Refuge

Whene'er I hear that music vague and old,

Two hundred years are mist that rolls away; The thirteenth Louis reigns, and I behold

A green land golden in the dying day.

An old red castle, strong with stony towers,

And windows gay with many-colored glass; Wide plains, and rivers flowing among flowers,

That bathe the castle basement as they pass.

In antique weed, with dark eyes and gold hair,
A lady looks forth from her window high;

It may be that I knew and found her fair,

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In some forgotten life, long time gone by.
Andrew Lang (1844-1912]

REFUGE

SET your face to the sea, fond lover,—
Cold in darkness the sea-winds blow!
Waves and clouds and the night will cover
All your passion and all your woe:
Sobbing waves, and the death within them,
Sweet as the lips that once you pressed-
Pray that your hopeless heart may win them!
Pray that your weary life may rest!

Set your face to the stars, fond lover,—
Calm, and silent, and bright, and true!—
They will pity you, they will hover

Softly over the deep for you.

Winds of heaven will sigh your dirges,

Tears of heaven for you

be spent,

And sweet for you will the murmuring surges

Set

Pour the wail of their low lament.

your face to the lonely spaces,

Vast and gaunt, of the midnight sky! There, with the drifting cloud, your place is, There with the griefs that cannot die.

Love is a mocking fiend's derision,
Peace a phantom, and faith a snare!
Make the hope of your heart a vision—
Look to heaven, and find it there!
William Winter [1836-

MIDSUMMER

AFTER the May time and after the June time
Rare with blossoms and perfume sweet,
Cometh the round world's royal noon time,
The red midsummer of blazing heat,
When the sun, like an eye that never closes,
Bends on the earth its fervid gaze,

And the winds are still, and the crimson roses
Droop and wither and die in its rays.

Unto my heart has come this season,
O, my lady, my worshiped one,
When, over the stars of Pride and Reason,
Sails Love's cloudless, noonday sun.
Like a great red ball in my bosom burning
With fires that nothing can quench or tame,
It glows till my heart itself seems turning
Into a liquid lake of flame.

The hopes half shy and the sighs all tender,
The dreams and fears of an earlier day,
Under the noontide's royal splendor,

Droop like roses, and wither away.

From the hills of Doubt no winds are blowing,
From the isles of Pain no breeze is sent,—

Only the sun in a white heat glowing
Over an ocean of great content.

Sink, O my soul, in this golden glory!

Die, O my heart, in thy rapture-swoon!

For the Autumn must come with its mournful story,

And Love's midsummer will fade too soon.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox [1855

The Phantom of the Rose

ASHES OF ROSES

SOFT on the sunset sky

Bright daylight closes,
Leaving when light doth die,
Pale hues that mingling lie-
Ashes of roses.

When love's warm sun is set,
Love's brightness closes;
Eyes with hot tears are wet,
In hearts there linger yet

Ashes of roses.

Elaine Goodale Eastman [1863

SYMPATHY

THE color gladdens all your heart;
You call it Heaven, dear, but I—
Now Hope and I are far apart—
Call it the sky.

I know that Nature's tears have wet
The world with sympathy; but you,
Who know not any sorrow yet,

Call it the dew.

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THE PHANTOM OF THE ROSE

SWEET lady, let your lids unclose-
Those lids by maiden dreams caressed;

I am the phantom of the rose

You wore last night upon your breast. Like pearls upon my petals lay

The weeping fountain's silver tears, Ere in the glittering array

You bore me proudly 'mid your peers.

O lady, 'twas for you I died—
Yet have I come and I will stay;
My rosy phantom by ycur side

Will linger till the break of day.
Yet fear not, lady; naught claim I-
Nor mass, nor hymn, nor funeral prayer;
My soul is but a perfumed sigh,

Which pure from Paradise I bear.

My death is as my life was-sweet;
Who would not die as I have done?
A fate like mine who would not meet,
Your bosom fair to lie upon?
A poet on my sentient tomb

"GIVE me a fillet, Love," quoth I,
"To bind my Sweeting's heart to me,

So ne'er a chance of earth or sky

Shall part us ruthlessly:

A fillet, Love, but not to chafe

My Sweeting's soul, to cause her pain;

But just to bind her close and safe

Through snow and blossom and sun and rain:

A fillet, boy!"

Love said, "Here's joy."

"Give me a fetter, Life," quoth I,
"To bind to mine my Sweeting's heart,
So Death himself must fail to pry
With Time the two apart:

A fetter, Life, that each shall wear,

Whose precious bondage each shall know.
I prithee, Life, no more forbear-
Why dost thou wait and falter so?

Rosies

Haste, Life-be brief!"

Said Life: "Here's grief."

Julie Mathilde Lippman [1864

LOVE'S PRISONER

SWEET love has twined his fingers in my hair,
And laid his hand across my wondering eyes.
I cannot move save in the narrow space
Of his strong arms' embrace,

Nor see but only in my own heart where
His image lies.

How can I tell,

Emprisoned so well,

If in the outer world be sunset or sunrise?
Sweet Love has laid his hand across my eyes.

Sweet Love has loosed his fingers from my hair,
His lifted hand has left my eyelids wet.
I cannot move save to pursue his fleet
And unreturning feet,

Nor see but in my ruined heart, and there
His face lies yet.

How should I know,

Distraught and blinded so,

If in the outer world be sunrise or sunset?

Sweet Love has freed my eyes, but they are wet.
Mariana Griswold Van Rensselaer [18 -

ROSIES

THERE's a rosie-show in Derry,

An' a rosie-show in Down;
An' 'tis like there's wan, I'm thinkin',
'll be held in Randalstown;

But if I had the choosin'

Av a rosie-prize the day,
'Twould be a pink wee rosie

Like he plucked whin rakin' hay:

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