Be beautiful to all mankind,
As Nature fashioned thee to be;
’Twould anger me did all not find
The sweet perfection that’s in thee: 
Yet keep one charm of charms behind,—­
Nay, thou’rt so rich, keep two or three
For (is it?) me!

THE PETITION

Oh, tell me less or tell me more,
Soft eyes with mystery at the core,
That always seem to melt my own
Frankly as pansies fully grown,
Yet waver still ’tween no and yes!

So swift to cavil and deny,
Then parley with concessions shy,
Dear eyes, that make their youth be mine
And through my inmost shadows shine,
Oh, tell me more or tell me less!

FACT OR FANCY?

In town I hear, scarce wakened yet,
  My neighbor’s clock behind the wall
Record the day’s increasing debt,
  And Cuckoo!  Cuckoo! faintly call.

Our senses run in deepening grooves,
  Thrown out of which they lose their tact,
And consciousness with effort moves
  From habit past to present fact.

So, in the country waked to-day,
  I hear, unwitting of the change,
A cuckoo’s throb from far away
  Begin to strike, nor think it strange.

The sound creates its wonted frame: 
  My bed at home, the songster hid
Behind the wainscoting,—­all came
  As long association bid.

Then, half aroused, ere yet Sleep’s mist
  From the mind’s uplands furl away,
To the familiar sound I list,
  Disputed for by Night and Day.

I count to learn how late it is,
  Until, arrived at thirty-four,
I question, ’What strange world is this
  Whose lavish hours would make me poor?’

Cuckoo!  Cuckoo! Still on it went,
  With hints of mockery in its tone;
How could such hoards of time be spent
  By one poor mortal’s wit alone?

I have it!  Grant, ye kindly Powers,
  I from this spot may never stir,
If only these uncounted hours
  May pass, and seem too short, with Her!

But who She is, her form and face,
  These to the world of dream belong;
She moves through fancy’s visioned space,
  Unbodied, like the cuckoo’s song.

AGRO-DOLCE

One kiss from all others prevents me,
  And sets all my pulses astir,
And burns on my lips and torments me: 
  ’Tis the kiss that I fain would give her.

One kiss for all others requites me,
  Although it is never to be,
And sweetens my dreams and invites me: 
  ’Tis the kiss that she dare not give me.

Ah, could it he mine, it were sweeter
  Than honey bees garner in dream,
Though its bliss on my lips were fleeter
  Than a swallow’s dip to the stream.

And yet, thus denied, it can never
  In the prose of life vanish away;
O’er my lips it must hover forever,
  The sunshine and shade of my day.