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How I wad mourn when it was torn

By autumn wild and winter rude! But I wad sing on wanton wing

When youthfu' May its bloom renewed.

O gin my Love were yon red rose
That grows upon the castle wa',
And I mysel a drap o' dew,

Into her bonnie breast to fa';
O there, beyond expression blest,
I'd feast on beauty a' the night;
Sealed on her silk-saft faulds to rest,
Till fleyed awa' by Phoebus' light.

Robert Burns [1759-1796]

"BONNIE WEE THING"

BONNIE wee thing! cannie wee thing!
Lovely wee thing! wert thou mine,

I wad wear thee in my bosom,
Lest my jewel I should tine.
Wishfully I look, and languish

In that bonnie face o' thine;
And my heart it stounds wi' anguish,
Lest my wee thing be na mine.

Wit and grace, and love and beauty,
In ae constellation shine;
To adore thee is my duty,

Goddess o' this soul o' mine!
Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing,

Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine,

I wad wear thee in my bosom,

Lest my jewel I should tine.

Robert Burns [1759-1796]

ROSE AYLMER

Ан, what avails the sceptered race!

Ah, what the form divine!

What every virtue, every grace!

Rose Aylmer, all were thine.

66

"Take Back the Virgin Page" 601

Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes

May weep, but never see,

A night of memories and sighs

I consecrate to thee.

Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864]

"TAKE BACK THE VIRGIN PAGE"

WRITTEN ON RETURNING A BLANK BOOK

TAKE back the Virgin Page

White and unwritten still;

Some hand more calm and sage
The leaf must fill.

Thoughts came as pure as light—

Pure as even you require:

But oh! each word I write
Love turns to fire.

Yet let me keep the book:

Oft shall my heart renew,

When on its leaves I look,
Dear thoughts of you.

Like you, 'tis fair and bright;
Like you, too bright and fair

To let wild passion write
One wrong wish there.

Haply, when from those eyes
Far, far away I roam,
Should calmer thoughts arise
Towards you and home;

Fancy may trace some line

Worthy those eyes to meet,
Thoughts that not burn, but shine,

Pure, calm, and sweet.

And as o'er ocean far

Seamen their records keep,

Led by some hidden star

Through the cold deep;
So may the words I write

Tell through what storms I stray,
You still the unseen light

Guiding my way.

Thomas Moore [1779-1852]

"BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEARING YOUNG CHARMS "

BELIEVE me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day,

Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy-gifts fading away,

Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art, Let thy loveliness fade as it will,

And around the dear ruin each wish of

Would entwine itself verdantly still.

my

heart

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear,

That the fervor and faith of a soul may be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear!
No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close,

As the sunflower turns to her god when he sets
The same look which she turned when he rose!
Thomas Moore [1779-1852]

THE NUN

If you become a nun, dear,

A friar I will be;

In any cell you run, dear,

Pray look behind for me.

The roses all turn pale, too;
The doves all take the veil, too;

The blind will see the show;
What! you become a nun, my dear,
I'll not believe it, no!

Το

If you become a nun, dear,
The bishop Love will be:
The Cupids every one, dear,

Will chant, "We trust in thee!"
The incense will go sighing.
The candles fall a-dying,

The water turn to wine:

What! you go take the vows, my dear?

You may-but they'll be mine.

603

Leigh Hunt [1784-1859]

SONG

LOVE me if I live!

Love me if I die!

What to me is life or death,
So that thou be nigh?

Once I loved thee rich,

Now I love thee poor;

Ah! what is there I could not
For thy sake endure?

Kiss me for my love!

Pay me for my pain!

Come! and murmur in my ear

How thou lov'st again!

Bryan Waller Procter [1787-1874]

ΤΟ

ONE word is too often profaned
For me to profane it,

One feeling too falsely disdained

For thee to disdain it.

One hope is too like despair

For prudence to smother,
And Pity from thee more dear
Than that from another.

I can give not what men call love;
But wilt thou accept not

The worship the heart lifts above
And the Heavens reject not:
The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar

From the sphere of our sorrow?

Percy Bysshe Shelley [1792-1822]

FROM THE ARABIC

My faint spirit was sitting in the light
Of thy looks, my love;

It panted for thee like the hind at noon
For the brooks, my love.

Thy barb, whose hoofs outspeed the tempest's flight,
Bore thee far from me;

My heart, for my weak feet were weary soon,

Did companion thee.

Ah! fleeter far than fleetest storm or steed,

Or the death they bear,

The heart which tender thought clothes like a dove With the wings of care;

In the battle, in the darkness, in the need,

Shall mine cling to thee,

Nor claim one smile for all the comfort, love,

It may bring to thee.

Percy Bysshe Shelley [1792-1822]

THE WANDERING KNIGHT'S SONG

My ornaments are arms,

My pastime is in war,

My bed is cold upon the wold,

My lamp yon star.

My journeyings are long,

My slumbers short and broken;
From hill to hill I wander still,

Kissing thy token.

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