  THE OLD HOUSEMossy gray stands the House, four-square to the wind, Embosomed in the hills. The garden old Of yew and box and fishpond speaks her mind, Sweet-ordered, quaint, recluse, fold within fold Of quietness; but true and choice and kind— A sober casket for a heart of gold. BLUE IRISBlue is the Adrian sea, and darkly blue The Ægean; and the shafted sun thro' them, That fishes grope to, gives the beamy hue Rayed from her iris's deep diadem. THE ROSEBUDIn June I brought her roses, and she cupt One slim bud in her hand and cherisht it, And put it to her mouth. Rose and she supt Each other's sweetness; but the flower was lit By her kind eyes, and glowed. Then in her breast She laid it blushing, warm and doubly blest. SPRING ON THE DOWNWhen Spring blows o'er the land, and sunlight flies Across the hills, we take the upland way. I have her waist, the wooing wind her eyes And lips and cheeks. His kissing makes her gay As flowers. "Thou hast two lovers, O my dear," Say I; and she, "He takes what thou dost fear." SNOWY NIGHTThe snow lies deep, ice-fringes hem the thatch; I knock my shoes, my Love lifts me the latch, Shows me her eyes—O frozen stars, they shine Kindly! I clasp her. Quick! her lips are mine. EVENING MOODLate, when the sun was smouldering down the west, She took my arm and laid her cheek to me; The fainting twilight held her, and I guess'd All she would tell, but could not let me see— Wonder and joy, the rising of her breast, And confidence, and still expectancy. THE PARTINGBreathless was she and would not have us part: "Adieu, my Saint," I said, "'tis come to this." But she leaned to me, one hand at her heart, And all her soul sighed trembling in a kiss. |
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