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"When First I Saw Her"

If she be filled with love and scorn,
As all divinest natures are;

If 'twixt her lips such words are born,
As can but Heaven or Hell confer:
Bid Love be still, nor ever speak,

Lest he his own rejection seek.

Herbert P. Horne [1864

THE LOVER'S SONG

571

LEND me thy fillet, Love!

I would no longer see:
Cover mine eyelids close awhile,
And make me blind like thee.

Then might I pass her sunny face,
And know not it was fair;

Then might I hear her voice, nor guess
Her starry eyes were there.

Ah! banished so from stars and sun-
Why need it be my fate?

If only she might dream me good

And wise, and be my mate!

Lend her thy fillet, Love!
Let her no longer see:

If there is hope for me at all,
She must be blind like thee.

Edward Rowland Sill [1841-1887].

WHEN FIRST I SAW HER"

WHEN first I saw her, at the stroke
The heart of nature in me spoke;
The very landscape smiled more sweet,
Lit by her eyes, pressed by her feet;
She made the stars of heaven more bright

By sleeping under them at night;
And fairer made the flowers of May

By being lovelier than they.

572

O, soft, soft, where the sunshine spread,
Dark in the grass I laid my head;
And let the lights of earth depart
To find her image in my heart;
Then through my being came and went
Tones of some heavenly instrument,
As if where its blind motions roll

The world should wake and be a soul.
George Edward Woodberry [1855

MY APRIL LADY

WHEN down the stair at morning
The sunbeams round her float,

Sweet rivulets of laughter

Are rippling in her throat;
The gladness of her greeting
Is gold without alloy;
And in the morning sunlight
I think her name is Joy.

When in the evening twilight
The quiet book-room lies,
We read the sad old ballads,

While from her hidden eyes
The tears are falling, falling,
That give her heart relief;
And in the evening twilight,
I think her name is Grief.

My little April lady,

Of sunshine and of showers
She weaves the old spring magic,

And breaks my heart in flowers!
But when her moods are ended,
She nestles like a dove;
Then, by the pain and rapture,
I know her name is Love.

Henry Van Dyke (1852

The Milkmaid

573

THE MILKMAID

A NEW SONG TO AN OLD TUNE

ACROSS the grass I see her pass;
She comes with tripping pace,-

A maid I know, and March winds blow
Her hair across her face;-

With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly!

Dolly shall be mine,

Before the spray is white with May,
Or blooms the eglantine.

The March winds blow. I watch her go:
Her eye is brown and clear;

Her cheek is brown, and soft as down,

(To those who see it near!)—

With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly!

Dolly shall be mine,

Before the spray is white with May,
Or blooms the eglantine.

What has she not that those have got,-
The dames that walk in silk!

If she undo her kerchief blue,
Her neck is white as milk.

With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly!
Dolly shall be mine,

Before the spray is white with May,
Or blooms the eglantine.

Let those who will be proud and chill!
For me, from June to June,
My Dolly's words are sweet as curds--

Her laugh is like a tune;

With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly!

Dolly shall be mine,

Before the spray is white with May,
Or blooms the eglantine.

Break, break to hear, O crocus-spear!
O tall Lent-lilies flame!

There'll be a bride at Easter-tide,

And Dolly is her name.

With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly!

Dolly shall be mine,

Before the spray is white with May,

Or blooms the eglantine.

Austin Dobson [1840

SONG

THIS peach is pink with such a pink
As suits the peach divinely;
The cunning color rarely spread
Fades to the yellow finely;

But where to spy the truest pink
Is in my Love's soft cheek, I think.

The snowdrop, child of windy March,
Doth glory in her whiteness;
Her golden neighbors, crocuses,
Unenvious praise her brightness!
But I do know where, out of sight,

My sweetheart keeps a warmer white.

Norman Gale [1862

IN FEBRUARY

My Lady's birthday crowns the growing year;
A flower of Spring before the Spring is here;
To sing of her and this fair day to keep
The very Loves forsake their Winter sleep;
Where'er she goes their circling wings they spread,
And shower celestial roses o'er her head.

I, too, would chant her worth and dare to raise
A hymn to what's beyond immortal praise.

Go, little verse, and lay in vesture meet

Of poesy, my homage at her feet.

Henry Simpson [1868

Ballade of My Lady's Beauty 575

"LOVE, I MARVEL WHAT YOU ARE"

LOVE, I marvel what you are!

Heaven in a pearl of dew,

Lilies hearted with a star

All are you.

Spring along your forehead shines

And the summer blooms your breast.

Graces of autumnal vines

Round you rest.

Birds about a limpid rose

Making song and light of wing

While the warm wind sunny blows,-
So you sing.

Darling, if the little dust,

That I know is merely I,

Have availed to win your trust,

Let me die.

Trumbull Stickney [1874-1904)

BALLADE OF MY LADY'S BEAUTY

SQUIRE ADAM had two wives, they say,
Two wives had he for his delight;

He kissed and clypt them all the day,
And clypt and kissed them all the night.
Now Eve like ocean foam was white,

And Lilith, roses dipped in wine,

But though they were a goodly sight,

No lady is so fair as mine.

To Venus some folk tribute pay,

And Queen of Beauty she is hight, And Sainte Marie the world doth sway, In cerule napery bedight.

My wonderment these twain invite,

Their comeliness it is divine;

And yet I say in their despite,

No lady is so fair as mine.

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