Twice or thrice had I loved thee,
Before I knew thy face or name;
So in a voice, so in a shapelesse flame,
Angells affect us oft, and worship'd bee;
Still when, to where thou wert, I came,
Some lovely glorious nothing I did see.
But since my soule, whose child love is,
Takes limmes of flesh, and else could nothing doe.
More subtile than the parent is,

Love must not be, but take a body too,
And therefore what thou wert, and who,
I bid Love aske, and now
That it assume thy body, I allow,
And fixe it selfe in thy lip, eye, and brow.

'Twas over hills and over dales
Through lonesome woods and valleys
When my true love was sent from me
All out of spite and malice.

I went unto my true love's house
Inquiring for my dearest,
But the answer that was give to me,
" I have no daughter near me."

But hearing of her true love's voice
She looked out of the window,
Saying, " I can't be in your sweet company
For locks and bolts doth prevent me."

The locks he broke in pieces three
And the door he split asunder.
Soon as he entered his true love's room

I love a careless streamlet,
That takes a mad-cap leap,
And like a sparkling beamlet
Goes dashing down the steep.

Like torrents of the mountain
We've coursed along the lea,
From many a crystal fountain
Toward the far-distant sea.

And now we've gained life's valley,
And through the lowlands roam,
No longer may'st thou dally,
No longer spout and foam.

May pleasant meads await thee,
Where thou may'st freely roll
Towards that bright heavenly sea,
Thy resting place and goal.

Looky here! — you fellers — you
Poets I'm a-talkin' to, —
Allus rhymin', right er wrong,
'Bout your " little " love, and " long " —
'Pears to me 'at nary one
Of you fellers gits much fun
Out o' lovin' — tryin' to fit
Out some fool-receet fer it! —
Love's as broad as long!

Now, I 'low 'at love's a thing
You cain't jes' set down and sing
Out your order fer, and say
You'll hev yourn a certain way;
And how " long " a slice you'll take,
Er how short — 'cause love don't make
No distinctions, and you'll find,

I SO loved once, when Death came by I hid
Away my face,
And all my sweetheart's tresses she undid
To make my hiding-place.

The dread shade passed me thus unheeding; and
I turned me then
To calm my love — kiss down her shielding hand
And comfort her again.

And lo! she answered not: And she did sit
All fixedly,
With her fair face and the sweet smile of it,
In love with Death, not me.

SOMEBODY'S sent a funny little valentine to me.
It's a bunch of baby-roses in a vase of filigree,
And hovering above them — just as cute as he can be —
Is a fairy cupid tangled in a scarf of poetry.

And the prankish little fellow looks so knowing in his glee,
With his golden bow and arrow, aiming most unerringly
At a pair of hearts so labeled that I may read and see
That one is meant for " One Who Loves, " and one is meant for me.
But I know the lad who sent it! It's as plain as A-B-C! —

To ask for all thy love and thy whole heart,
'Twere madness.
I do not sue, nor can admit,
Fairest, from you to have all yet:
Who giveth all hath nothing to impart
But sadness.

He that receiveth all, can have no more
Than seeing.
My love by length of every hour
Gathers new strength, new growth, new flower;
You must have daily new rewards in store,
Still being.

You cannot every day give me your heart
For merit:
Yet, if you will, when yours doth go
You shall have still one to bestow;

Over flat familiar water, a worn course.

Long sentences put the helmsman to sleep.

He steers perfectly and dreams that he is steering perfectly and never talks.

Let us rest in the recognition of having seen every single drop of that water already.

Over flat familiar water, a worn course.

Long sentences put the helmsman to sleep.

He steers perfectly and dreams that he is steering perfectly and never talks.

Let us rest in the recognition of having seen every single drop of that water already.

'Tis winter now; the fallen snow Has left the
And yet God's love is not with-drawn; His life with-
heavens all coldly clear; Through leafless boughs the
in the keen air breathes; His beauty paints the
sharp winds blow, And all the earth lies dead and drear.
crimson dawn, And clothes the boughs with glittering wreaths.
3. And though abroad the sharp winds blow, And skies are
chill and frosts are keen, Home closer draws her
circle now, And warmer glows her light within.
4. O God! who givest the winter's cold, As well as

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'Tis now since I began to dy
Foure moneths and more, yet gasping live;
Wrapp'd up in sorrows doe I ly,
Hoping, yet doubting a reprieve
Adam from Paradise expell'd
Just such a wretched being held.

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'Tis not thy love I feare to loose,
That will in spight of absence hold;
But tis the benefit and use
Is lost, as in imprison'd Gold:
Which though the summe be ne're so great,
Enriches nothing but conceipt.

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