In the middle of my garden-bed

There stands a tall rose-tree;

I took the stem and shook and shook it,
Thick the flowers kept covering me.

And, oh! I said, you sweet large roses,
Red as rose can be,

Just drop into my bosom here,
And die along with me!

IN the warm wax-light one lounged at the spinet,
And high in the window 'came peeping the moon ;

At his side was a bowl of blue china, and in it

Were large blush-roses, and cream and maroon.

They crowded, and strain'd, and swoon'd to the music,
And some to the gilt board languor'd and lay;
They open'd and breathed, and trembled with pleasure,
And all the sweet while they were fading away.

MAJOLICA AND ROCOCO.

I.

THROUGH God's great ether glows one sun,
And one thrush pipes in the black, black grove;

And deep in my heart, most one, most one,

My love leaps out for thee, my love!

The sun sinks gold in Tethys' bed;
The rosy ether drops in the sea;
The grove is still; the thrush has fled ;-
My whole soul overfloods with thee !

II.

WHAT master has so tuned her voice,
That when she speaks,

Meseems some distant angel-choirs rejoice

At some fair soul

That knocking entrance into heaven seeks?

Is it her heart's a rebeck sweet?

Who strokes the strings?

Unseen some glib-wing'd angel-paraclete,

So sent of God

To fill my heart with heavenly hungerings!

III.

THE clear, fresh fount Hermaphrodite

Was coying and kissing along with the sun, Who caught it and kiss'd it to left and to right In little glib drops of twinkling light,

Till quick to the ether's violet height

The rosy clouds, like snow-flakes light,
Went wandering, melting one by one.

My lady and I, a long, long day,

Were coying and courting the cloves among. She kiss'd my love out, whither away!

Away and leagues in my soul away,

Where wandering fancies swirl and sway,

Away as in ether yet some day

To shimmer to earth in a shower of song.

IV.

THERE'S one great bunch of stars in heaven
That shines so sturdily,

Where good Saint Peter's sinewy hand
Holds up the dull gold-wroughten key.

There's eke a little twinkling gem
As green as beryl-blue can be,
The lowest bead the Blessed Virgin
Shakes a-telling her rosary.

There's one that flashes flames and fire,
No doubt the mighty rubicel,

That sparkles from the centre point
I'the buckler of stout Raphael.

And also there's a little star

So white a virgin's it must be ;— Perhaps the lamp my love in heaven.

Hangs out to light the way for me.

M

V.

A PASTORAL.

FLOWER of the medlar,
Crimson of the quince,

I saw her at the blossom-time,
And loved her ever since!

She swept the draughty pleasance,
The blooms had left the trees,
The whilst the birds sang canticles,
In cheery symphonies.

Whiteness of the white rose,

Redness of the red,

She went to cut the blush-rose-buds
To tie at the altar-head;

And some she laid in her bosom,
And some around her brows,

And as she past, the lily-heads

All beck'd and made their bows.

Scarlet of the poppy,

Yellow of the corn,