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What are all these kissings worth,
P. B. Shelley
OW sweet the answer Echo makes
To Music at night When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes, And far away o'er lawns and lakes Goes answering light !
Yet Love hath echoes truer far
'Tis when the sigh, — in youth sincere
H! County Guy, the hour is nigh,
The sun has left the lea,
The breeze is on the sea.
The lark, his lay who trillid all day,
Sits hush'd his partner nigh; Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour,
But where is County Guy ?
The village maid steals through the shade
Her shepherd's suit to hear;
Sings high-born Cavalier.
Now reigns o'er earth and sky,
Sir W. Scott
TO THE EVENING STAR
Companion of retiring day,
So fair thy pensile beauty burns
To Peace, to Pleasure, and to Love
Thine is the breathing, blushing hour
Chased by the soul-subduing power
O! sacred to the fall of day
Shine on her chosen green resort
Shine on her sweetly scented road
Shine where my charmer's sweeter breath
Where, winnow'd by the gentle air
Thus, ever thus, at day's decline
TO THE NIGHT
WIFTLY walk over the western wave,
Spirit of Night !
Swift be thy flight!
Wrap thy form in a mantle gray
When I arose and saw the dawn,
I sigh’d for thee; When light rode high, and the dew was gone, And noon lay heavy on flower and tree, And the weary Day turn'd to his rest Lingering like an unloved guest,
I sigh’d for thee.
Thy brother Death came, and cried
Wouldst thou me?
No, not thee!
Death will come when thou art dead,
Soon, too soon —
P. B. Shelley
TO A DISTANT FRIEND
HY art thou silent ! Is thy love a plant
Of absence withers what was once so fair?
Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant,
Speak ! — though this soft warm heart, once free to hold
Than a forsaken bird's-nest fill'd with snow 'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may know !