O lady! there be many things That seem right fair, below, above; But sure not one among them all Is half so sweet as love; Let us not pay our vows alone, But join two altars both in one. THE PHILOSOPHER TO HIS LOVE. DEAREST, a look is but a ray The very flowers that bend and meet, The rainbow, Heaven's own forehead's braid, How few that love us have we found! Each living in the other's heart, Our course unknown, our hope to be Yet mingled in the distant sea. 64 THE PHILOSOPHER TO HIS LOVE. But Ocean coils and heaves in vain, Bound in the subtle moonbeam's chain; Alas! one narrow line is drawn, Oh! in the hour when I shall feel L'INCONNUE. Is thy name Mary, maiden fair? Such should, methinks, its music be; The sweetest name that mortals bear, Were best befitting thee; And she, to whom it once was given, I hear thy voice, I see thy smile, And she, who chains a wild bird's wing, So, lady, take the leaf that falls, To all but thee unseen, unknown; When evening shades thy silent walls, Then read it all alone; In stillness read, in darkness seal, THE STAR AND THE WATER-LILY. THE sun stepped down from his golden throne, And lay in the silent sea, And the Lily had folded her satin leaves, For a sleepy thing was she; What is the Lily dreaming of? Why crisp the waters blue ? See, see, she is lifting her varnished lid! Her white leaves are glistening through! The Rose is cooling his burning cheek The Lily hath sisters fresh and fair, That would lie by the Rose's side; He would love her better than all the rest, And he would be fond and true; But the Lily unfolded her weary lids, And looked at the sky so blue. |