Ah, but I know, for never April’s shine,
  Nor passion gust of rain, nor all her flowers
Scattered in haste, were seen so sudden fine
  As she in various mood, on whom the powers
    Of happiest stars in fair conjunction smiled
    To bless the birth, of April’s darling child.

LOVE AND THOUGHT

What hath Love with Thought to do? 
Still at variance are the two. 
Love is sudden, Love is rash,
Love is like the levin flash,
Comes as swift, as swiftly goes,
And his mark as surely knows.

Thought is lumpish, Thought is slow,
Weighing long ’tween yes and no;
When dear Love is dead and gone,
Thought comes creeping in anon,
And, in his deserted nest,
Sits to hold the crowner’s quest.

Since we love, what need to think? 
Happiness stands on a brink
Whence too easy ’tis to fall
Whither’s no return at all;
Have a care, half-hearted lover,
Thought would only push her over!

THE NOBLER LOVER

If he be a nobler lover, take him! 
 You in you I seek, and not myself;
Love with men’s what women choose to make him,
  Seraph strong to soar, or fawn-eyed elf: 
All I am or can, your beauty gave it,
  Lifting me a moment nigh to you,
And my bit of heaven, I fain would save it—­
  Mine I thought it was, I never knew.

What you take of me is yours to serve you,
  All I give, you gave to me before;
Let him win you!  If I but deserve you,
  I keep all you grant to him and more: 
You shall make me dare what others dare not,
  You shall keep my nature pure as snow,
And a light from you that others share not
  Shall transfigure me where’er I go.

Let me be your thrall!  However lowly
  Be the bondsman’s service I can do,
Loyalty shall make it high and holy;
  Naught can be unworthy, done for you. 
Men shall say, ’A lover of this fashion
  Such an icy mistress well beseems.’ 
Women say, ’Could we deserve such passion,
  We might be the marvel that he dreams.’

ON HEARING A SONATA OF BEETHOVEN’S PLAYED IN THE NEXT ROOM

Unseen Musician, thou art sure to please,
  For those same notes in happier days I heard
Poured by dear hands that long have never stirred
  Yet now again for me delight the keys: 
Ah me, to strong illusions such as these
  What are Life’s solid things?  The walls that gird
Our senses, lo, a casual scent or word
  Levels, and it is the soul that hears and sees! 
Play on, dear girl, and many be the years
  Ere some grayhaired survivor sit like me
And, for thy largess pay a meed of tears
  Unto another who, beyond the sea
Of Time and Change, perhaps not sadly hears
  A music in this verse undreamed by thee!