only eight in all
Had the sweet child wandered through.

But, already, life's few suns
Love's strong seeds had ripened warm.
All her ways were winning ones;
All her cunning was to charm.

And the fancy, in the flower,
While the flesh was in the bud,
Childhood's dawning sex did dower
With warm gusts of womanhood.