Ah! dear one, you've been dead so long, - Where hours may never lose their song Nor flowers forget the rain In glad noonlight that shall never wane? Ah! shall it be then Spring weather, DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI. 20 RIDING TOGETHER FOR many, many days together For many days we rode together, Yet we met neither friend nor foe; We saw the trees in the hot, bright weather, As freely we rode on together With helms unlaced and bridles slack. And often as we rode together, We, looking down the green-bank'd stream, Saw flowers in the sunny weather, 15 And saw the bubble-making bream. And in the night lay down together, And hung above our heads the rood, 20 Our spears stood bright and thick together, With faces turn'd toward the wind. Down sank our threescore spears together, Up the sweep of the bridge we dash'd together, There, as we roll'd and writhed together, I threw my arms above my head, 2 30 For close by my side, in the lovely weather, 35 I and the slayer met together, He waited the death-stroke there in his place, With thoughts of death, in the lovely weather, Gapingly mazed at my madden'd face. Madly I fought as we fought together; In vain the little Christian band They bound my blood-stain'd hands together, They bound his corpse to nod by my side: Then on we rode, in the bright March weather, With clash of cymbals did we ride. 40 45 We ride no more, no more together; My prison-bars are thick and strong, I take no heed of any weather, The sweet Saints grant I live not long. WILLIAM MORRIS. From ATALANTA IN CALYDON WHEN the hounds of spring are on winter's traces, The mother of months in meadow or plain Fills the shadows and windy places With lisp of leaves and ripple of rain; And the brown bright nightingale amorous Is half assuaged for Itylus, For the Thracian ships and the foreign faces, Come with bows bent and with emptying of quivers, With a noise of winds and many rivers, With a clamor of waters, and with might; Bind on thy sandals, O thou most fleet, Over the splendor and speed of thy feet; For the faint east quickens, the wan west shivers, 15 Where shall we find her, how shall we sing to her, Fold our hands round her knees, and cling? Oh that man's heart were as fire and could spring to her, Fire, or the strength of the streams that spring! For the stars and the winds are unto her As raiment, as songs of the harp-player; For the risen stars and the fallen cling to her, And the southwest-wind and the west-wind sing. 20 For winter's rains and ruins are over, The light that loses, the night that wins; Blossom by blossom the spring begins. The full streams feed on flower of rushes, The chestnut-husk at the chestnut-root. 25 30 35 40 And Pan by noon and Bacchus by night, And soft as lips that laugh and hide, 45 The laughing leaves of the trees divide, And screen from seeing and leave in sight The ivy falls with the Bacchanal's hair 50 Her bright breast shortening into sighs; 55 ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE. A MATCH IF love were what the rose is, If I were what the words are, And love were like the tune, With double sound and single Delight our lips would mingle, With kisses glad as birds are That get sweet rain at noon; If I were what the words are, And love were like the tune. If you were life, my darling, And I your love were death, We'd shine and snow together And hours of fruitful breath; If you were thrall to sorrow, And I were page to joy, And laughs of maid and boy; 5 10 15 20 25 30 |