CLXXXVIII

THOUGH I am young and cannot tell
Either what Death or Love is well,
Yet I have heard they both bear darts,
And both do aim at human hearts :
And then again, I have been told

Love wounds with heat, as Death with cold;
So that I fear they do but bring

Extremes to touch, and mean one thing.

As in a ruin we it call

One thing to be blown up, or fall;
Or to our end like way may have
By flash of lightning, or a wave:
So love's inflamed shaft or brand
May kill as soon as Death's cold hand,
Except Love's fires the virtue have
To fright the frost out of the grave.

CLXXXIX

ONE YEAR AGO

BEN JONSON.

ONE year ago my path was green,

My footstep light, my brow serene ;
Alas! and could it have been so

One year ago?

There is a love that is to last

When the hot days of youth are past :

Such love did a sweet maid bestow

One year ago.

I took a leaflet from her braid

And gave it to another maid.

Love! broken should have been thy bow

One year ago.

WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.

CXC

On the way to Kew,
By the river old and gray,
Where in the Long Ago
We laughed and loitered so,
I met a ghost to-day,
A ghost that told of you,
A ghost of low replies
And sweet inscrutable eyes,
Coming up from Richmond,
As you used to do.

By the river old and gray,
The enchanted Long Ago
Murmured and smiled anew.
On the way to Kew,

March had the laugh of May,
The bare boughs looked aglow,
And old immortal words

Sang in my breast like birds,
Coming up from Richmond,
As I used with you.

With the life of Long Ago
Lived my thought of you.
By the river old and gray
Flowing his appointed way,
As I watched, I knew
What is so good to know:
Not in vain, not in vain,
I shall look for you again,

Coming up from Richmond,

On the way to Kew.

WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY

CXCI

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal grace.

I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life !—and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

CXCII

THREE KISSES OF FAREWELL

THREE, only three, my darling,

Separate, solemn, slow;

Not like the swift and joyous ones

We used to know,

When we kissed because we loved each other,

Simply to taste love's sweet,

And lavished our kisses as the summer

Lavishes heat;

But as they kiss whose hearts are wrung,

When hope and fear are spent,

And nothing is left to give, except
A sacrament!

First of the three, my darling,

Is sacred unto pain;

We have hurt each other often,

We shall again,

When we pine because we miss each other,

And do not understand

How the written words are so much colder

Than eye and hand.

I kiss thee, dear, for all such pain
Which we may give or take;
Buried, forgiven before it comes,
For our love's sake.

The second kiss, my darling,
Is full of joy's sweet thrill;

We have blessed each other always,
We always will.

We shall reach until we feel each other

Beyond all time and space;

We shall listen till we hear each other

In every place;

The earth is full of messengers,

Which love sends to and fro ;I kiss thee, darling, for all joy Which we shall know !

The last kiss, oh! my darling-
My love-I cannot see,

Through my tears, as I remember

What it may be.

We may die and never see each other,

Die with no time to give

Any signs that our hearts are faithful
To die, as live.

Token of what they will not see
Who see our parting breath,
This one last kiss, my darling,
The seal of death!

AGNES E. GLASE.

CXCIII

AWAY, delights; go seek some other dwelling,
For I must die.

Farewell, false love; thy tongue is ever telling
Lie after lie:

For ever let me rest now from thy smarts;
Alas, for pity, go

And fire their hearts

That have been hard to thee! Mine was not so.

Never again deluding love shall know me,
For I will die ;

And all those griefs that think to over-grow me
Shall be as I:

For ever will I sleep, while poor maids cry, "Alas, for pity, stay,

And let us die

With thee! Men cannot mock us in the clay."

JOHN FLETCHER.

CXCIV

I NEVER gave a lock of hair away
To a man, Dearest, except this to thee,
Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully
I ring out to the full brown length, and say,
"Take it." My day of youth went yesterday;
My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee,
Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle-tree

P