What recks the tiller of his toil in May?
What cares he if his cheeks are tinged and tanned
By thy warm sunshine-kiss and by thy breezes bland?
Hark to the tinkling bells of grazing kine!
The lambkins bleating on the mountain-side!
The red squirrel chippering in the proud old pine!
The pigeon-cock cooing to his vernal bride!
O'er all the land and o'er the peaceful tide,
Singing and praising every living thing,
Till one sweet anthem, echoed far and wide,
Makes all the broad blue bent of ether ring
With welcomings to thee, God-given, supernal Spring.
TO MOLLIE
O Mollie, I would I possessed such a heart;
It enchants me--so gentle and true;
I would I possessed all its magical art,
Then, Mollie, I would enchant you.
Those dear, rosy lips--tho' I never caressed them(?)--
Are as sweet as the wild honey-dew;
Your cheeks--all the angels in Heaven have blessed them,
But not one is as lovely as you.
Then give me that heart,--O that innocent heart!
For mine own is cold and _perdu_;
It enchants me, but give me its magical art,
Then, Mollie, I will enchant you.
1855.
TO SYLVA
I know thou art true, and I know thou art fair
As the rose-bud that blooms in thy beautiful hair;
Thou art far, but I feel the warm throb of thy heart;
Thou art far, but I love thee wherever thou art.
Pages:
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259