And my soul only sees thy soul its own?
O love, my love! if I no more should see
Thyself, nor on the earth the shadow of thee,
Nor image of thine eyes in any spring,-

How then should sound upon Life's darkening slope
The ground-whirl of the perished leaves of Hope,
The wind of Death's imperishable wing?

SONNET V.

HEART'S HOPE.

By what word's power, the key of paths untrod,
Shall I the difficult deeps of Love explore,
Till parted waves of Song yield up the shore
Even as that sea which Israel crossed dryshod?
For lo in some poor rhythmic period,

Lady, I fain would tell how evermore

Thy soul I know not from thy body, nor Thee from myself, neither our love from God.

Yea, in God's name, and Love's, and thine, would I Draw from one loving heart such evidence

As to all hearts all things shall signify;

Tender as dawn's first hill-fire, and intense
As instantaneous penetrating sense,

In Spring's birth-hour, of other Springs gone by.

SONNET VI.

THE KISS.

WHAT Smouldering senses in death's sick delay
Or seizure of malign vicissitude

Can rob this body of honor, or denude
This soul of wedding-raiment worn to-day?
For lo! even now my lady's lips did play

With these my lips such consonant interlude As laurelled Orpheus longed for when he wooed The half-drawn hungering face with that last lay.

I was a child beneath her touch,—a man

When breast to breast we clung, even I and she,— A spirit when her spirit looked through me,A god when all our life-breath met to fan Our life-blood, till love's emulous ardors ran, Fire within fire, desire in deity.

SONNET VII.

SUPREME SURRENDER,

To all the spirits of Love that wander by
Along his love-sown harvest-field of sleep
My lady lies apparent; and the deep
Calls to the deep; and no man sees but I.
The bliss so long afar, at length so nigh,

Rests there attained. Methinks proud Love must weep
When Fate's control doth from his harvest reap

The sacred hour for which the years did sigh.

First touched, the hand now warm around my neck
Taught memory long to mock desire: and lo!
Across my breast the abandoned hair doth flow,
Where one shorn tress long stirred the longing ache:
And next the heart that trembled for its sake
Lies the queen-heart in sovereign overthrow.

SONNET VIII.

LOVE'S LOVERS.

SOME ladies love the jewels in Love's zone
And gold-tipped darts he hath for painless play
In idle scornful hours he flings away;

And some that listen to his lute's soft tone
Do love to vaunt the silver praise their own;

Some prize his blindfold sight; and there be they Who kissed his wings which brought him yesterday And thank his wings to-day that he is flown.

My lady only loves the heart of Love:

Therefore Love's heart, my lady, hath for thee His bower of unimagined flower and tree : There kneels he now, and all-anhungered of Thine eyes gray-lit in shadowing hair above, Seals with thy mouth his immortality.

SONNET IX.

PASSION AND WORSHIP.

ONE flame-winged brought a white-winged harp-player
Even where my lady and I lay all alone;
Saying: "Behold, this minstrel is unknown;

Bid him depart, for I am minstrel here:

Only my strains are to Love's dear ones dear."
Then said I: "Through thine hautboy's rapturous

tone

Unto my lady still this harp makes moan,
And still she deems the cadence deep and clear."

Then said my lady: "Thou art Passion of Love,
And this Love's Worship: both he plights to me.
Thy mastering music walks the sunlit sea:
But where wan water trembles in the grove
And the wan moon is all the light thereof,
This harp still makes my name its voluntary."

SONNET X.

THE PORTRAIT.

O LORD of all compassionate control,
O Love! let this my lady's picture glow
Under my hand to praise her name, and show

Even of her inner self the perfect whole:
That he who seeks her beauty's furthest goal,
Beyond the light that the sweet glances throw
And refluent wave of the sweet smile, may know
The very sky and sea-line of her soul.

Lo! it is done. Above the enthroning throat
The mouth's mould testifies of voice and kiss,

The shadowed eyes remember and foresee.
Her face is made her shrine. Let all men note
That in all years (O Love, thy gift is this!)
They that would look on her must come to me.

SONNET XI.

THE LOVE-LETTER.

WARMED by her hand and shadowed by her hair As close she leaned and poured her heart through thee,

Whereof the articulate throbs accompany

The smooth black stream that makes thy whiteness

fair,

Sweet fluttering sheet, even of her breath aware,—
Oh let thy silent song disclose to me

That soul wherewith her lips and eyes agree
Like married music in Love's answering air.

Fain had I watched her when, at some fond thought, Her bosom to the writing closelier press'd,

And her breast's secrets peered into her breast; When, through eyes raised an instant, her soul sought My soul, and from the sudden confluence caught The words that made her love the loveliest.

SONNET XII.

THE LOVERS' WALK.

SWEET twining hebgeflowers wind-stirred in no wise
On this June day; and hand that clings in hand :-
Still glades; and meeting faces scarcely fann'd:-
An osier-odored stream that draws the skies
Deep to its heart; and mirrored eyes in eyes :-
Fresh hourly wonder o'er the Summer land
Of light and cloud; and two souls softly spann'd
With one o'erarching heaven of smiles and sighs :-

Even such their path, whose bodies lean unto
Each other's visible sweetness amorously,—

Whose passionate hearts lean by Love's high decree Together on his heart for ever true,

As the cloud-foaming firmamental blue
Rests on the blue line of a foamless sea.

SONNET XIII.

YOUTH'S ANTIPHONY.

"I LOVE you, sweet: how can you ever learn How much I love you? "You I love even so, And so I learn it." "Sweet, you cannot know How fair you are." "If fair enough to earn Your love, so much is all my love's concern.' "My love grows hourly, sweet." "Mine too doth

grow,

Yet love seemed full so many hours ago!" Thus lovers speak, till kisses claim their turn.

Ah! happy they to whom such words as these

In youth have served for speech the whole day long, Hour after hour, remote from the world's throng, Work, contest, fame, all life's confederate pleas,— What while Love breathed in sighs and silences Through two blent souls one rapturous undersong.

SONNET XIV.

YOUTH'S SPRING-TRIBUTE.

On this sweet bank your head thrice sweet and dear
I lay, and spread your hair on either side,
And see the newborn woodflowers bashful-eyed
Look through the golden tresses here and there.
On these debateable borders of the year

Spring's foot half falters: scarce she yet may know The leafless blackthorn-blossom from the snow; And through her bowers the wind's way still is clear.