False and fair!  I scarce know why,
     But standing in the lonely air,
     And underneath the blessed sky,
     I plead for thee in my despair; —
     For thee cut off, both heart and eye
     From living truth; thy spring quite dry;
     For thee, that heaven my thought may share,
     Forget—­how false! and think—­how fair!

     Song

     Two wedded lovers watched the rising moon,
     That with her strange mysterious beauty glowing,
     Over misty hills and waters flowing,
     Crowned the long twilight loveliness of June: 
     And thus in me, and thus in me, they spake,
     The solemn secret of fist love did wake.

     Above the hills the blushing orb arose;
     Her shape encircled by a radiant bower,
     In which the nightingale with charmed power
     Poured forth enchantment o’er the dark repose: 
     And thus in me, and thus in me, they said,
     Earth’s mists did with the sweet new spirit wed.

     Far up the sky with ever purer beam,
     Upon the throne of night the moon was seated,
     And down the valley glens the shades retreated,
     And silver light was on the open stream. 
     And thus in me, and thus in me, they sighed,
     Aspiring Love has hallowed Passion’s tide.

     Song

     I cannot lose thee for a day,
     But like a bird with restless wing
     My heart will find thee far away,
     And on thy bosom fall and sing,
     My nest is here, my rest is here; —
     And in the lull of wind and rain,
     Fresh voices make a sweet refrain,
     ‘His rest is there, his nest is there.’

     With thee the wind and sky are fair,
     But parted, both are strange and dark;
     And treacherous the quiet air
     That holds me singing like a lark,
     O shield my love, strong arm above! 
     Till in the hush of wind and rain,
     Fresh voices make a rich refrain,
     ‘The arm above will shield thy love.’

     Daphne

     Musing on the fate of Daphne,
     Many feelings urged my breast,
     For the God so keen desiring,
     And the Nymph so deep distrest.

     Never flashed thro’ sylvan valley
     Visions so divinely fair! 
     He with early ardour glowing,
     She with rosy anguish rare.

     Only still more sweet and lovely
     For those terrors on her brows,
     Those swift glances wild and brilliant,
     Those delicious panting vows.

     Timidly the timid shoulders
     Shrinking from the fervid hand! 
     Dark the tide of hair back-flowing
     From the blue-veined temples bland!

     Lovely, too, divine Apollo
     In the speed of his pursuit;
     With his eye an azure lustre,
     And his voice a summer lute!

     Looking like some burnished eagle
     Hovering o’er a fluttered bird;
     Not unseen of silver Naiad,
     And of wistful Dryad heard!