The sun
in autumn
swiftly gives way
to darkness,
but to no avail —
at least not for one
who waits
a man
who will not hurry.

To expect him
to be undeterred
by rain —
that would be too much;
but, ah, to be certain,
at least,
of the breaks
between showers!

Such a waste of time!
Gazing up
at the moon
night after night,
thinking
she too will see it —
and feel the same

Should I die of love,
even then
I would continue
to feel rejected —
knowing how halfheartedly
she would say,
" Ah, what a shame. "

The heart
of someone
who refuses to respond—
what
to compare it to?
The rocks and the trees
after all,
do not bear a man

What a constant jealousy gnaws your heart!
It tires me out; day after day
Some little worry from nothing you start—
Something's hidden in what I say,
Something's hidden in what I do;
That heart of yours is never still,
It cannot be sure that I am true,
But spies and pries about for ill.

Frankly I speak the whole of my mind
Once for all—let it serve or not:
I am not one of that showy kind,
Fair outside with an inward rot.
I love you! will not that suffice?
No! I must say it again and again,

Once did I view a fragrant Flower
Till thro' the optick windows of mine
The sweet discoveries of its beauties
Did much affect & Charm my fant
To see how bright and sweetly it did shine
In Beauties that were purely Genuine.

But Lo, the dire Effects of baneful Pride;
A weed whose favour was Pestiferous
Did vie with this fair flower Qualify'd
With many Vertues Odoriferous.
This fragrant flower which to affect the eyes

That heavenly Sparke , from which th'immortall Soule
Had her first being , striveth to enroule
Her wondrous Guifts in characters of Brasse,
That when (dissolved from this earthie Masse)
Shee mounts aloft, her never-dying Glorie
May fill the Volumes of a learned Storie;
Which after-Ages, reading, may admire,
And (inly burning with the like desire)
To rare Atcheiuements (emulous of Fame
Striving t'immortalize their dying Name)
May bend their Practise, dedicate their Daies;
And, so excited, purchase datelesse Praise.

A fig for her story of shame and of pride!
She strayed in the night and her feet fell astray;
The great Mississippi was glad that day,
And that is the reason the poor girl died;
The great Mississippi was glad, I say,
And splendid with strength in his fierce, full pride—
And that is the reason the poor girl died.

And that was the reason, from first to last;
Down under the dark, still cypresses there.
The Father of Waters he held her fast.
He kissed her face, he fondled her hair,
No more, no more an unloved outcast,

MASTER WILLIAM; OR, LAD'S LOVE .

[ Farewell and Return ]

I.

I HAVE remembrance of a Boy , whose mind
Was weak: he seem'd not for the world design'd,
Seem'd not as one who in that world could strive,
And keep his spirits even and alive—
A feeling Boy , and happy, though the less,
From that fine feeling, form'd for happiness
His mother left him to his favourite ways,
And what he made his pleasure brought him praise.