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The Arraying of May

1.

The blue-eyed maidens of the sea
With trembling haste approach the lee,
So small and smooth, they seem to be
Not waves, but children of the waves;
And as each linked circle laves
The crescent marge of creek and bay,
Their mingled voices all repeat —
O lovely May! O long'd-for May!
We come to bathe thy snow-white feet.

2.

We bring thee treasures rich and rare,
White pearls to deck thy golden hair,
And coral-beads, so smoothly fair
And free from every flaw or speck,

Couplets

One thought — two words and so the lines are lengthened,
And loving souls receiving them are strengthened.

One love — two lives — that join together dearly,
While clefted heaven sheds its rays more clearly.

One soul — two worlds — till dying makes a single,
And all beatitudes forever mingle.

Rondeau

Demurely mute as Marion sits
And dreams, or reads, or draws, or knits,
One might suppose her merely fair,
But one who knows esteems her share
Of wisdom, and her wealth of wits.

For Marion wears the mood that fits,
And when the merry moment flits
Returns to some still sweeter air
Demurely mute.

If that might be which love permits —
A new dream comes, an old dream quits —
One might forget a buried care
And Marion hear the new love swear
The old dead vows — love's favourites —
Demurely mute.

The Last Rose Sighs Satirically

Roses for love and roses for decoration.
Roses to scent a sentimental nation.
Roses a woman wants but wouldn't reach for.
Roses a man must bring to speak his speech for.
Roses that yield their fields to avid fingers.
Roses that lose their lives to opera singers.
Roses that have to climb a house on cables.
Roses that swim in bowls on dining tables.

Did ever a man see roses as we are?
Did ever a rose pretend to own a star?
Nature and love can never be related.
Never a rose a rose decapitated.
Did ever a one escape man's universes?

Sonnet: Who, Harnessed in His Mail of Self, Demands

Who , harnessed in his mail of Self, demands
To be men's master and their sovran guide? —
Proclaims his place, and by sole right of pride
A candidate for love and reverence stands,
As if the power within his empty hands
Had fallen from the sky, with all beside,
So oft to longing and to toil denied,
That makes the leaders and the lords of lands?
He who would lead must first himself be led;
Who would be loved be capable of love
Beyond the utmost he receives; who claims
The rod of power must first have bowed his head,

The Love Test

I THOUGHT she was wayward — inconstant in part,
But thought not the weakness e'er reached to her heart;
'Twas a lightness of mood which but tempted a lover
The more the true way to that heart to discover.

What changeful seem'd there, was the play of the wave
Which veileth the depth of the firm ocean cave;
I cared not how fitful that light wave might flow,
I would dive for the pearl of affection below.

I won it, methought! and now welcome the strife,
The burthen, the toil, the worst struggles of life;

Written in a Lady's Prayer Book

Thy thoughts are Heavenward! and thy heart, they say,
Which love, oh more than mortal, failed to move,
Now in its precious casket melts away,
And owns the impress of a Saviour's love!

Many, in days gone by, full many a prayer,
Pure, though impassion'd, has been breathed for thee
By one who once thy hallow'd name would dare
Prefer with his to the Divinity.

Requite them now — not with an earthly love —
But since with that his lot thou mayst not bless,
Ask — what he dare not pray for from above —
For him the mercy of Forgetfulness.

Initials

He goes along
in his thin flesh,
narrow bones,
slow blood,
old hat,
old shoes,
singing for love, battling for love.
He will go down
in thinner flesh,
narrower bones,
slower blood,
older hat,
older shoes,
battling for love, dying for love.
He will be put away
in a thin box,
down a narrow slit
of the old earth,
growing for love, rising for love:
his initials carved
on a thin seed,
narrow seed,
slow seed,
the carving as slow
as he was slow,
carving A K on a song.