I

SONNET.

(After the Italian.)

KNOW not if I love her overmuch;

But this I know, that when unto her face

She lifts her hand, which rests there, still, a space,
Then slowly falls,-'tis I who feel that touch.
And when she sudden shakes her head, with such
A look, I soon her secret meaning trace.
So when she runs, I think 'tis I who race.
Like a poor cripple who has lost his crutch
I am, if she is gone; and when she goes,

I know not why, for that is a strange art
As if myself should from myself depart.
I know not if I love her more than those
Her lovers, but for the red hidden rose
She covers in her hair, I'd give my heart.

Richard Watson Gilder

SONG.

(From "Jane Eyre.")

THE

Felt at its kindled core

Did through each vein, in quickened start,

The tide of being pour.

Song.

Her coming was my hope each day,
Her parting was my pain;

The chance that did her steps delay
Was ice in every vein.

I dreamed it would be nameless bliss,
As I loved, loved to be;

And to this object did I press
As blind as eagerly.

But wide as pathless was the space
That lay our lives between,
And dangerous as the foamy race
'Of ocean surges green.

And haunted as a robber path

Through wilderness or wood,

For Might and Right, and Woe and Wrath,
Between our spirits stood.

I dangers dared; I hindrance scorned;
I omens did defy;

Whatever menaced, harassed, warned,

I passed impetuous by.

On sped my rainbow, fast as light;

I flew as in a dream;

For glorious rose upon my sight

That child of Shower and Gleam.

79

Still bright on clouds of suffering dim
Shines that soft, solemn joy;
Nor care I now how dense and grim
Disasters gather nigh.

I care not in this moment sweet,
Though all I have rushed o'er
Should come, on pinion strong and fleet,
Proclaiming vengeance sore:

Though haughty Hate should strike me down, Right bar approach to me,

And grinding Might, with furious frown,

Swear endless enmity.

My love has placed her little hand

With noble faith in mine,

And vowed that wedlock's sacred band

Our natures shall entwine.

My love has sworn, with sealing kiss,
With me to live, to die;

I have at last my nameless bliss:

As I love, loved am I!

Charlotte Brontë.

Bedouin Love-Song.

BEDOUIN LOVE-SONG.

FROM the Desert I come to thee,

On a stallion shod with fire;

And the winds are left behind

In the speed of my desire.
Under thy window I stand,
And the midnight hears my cry;
I love thee, I love but thee!
With a love that shall not die

Till the sun grows cold,

And the stars are old,

And the leaves of the Judgment
Book unfold!

Look from thy window, and see
My passion and my pain!
I lie on the sands below,

And I faint in thy disdain.

Let the night-winds touch thy brow
With the heat of my burning sigh,

And melt thee to hear the vow

Of a love that shall not die
Till the sun grows cold,

And the stars are old,

And the leaves of the Judgment

Book unfold!

My steps are nightly driven
By the fever in my breast,
To hear from thy lattice breathed
The word that shall give me rest.
Open the door of thy heart,

And open thy chamber door,
And my kisses shall teach thy lips
The love that shall fade no more
Till the sun grows cold,

And the stars are old,

And the leaves of the Judgment

Book unfold!

Bayard Taylor.

I

LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR.

ARISE from dreams of thee

In the first sweet sleep of night,

When the winds are breathing low
And the stars are shining bright.
I arise from dreams of thee,

And a spirit in my feet

Hath led me - who knows how?. To thy chamber-window, sweet!

The wandering airs they faint
On the dark, the silent stream;
And the champak odors pine