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Let the star-clusters grow,
And cross quickly to me.
From sycamore blossoms, or settle or sleep;
Ah, my sailor, make haste,
And my love lieth deep-
I've conned thee an answer, raits thee to-night.”
But I'll love him more, more
SEVEN TIMES FOUR. MATERNITY.
Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall !
And dance with the cuckoo-buds slender and small !
Eager to gather them all.
Heigh ho! daisies and buttercups !
Mother shall thread them a daisy chain; Sing them a song of the pretty hedge sparrow,
That loved her brown little ones, loved them full fain: Sing, “ Heart, thou art wide though the house be but nar
row Sing once, and sing it again. Heigh ho! daisies and buttercups,
Sweet wagging cowslips they bend and they bow; A ship sails afar over warm ocean waters,
And haply one musing doth stand at her prow. O bonny brown sons, and O sweet little daughters,
Maybe he thinks on you now! Heigh ho! daisies and buttercups,
Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall!
A sunshiny world full of laughter and leisure,
And fresh hearts unconscious of sorrow and thrall ! Send down on their pleasure smiles passing its measure,
God that is over us all !
SEVEN TIMES FIVE. WIDOWHOOD.
Before I am well awake;
Since I must not break !”
For children wake, though fathers sleep
With a stone at foot and head :
Keep both living and dead !
But a world happy and fair!
Comfort is not there.
And a waste of reedy rills!
On the rare blue hills !
I shall not die, but live forlore
How bitter it is to part!
O my heart, my heart!
O that an echo might wake
Ere my heart-strings break !
And with angel voices blent;
I could be content!
While an entering angel trod,
On the hills of God!
BEVEN TIMES SIX. GIVING IN MARRIAGE.
To watch, and then to lose :
Drawn up like morning dews —
To watch, and then to lose :
Among his own to choose.
And with thy lord depart
Will let no longer smart.
This while thou didst I smiled,
“Mother, give me thy child."
To God I gave with tears ;
My soul put by her fears —
God guards in happier spheres;
Is hope for unknown years.
Fair lot that maidens choose,
Thy face no more she views :
She doth in nought accuse;
To love — and then to lose.
SEVEN TIMES SEVEN. LONGING FOR HOME.
I. A song of a boat: There was once a boat on a billow: Lightly she rocked to her port remote, And the foam was white in her wake like snow, And her frail mast bowed when the breeze would blow,
And bent like a wand of willow.
I shaded mine eyes one day when a boat
Went curtseying over the billow,
And my dreams upon the pillow.
For it is but short:
In river or port.
On the open desolate sea,
A song of a nest :
I pray you hear my song of a nest,
For it is not long:
The bushes among -
A fairer nestful, nor ever know
That wind-like did come and go.
Ah, happy, happy I !
They spread out their wings to fly O, one after one they flew away
Far up to the heavenly blue,
And — I wish I was going too.
I pray you what is the nest to me,
My empty nest?
My boat sail down to the west ?
Though my good man has sailed ?
Now all its hope hath failed ?
And the land where my nestlings be:
THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRE.
The ringers ran by two, by three :
Good ringers pull your best,“ quoth he.
Play uppe The Brides of Enderby.'”
The Lord that sent it, he knows all;
The message that the bells let fall :
By millions crouched on the old sea-wall.
My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes ;
Lay sinking in the barren skies;