BONNIE DOON

YE banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fair!
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae fu' o' care!

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird

That sings upon the bough;

Thou minds me o' the happy days

When my fause Luve was true.

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird
That sings beside thy mate;
For sae I sat, and sae I sang,
And wist na o' my fate.

THE lover of her body said:

"She is more beautiful than night -

But like the kisses of the dead

Is my despair and my delight."

The lover of her soul replied:

“She is more wonderful than death,—

But bitter as the aching tide

Is all the speech of love she saith."

The Vampire

The lover of her body said:

"To know one secret of her heart, For all the joy that I have had,

Is past the reach of all my art."

The lover of her soul replied:

"The secrets of her heart are mine,— Save how she lives, a riven bride, Between the dust and the divine."

The lover of her body sware:

"Though she should hate me, wit you well, Rather than yield one kiss of her

I give my soul to burn in hell.”

The lover of her soul cried out:

"Rather than leave her to your greed,

I would that I were walled about

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With death, and death were death indeed!"

The lover of her body wept,

And got no good of all his gain,
Knowing that in her heart she kept
The penance of the other's pain.

The lover of her soul went mad,

But when he did himself to death,

Despite of all the woe he had,

He smiled as one who vanquisheth.

Richard Hovey [1864-1900]

THE VAMPIRE

AS SUGGESTED BY THE PAINTING BY PHILIP BURNE-JONES

A FOOL there was and he made his prayer

(Even as you and I!)

To a rag and a bone and a hank of hair

(We called her the woman who did not care),

But the fool he called her his lady fair

(Even as you and I!)

Oh the years we waste and the tears we waste,
And the work of our head and hand,

Belong to the woman who did not know
(And now we know that she never could know)
And did not understand.

A fool there was and his goods he spent (Even as you and I!)

Honor and faith and a sure intent

(And it wasn't the least what the lady meant),
But a fool must follow his natural bent
(Even as you and I!)

Oh the toil we lost and the spoil we lost,
And the excellent things we planned,
Belong to the woman who didn't know why
(And now we know she never knew why)
And did not understand.

The fool was stripped to his foolish hide

(Even as you and I!)

Which she might have seen when she threw him aside,—

(But it isn't on record the lady tried)

So some of him lived but the most of him died—

(Even as you and I!)

And it isn't the shame and it isn't the blame
That stings like a white-hot brand.

It's coming to know that she never knew why
(Seeing at last she could never know why)

And never could understand.

Rudyard Kipling [1865

AGATHA

SHE wanders in the April woods,

That glisten with the fallen shower;

She leans her face against the buds,

She stops, she stoops, she plucks a flower.

She feels the ferment of the hour:

"A Rose Will Fade"

She broodeth when the ringdove broods;
The sun and flying clouds have power
Upon her cheek and changing moods.
She cannot think she is alone,

As o'er her senses warmly steal
Floods of unrest she fears to own.
And almost dreads to feel.

Along the summer woodlands wide
Anew she roams, no more alone;
The joy she feared is at her side,
Spring's blushing secret now is known.
The primrose and its mates have flown,
The thrush's ringing note hath died;
But glancing eye and glowing tone
Fall on her from her god, her guide.
She knows not, asks not, what the goal,
She only feels she moves towards bliss,
And yields her pure unquestioning soul
To touch and fondling kiss.

And still she haunts those woodland ways,
Though all fond fancy finds there now
To mind of spring or summer days,

Are sodden trunk and songless bough.
The past sits widowed on her brow,
Homeward she wends with wintry gaze,
To walls that house a hollow vow,
To hearth where love hath ceased to blaze:
Watches the clammy twilight wane,

With grief too fixed for woe or tear;
And, with her forehead 'gainst the pane,
Envies the dying year.

Alfred Austin [1835

"A ROSE WILL FADE"

You were always a dreamer, Rose-red Rose,

As you swung on your perfumed spray,

Swinging, and all the world was true,
Swaying, what did it trouble you?

A rose will fade in a day.

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Why did you smile to his face, red Rose,
As he whistled across your way?
And all the world went mad for you,
All the world it knelt to woo.

A rose will bloom in a day.

I gather your petals, Rose-red Rose,
The petals he threw away.
And all the world derided you;
Ah! the world, how well it knew
A rose will fade in a day!

Dora Sigerson Shorter [18

AFFAIRE D'AMOUR

ONE pale November day
Flying Summer paused,
They say:

And growing bolder,

O'er rosy shoulder

Threw her lover such a glance

That Autumn's heart began to dance. (O happy lover!)

A leafless peach-tree bold

Thought for him she smiled,

I'm told;

And, stirred by love,

His sleeping sap did move,

Decking each naked branch with green
To show her that her look was seen!
(Alas, poor lover!)

But Summer, laughing fled,

Nor knew he loved her!

'Tis said

The peach-tree sighed,

And soon he gladly died:

And Autumn, weary of the chase,

Came on at Winter's sober pace

(O careless lover!)

Margaret Deland (1857