HORTIS JULII MARTIALIS

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AD MARTIALEM

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IN MAXIMUM

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AD OLUM

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DE CŒNATIONE MICÆ

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DE EROTIO PUELLA

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AD PISCATOREM

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PRAYER

I ask good things that I detest,
   With speeches fair;
Heed not, I pray Thee, Lord, my breast,
   But hear my prayer.

I say ill things I would not say—
   Things unaware:
Regard my breast, Lord, in Thy day,
   And not my prayer.

My heart is evil in Thy sight:
   My good thoughts flee:
O Lord, I cannot wish aright—
   Wish Thou for me.

O bend my words and acts to Thee,
   However ill,
That I, whate’er I say or be,
   May serve Thee still.

O let my thoughts abide in Thee
   Lest I should fall:
Show me Thyself in all I see,
   Thou Lord of all.

LO! IN THINE HONEST EYES I READ

Lo! in thine honest eyes I read
The auspicious beacon that shall lead,
After long sailing in deep seas,
To quiet havens in June ease.

Thy voice sings like an inland bird
First by the seaworn sailor heard;
And like road sheltered from life’s sea
Thine honest heart is unto me.

THOUGH DEEP INDIFFERENCE SHOULD DROWSE

Though deep indifference should drowse
The sluggish life beneath my brows,
And all the external things I see
Grow snow-showers in the street to me,
Yet inmost in my stormy sense
Thy looks shall be an influence.

Though other loves may come and go
And long years sever us below,
Shall the thin ice that grows above
Freeze the deep centre-well of love?
No, still below light amours, thou
Shalt rule me as thou rul’st me now.

Year following year shall only set
Fresh gems upon thy coronet;
And Time, grown lover, shall delight
To beautify thee in my sight;
And thou shalt ever rule in me
Crowned with the light of memory.

MY HEART, WHEN FIRST THE BLACK-BIRD SINGS

My heart, when first the blackbird sings,
   My heart drinks in the song:
Cool pleasure fills my bosom through
   And spreads each nerve along.

My bosom eddies quietly,
   My heart is stirred and cool
As when a wind-moved briar sweeps
   A stone into a pool

But unto thee, when thee I meet,
   My pulses thicken fast,
As when the maddened lake grows black
   And ruffles in the blast.

I DREAMED OF FOREST ALLEYS FAIR

I.

I dreamed of forest alleys fair
   And fields of gray-flowered grass,
Where by the yellow summer moon
   My Jenny seemed to pass.

I dreamed the yellow summer moon,
   Behind a cedar wood,
Lay white on fields of rippling grass
   Where I and Jenny stood.

I dreamed—but fallen through my dream,
   In a rainy land I lie
Where wan wet morning crowns the hills
   Of grim reality.

II.

I am as one that keeps awake
   All night in the month of June,
That lies awake in bed to watch
   The trees and great white moon.

For memories of love are more
   Than the white moon there above,
And dearer than quiet moonshine
   Are the thoughts of her I love.

III.

Last night I lingered long without
   My last of loves to see.
Alas! the moon-white window-panes
   Stared blindly back on me.

To-day I hold her very hand,
   Her very waist embrace—
Like clouds across a pool, I read
   Her thoughts upon her face.

And yet, as now, through her clear eyes
   I seek the inner shrine—
I stoop to read her virgin heart
   In doubt if it be mine—

O looking long and fondly thus,
   What vision should I see?
No vision, but my own white face
   That grins and mimics me.

IV.

Once more upon the same old seat
   In the same sunshiny weather,
The elm-trees’ shadows at their feet
   And foliage move together.

The shadows shift upon the grass,
   The dial point creeps on;
The clear sun shines, the loiterers pass,
   As then they passed and shone.

But now deep sleep is on my heart,
   Deep sleep and perfect rest.
Hope’s flutterings now disturb no more
   The quiet of my breast.

ST. MARTIN’S SUMMER

As swallows turning backward
   When half-way o’er the sea,
At one word’s trumpet summons
   They came again to me—
The hopes I had forgotten
   Came back again to me.

I know not which to credit,
   O lady of my heart!
Your eyes that bade me linger,
   Your words that bade us part—
I know not which to credit,
   My reason or my heart.

But be my