Bid adieu to girlish days, Happy Love is come to woo
Thee and woo thy girlish ways— The zone that doth become thee fair, The snood upon thy yellow hair,
When thou hast heard his name upon The bugles of the cherubim Begin thou softly to unzone
Thy girlish bosom unto him And softly to undo the snood
That is the sign of maidenhood.
XII
What counsel has the hooded moon Put in thy heart, my shyly sweet, Of Love in ancient plenilune,
Glory and stars beneath his feet— A sage that is but kith and kin
With the comedian Capuchin?
Believe me rather that am wise
In disregard of the divine, A glory kindles in those eyes
Trembles to starlight. Mine, O Mine!
No more be tears in moon or mist For thee, sweet sentimentalist.
XIII
Go seek her out all courteously, And say I come,
Wind of spices whose song is ever Epithalamium.
O, hurry over the dark lands
And run upon the sea For seas and lands shall not divide us My love and me.
Now, wind, of your good courtesy I pray you go,
And come into her little garden
And sing at her window; Singing: The bridal wind is blowing For Love is at his noon; And soon will your true love be with you, Soon, O soon.
XIV
My dove, my beautiful one,
Arise, arise!
The night-dew lies Upon my lips and eyes.
The odorous winds are weaving
A music of sighs: Arise, arise,
My dove, my beautiful one!
I wait by the cedar tree,
My sister, my love, White breast of the dove, My breast shall be your bed.
The pale dew lies
Like a veil on my head.
My fair one, my fair dove, Arise, arise!
XV
From dewy dreams, my soul, arise, From love’s deep slumber and from death, For lo! the trees are full of sighs Whose leaves the morn admonisheth.
Eastward the gradual dawn prevails Where softly-burning fires appear, Making to tremble all those veils Of grey and golden gossamer.
While sweetly, gently, secretly, The flowery bells of morn are stirred And the wise choirs of faery
Begin (innumerous!) to be heard.
XVI
O cool is the valley now
And there, love, will we go For many a choir is singing now
Where Love did sometime go.
And hear you not the thrushes calling, Calling us away?
O cool and pleasant is the valley And there, love, will we stay.
XVII
Because your voice was at my side I gave him pain,
Because within my hand I held
Your hand again.
There is no word nor any sign
Can make amend—
He is a stranger to me now
Who was my friend.
XVIII
O Sweetheart, hear you
Your lover’s tale; A man shall have sorrow
When friends him fail.
For he shall know then
Friends be untrue And a little ashes
Their words come to.
But one unto him
Will softly move
And softly woo him
In ways of love.
His hand is under
Her smooth round breast; So he who has sorrow
Shall have rest.
XIX
Be not sad because all men
Prefer a lying clamour before you: Sweetheart, be at peace again— Can they dishonour you?
They are sadder than all tears;
Their lives ascend as a continual sigh.
Proudly answer to their tears:
As they deny, deny.
XX
In the dark pine-wood
I would we lay,
In deep cool shadow
At noon of day.
How sweet to lie there,
Sweet to kiss,
Where the great pine-forest
Enaisled is!
Thy kiss descending
Sweeter were
With a soft tumult
Of thy hair.
O unto the pine-wood
At noon of day
Come
