Poetry

throat expresseth,
And to him the Tiger’s yell
Comes articulate and presseth
On his ear like mother-tongue.

A Draught of Sunshine

Hence Burgundy, Claret, and Port,
Away with old Hock and Madeira,
Too earthly ye are for my sport;
There’s a beverage brighter and clearer.
Instead of a pitiful rummer,
My wine overbrims a whole summer;
My bowl is the sky,
And I drink at my eye,
Till I feel in the brain
A Delphian pain⁠—
Then follow, my Caius! then follow:
On the green of the hill
We will drink our fill
Of golden sunshine,
Till our brains intertwine
With the glory and grace of Apollo!
God of the Meridian,
And of the East and West,
To thee my soul is flown,
And my body is earthward press’d.⁠—
It is an awful mission,
A terrible division;
And leaves a gulf austere
To be fill’d with worldly fear.
Aye, when the soul is fled
To high above our head,
Affrighted do we gaze
After its airy maze,
As doth a mother wild,
When her young infant child
Is in an eagle’s claws⁠—
And is not this the cause
Of madness?⁠—God of Song,
Thou bearest me along
Through sights I scarce can bear:
O let me, let me share
With the hot lyre and thee,
The staid Philosophy.
Temper my lonely hours,
And let me see thy bowers
More unalarm’d!

Song

I

Hush, hush! tread softly! hush, hush, my dear!
All the house is asleep, but we know very well
That the jealous, the jealous old bald-pate may hear,
Tho’ you’ve padded his night-cap⁠—O sweet Isabel!
Tho’ your feet are more light than a Faery’s feet,
Who dances on bubbles where brooklets meet⁠—
Hush, hush! soft tiptoe! hush, hush, my dear!
For less than a nothing the jealous can hear.

II

No leaf doth tremble, no ripple is there
On the river,⁠—all’s still, and the night’s sleepy eye
Closes up, and forgets all its Lethean care,
Charm’d to death by the drone of the humming May-fly;
And the Moon, whether prudish or complaisant,
Has fled to her bower, well knowing I want
No light in the dusk, no torch in the gloom,
But my Isabel’s eyes, and her lips pulp’d with bloom.

III

Lift the latch! ah gently! ah tenderly⁠—sweet!
We are dead if that latchet gives one little clink!
Well done⁠—now those lips, and a flowery seat⁠—
The old man may sleep, and the planets may wink;
The shut rose shall dream of our loves and awake
Full-blown, and such warmth for the morning take,
The stock-dove shall hatch her soft brace and shall coo,
While I kiss to the melody, aching all through.

Extracts from an Opera

“O! Were I One of the Olympian Twelve”

O! were I one of the Olympian twelve,
Their godships should pass this into a law,⁠—
That when a man doth set himself in toil
After some beauty veiled far away,
Each step he took should make his lady’s hand
More soft, more white, and her fair cheek more fair:
And for each briar-berry he might eat,
A kiss should bud upon the tree of love,
And pulp and ripen richer every hour,
To melt away upon the traveller’s lips.

Daisy’s Song

The sun, with his great eye,
Sees not so much as I;
And the moon, all silver-proud,
Might as well be in a cloud.

And O the spring⁠—the spring!
I lead the life of a King!
Couch’d in the teeming grass,
I spy each pretty lass.

I look where no one dares,
And I stare where no one stares,
And when the night is nigh,
Lambs bleat my lullaby.

Folly’s Song

When wedding fiddles are a-playing,
Huzza for folly O!
And when maidens go a-Maying,
Huzza, etc.
When a milk-pail is upset,
Huzza, etc.
And the clothes left in the wet,
Huzza, etc.
When the barrel’s set abroach,
Huzza, etc.
When Kate Eyebrow keeps a coach,
Huzza, etc.
When the pig is over-roasted,
Huzza, etc.
And the cheese is over-toasted.
Huzza, etc.
When Sir Snap is with his lawyer.
Huzza, etc.
And Miss Chip has kiss’d the sawyer;
Huzza, etc.

“Oh, I Am Frighten’d with Most Hateful Thoughts!”

Oh, I am frighten’d with most hateful thoughts!
Perhaps her voice is not a nightingale’s,
Perhaps her teeth are not the fairest pearl;
Her eye-lashes may be, for aught I know,
Not longer than the May-fly’s small fanhorns;
There may not be one dimple on her hand;
And freckles many; ah! a careless nurse,
In haste to teach the little thing to walk,
May have crumpt up a pair of Dian’s legs,
And warpt the ivory of a Juno’s neck.

Song

The stranger lighted from his steed,
And ere he spake a word,
He seiz’d my lady’s lily hand,
And kiss’d it all unheard.

The stranger walk’d into the hall,
And ere he spake a word,
He kiss’d my lady’s cherry lips,
And kiss’d ’em all unheard.

The stranger walk’d into the bower,⁠—
But my lady first did go⁠,⁠—
Ay hand in hand into the bower,
Where my Lord’s roses blow.

My lady’s maid had a silken scarf,
And a golden ring had she,
And a kiss from the stranger, as off he went
Again on his palfrey.

“Asleep! O Sleep a Little While, White Pearl”

Asleep! O sleep a little while, white pearl
And let me kneel, and let me pray to thee,
And let me call Heaven’s blessing on thine eyes,
And let me breathe into the happy air,
That doth enfold and touch thee all about,
Vows or my slavery, my giving up,
My sudden adoration, my great love!

Faery Songs

I

Shed no tear! O shed no tear!
The flower will bloom another year.
Weep no more! O weep no more!
Young buds sleep in the root’s white core.
Dry your eyes! O dry your eyes,
For I was taught in Paradise
To ease my breast of melodies⁠—
Shed no tear.

Overhead! look overhead
’Mong the blossoms white and red⁠—
Look up, look up⁠—I flutter now
On this flush pomegranate bough.
See me! ’tis this silvery bill
Ever cures the good man’s ill.
Shed no tear! O shed no tear!
The flower will bloom another year.
Adieu, Adieu⁠—I fly, adieu,
I vanish in the heaven’s blue⁠—
Adieu, Adieu!

II

Ah! woe is me! poor silver-wing!
That I must chant thy lady’s dirge,
And death to this fair haunt of