fallowfield of sleep
  My lady lies apparent; and the deep
  Calls to the deep; and no man sees but I.
  The bliss so long afar, at length so nigh,
  Rests there attained. Methinks proud Love must weep
  When Fate's control doth from his harvest reap
  The sacred hour for which the years did sigh.

  First touched, the hand now warm around my neck
  Taught memory long to mock desire: and lo!
  Across my breast the abandoned hair doth flow,
  Where one shorn tress long stirred the longing ache:
  And next the heart that trembled for its sake
  Lies the queen-heart in sovereign overthrow.

LOVE'S LOVERS

  Some ladies love the jewels in Love's zone
  And gold-tipped darts he hath for painless play
  In idle scornful hours he flings away;
  And some that listen to his lure's soft tone
  Do love to deem the silver praise their own;
  Some prize his blindfold sight; and there be they
  Who kissed his wings which brought him yesterday
  And thank his wings to-day that he is flown.

  My lady only loves the heart of Love:
  Therefore Love's heart, my lady, hath for thee
  His bower of unimagined flower and tree:
  There kneels he now, and all-anhungered of
  Thine eyes grey-lit in shadowing hair above,
  Seals with thy mouth his immortality.

PASSION AND WORSHIP

  One flame-winged brought a white-winged harp-player
  Even where my lady and I lay all alone;
  Saying: 'Behold, this minstrel is unknown;
  Bid him depart, for I am minstrel here:
  Only my strains are to Love's dear ones, dear.'
  Then said I: 'Through thine hautboy's rapturous tone
  Unto my lady still this harp makes moan,
  And still she deems the cadence deep and clear.'

  Then said my lady: 'Thou art Passion of Love,
  And this Love's Worship: both he plights to me.
  Thy mastering music walks the sunlit sea:
  But where wan water trembles in the grove
  And the wan moon is all the light thereof,
  This harp still makes my name its voluntary.'

THE PORTRAIT

  O Lord of all compassionate control,
  O Love! let this my lady's picture glow
  Under my hand to praise her name, and show
  Even of her inner self the perfect whole:
  That he who seeks her beauty's furthest goal,
  Beyond the light that the sweet glances throw
  And refluent wave of the sweet smile, may know
  The very sky and sea-line of her soul.

  Lo! it is done. Above the long lithe throat
  The mouth's mould testifies of voice and kiss,
  The shadowed eyes remember and foresee.
  Her face is made her shrine. Let all men note
  That in all years (O Love, thy gift is this!)
  They that would look on her must come to me.

THE LOVE-LETTER

  Warmed by her hand and shadowed by her hair
  As close she leaned and poured her heart through thee,
  Whereof the articulate throbs accompany
  The smooth black stream that makes thy whiteness fair,—
  Sweet fluttering sheet, even of her breath aware,—
  Oh let thy silent song disclose to me
  That soul wherewith her lips and eyes agree
  Like married music in Love's answering air.

  Fain had I watched her when, at some fond thought,
  Her bosom to the writing closelier press'd,
  And her breast's secrets peered into her breast;
  When, through eyes raised an instant, her soul sought
  My soul, and from the sudden confluence caught
  The words that made her love the loveliest.

THE LOVERS' WALK

  Sweet twining hedgeflowers wind-stirred in no wise
  On this June day; and hand that clings in hand:—
  Still glades; and meeting faces scarcely fann'd:—
  An osier-odoured stream that draws the skies
  Deep to its heart; and mirrored eyes in eyes:—
  Fresh hourly wonder o'er the Summer land
  Of light and cloud; and two souls softly spann'd
  With one o'erarching heaven of smiles and sighs:—

  Even such their path, whose bodies lean unto
  Each other's visible sweetness amorously,—
  Whose passionate hearts lean by Love's high decree
  Together on his heart for ever true,
  As the cloud-foaming firmamental blue
  Rests on the blue line of a foamless sea.

ANTIPHONY

  'I love you, sweet: how can you ever learn
  How much I love you?' 'You I love even so,
  And so I learn it.' 'Sweet, you cannot know
  How fair you are.' 'If fair enough to earn
  Your love, so much is all my love's concern.'
  'My love grows hourly, sweet.' 'Mine too doth grow,
  Yet love seemed full so many hours ago!'
  Thus lovers speak, till kisses claim their turn.

  Ah! happy they to whom such words as these
  In youth have served for speech the whole day long,
  Hour after hour, remote from the world's throng,
  Work, contest, fame, all life's confederate pleas,—
  What while Love breathed in sighs and silences
  Through two blent souls one rapturous undersong.

YOUTH'S SPRING-TRIBUTE

  On this sweet bank your head thrice sweet and dear
  I lay, and spread your hair on either side,
  And see the newborn wood flowers bashful-eyed
  Look through the golden tresses here and there.
  On these debateable* borders of the year
  Spring's foot half falters; scarce she yet may know
  The leafless blackthorn-blossom from the snow;
  And through her bowers the wind's way still is clear.

  But April's sun strikes down the glades to-day;
  So shut your eyes upturned, and feel my kiss
  Creep, as the Spring now thrills through every spray,
  Up your warm throat to your warm lips: for this
  Is even the hour of Love's sworn suitservice,
  With whom cold hearts are counted castaway.

*[sic]

THE BIRTH-BOND

  Have you not noted, in some family
  Where two were born of a first marriage-bed,
  How still they own their gracious bond, though fed
  And nursed on the forgotten breast and knee?—
  How to their father's children they shall be
  In act and thought of one goodwill; but each
  Shall for the other have, in silence speech,
  And in a word complete community?

  Even so, when first I saw you, seemed it, love,
  That among souls allied to mine was yet
  One nearer kindred than life hinted of.
  O born with me somewhere that men forget,
  And though in years of sight and sound unmet,
  Known for my soul's birth-partner well enough!

A DAY OF LOVE

  Those envied places which do know her well,
  And are so scornful of this lonely place,
  Even now for once are emptied of her grace:
  Nowhere but here she is: and while Love's spell
  From his predominant presence doth compel
  All