Oh that we two sat dreaming On the sward of some sheep-trimmed down, Over river and mead and town. Oh! that we two lay sleeping In our nest in the churchyard sod, With our limbs at rest on the quiet earth's breast, And our souls at home with God! Charles Kingsley [1819-1875] FOR HE HAD GREAT POSSESSIONS Ан! marvel not if when I come to die And follow Death the way my fancies went Year after fading year, the last mad sky Finds me impenitent; For though my heart went doubting through the night, Within this pleasant place. I shall not grieve because the girls were fair For lacking this I might not yet have known How high the heart could climb, or waking seen The mountains bare their silver breasts of stone From their chaste robes of green. Though it were all a sin, within the mirth And pain of life I found a song above Our songs, in her who scattered on the earth Her glad largesse of love; And though she held some dream that was not ours Ah! who shall hearten when the music stops, For joy of silence? While they dreamed above She showed me love upon the mountain tops And in the valleys, love. And while the wise found heaven with their charts And lore of souls, she made an earth for me So marvel not if in the days when death For lo! this place is fair, and losing all That I have won and dreamed beneath her kiss, I would not see the light of morning fall On any world but this. Richard Middleton [1882-1911] WINDLE-STRAWS SHE kissed me on the forehead, So hopeless for my sake it was, So full of ruth, so sweet, My whole heart rose and blessed her, Then died before her feet. Edward Dowden [1843–1913] JESSIE WHEN Jessie comes with her soft breast, And yields the golden keys, Then is it as if God caressed Twin babes upon His knees-- Twin babes that, each to other pressed, Just feel the Father's arms, wherewith they both are blessed. But when I think if we must part, And all this personal dream be fled O then my heart! O then my useless heart! Would God that thou wert dead A clod insensible to joys and ills A stone remote in some bleak gully of the hills! Thomas Edward Brown [1830-1897] THE CHESS-BOARD My little love, do you remember, Ah! still I see your soft white hand Hovering warm o'er Queen and Knight; Brave Pawns in valiant battle stand; The double Castles guard the wings; The Bishop, bent on distant things, Moves, sliding, through the fight. Our fingers touch; our glances meet, Against my cheek; your bosom sweet Ah me! the little battle's done: Dispersed is all its chivalry. Full many a move, since then, have we 'Mid Life's perplexing chequers made, This, this at least,-if this alone: That never, never, never more, As in those old still nights of yore Aux Italiens Shut out the world and wintry weather, 889 Edward Robert Bulwer Lytton [1831-1891] AUX ITALIENS Ar Paris it was, at the Opera there; And she looked like a queen in a book that night, Of all the operas that Verdi wrote, The best, to my taste, is the Trovatore; And Mario can soothe with a tenor note The souls in Purgatory. The moon on the tower slept soft as snow: And who was not thrilled in the strangest way, As we heard him sing, while the gas burned low, "Non ti scordar di me"? The Emperor there, in his box of state, Where his eagles in bronze had been. The Empress, too, had a tear in her eye. To the old glad life in Spain. Well! there in our front-row box we sat, And both were silent, and both were sad. With that regal, indolent air she had; So confident of her charm! I have not a doubt she was thinking then I hope that, to get to the kingdom of heaven, Meanwhile, I was thinking of my first love, As I had not been thinking of aught for years, Till over my eyes there began to move Something that felt like tears. I thought of the dress that she wore last time, In the crimson evening weather; Of that muslin dress (for the eve was hot), And the jasmine-flower in her fair young breast, I thought of our little quarrels and strife, For I thought of her grave below the hill, |