Chance made me look at you,Chance was no friend!Sight made me worship you,Time without end.Had I been only blindWhat had I cared,And thus, afflicted soreHow much been spared!
Chance made me look at you,Chance was no friend!Sight made me worship you,Time without end.Had I been only blindWhat had I cared,And thus, afflicted soreHow much been spared!
Chance made me look at you,Chance was no friend!Sight made me worship you,Time without end.
Chance made me look at you,
Chance was no friend!
Sight made me worship you,
Time without end.
Had I been only blindWhat had I cared,And thus, afflicted soreHow much been spared!
Had I been only blind
What had I cared,
And thus, afflicted sore
How much been spared!
With silent feet all wet with dew,Comes evening full of soft repose,To kiss the valley deep and blue,With wistful lips, and eyes that close.Her breath is soft, and full of peace,Her arms outstretchéd to caressFling benedictions without cease,She seems a spirit borne to bless.And as the evening to the earth,Came love to me, a boon most rare;Hushed every sorrow at its birth,And turned complaining into prayer.
With silent feet all wet with dew,Comes evening full of soft repose,To kiss the valley deep and blue,With wistful lips, and eyes that close.Her breath is soft, and full of peace,Her arms outstretchéd to caressFling benedictions without cease,She seems a spirit borne to bless.And as the evening to the earth,Came love to me, a boon most rare;Hushed every sorrow at its birth,And turned complaining into prayer.
With silent feet all wet with dew,Comes evening full of soft repose,To kiss the valley deep and blue,With wistful lips, and eyes that close.
With silent feet all wet with dew,
Comes evening full of soft repose,
To kiss the valley deep and blue,
With wistful lips, and eyes that close.
Her breath is soft, and full of peace,Her arms outstretchéd to caressFling benedictions without cease,She seems a spirit borne to bless.
Her breath is soft, and full of peace,
Her arms outstretchéd to caress
Fling benedictions without cease,
She seems a spirit borne to bless.
And as the evening to the earth,Came love to me, a boon most rare;Hushed every sorrow at its birth,And turned complaining into prayer.
And as the evening to the earth,
Came love to me, a boon most rare;
Hushed every sorrow at its birth,
And turned complaining into prayer.
A butterfly hovered over a flower,In a bower,With the joy of life at his lips for an hour.With the rose's petals against his wings,And the rose's perfume that steals and clingsTouching every breath with a wondrous power.Then the Night came on, and the wind blew coldO'er the wold.The butterfly shivered, grown tired and old;The rose closed her passionate eyes and slept,While death to her lover in silence crept;He died of a joy untold.
A butterfly hovered over a flower,In a bower,With the joy of life at his lips for an hour.With the rose's petals against his wings,And the rose's perfume that steals and clingsTouching every breath with a wondrous power.Then the Night came on, and the wind blew coldO'er the wold.The butterfly shivered, grown tired and old;The rose closed her passionate eyes and slept,While death to her lover in silence crept;He died of a joy untold.
A butterfly hovered over a flower,In a bower,With the joy of life at his lips for an hour.With the rose's petals against his wings,And the rose's perfume that steals and clingsTouching every breath with a wondrous power.
A butterfly hovered over a flower,
In a bower,
With the joy of life at his lips for an hour.
With the rose's petals against his wings,
And the rose's perfume that steals and clings
Touching every breath with a wondrous power.
Then the Night came on, and the wind blew coldO'er the wold.The butterfly shivered, grown tired and old;The rose closed her passionate eyes and slept,While death to her lover in silence crept;He died of a joy untold.
Then the Night came on, and the wind blew cold
O'er the wold.
The butterfly shivered, grown tired and old;
The rose closed her passionate eyes and slept,
While death to her lover in silence crept;
He died of a joy untold.
How little there is that e'er goes rightIn this old world of ours.Anticipation? a vague delight;Reality? well, the rose with a blight,The thorn that comes with the flowers.
How little there is that e'er goes rightIn this old world of ours.Anticipation? a vague delight;Reality? well, the rose with a blight,The thorn that comes with the flowers.
How little there is that e'er goes rightIn this old world of ours.Anticipation? a vague delight;Reality? well, the rose with a blight,The thorn that comes with the flowers.
How little there is that e'er goes right
In this old world of ours.
Anticipation? a vague delight;
Reality? well, the rose with a blight,
The thorn that comes with the flowers.
What can I sing to theeOh! thrice-beloved sea?What words can paint thy grace,The beauty of thy face,Enrapt with ecstasy?Fling up thy foamy arms,Laden with cooling balms,And touch me where I standHere on the yearning land,With soft embrace that calms.I gaze into thine eyes,Where mystic shadow lies,And lovelights glow and gleamWithin their emerald beam,And passion lives and dies—Until my heart grows stillBeneath thy magic will,And I can hear and seeNaught but thy song and thee,That seems the world to fill.Upon thy swelling breastRestless and yet at rest,My spirit floats and sings,While Summer laughs and springsFrom off thy snow-white crest.Behold my hot desireFor thee to quench the fire,With dewy kiss that slipsFrom thy divine, wet lips,Making my joy entire.Lift up thine endless song,And echo it alongUntil all space rejoice,In thine enchanted voice,That sounds so sweet and strong.Until the rocks and beachBreak forth in answering speech,And every listening shellSome praise of thee can tell;Some joy of thee can teach.Oh, sea that knows no death!Oh, life-inspiring breath!The heart of me would praiseThe glory of thy days,Thine evenings, fathomless.The soul in me would singTo that eternal SpringBeneath thy heaving breast,Where lurk the depths of rest,The end of everything.
What can I sing to theeOh! thrice-beloved sea?What words can paint thy grace,The beauty of thy face,Enrapt with ecstasy?Fling up thy foamy arms,Laden with cooling balms,And touch me where I standHere on the yearning land,With soft embrace that calms.I gaze into thine eyes,Where mystic shadow lies,And lovelights glow and gleamWithin their emerald beam,And passion lives and dies—Until my heart grows stillBeneath thy magic will,And I can hear and seeNaught but thy song and thee,That seems the world to fill.Upon thy swelling breastRestless and yet at rest,My spirit floats and sings,While Summer laughs and springsFrom off thy snow-white crest.Behold my hot desireFor thee to quench the fire,With dewy kiss that slipsFrom thy divine, wet lips,Making my joy entire.Lift up thine endless song,And echo it alongUntil all space rejoice,In thine enchanted voice,That sounds so sweet and strong.Until the rocks and beachBreak forth in answering speech,And every listening shellSome praise of thee can tell;Some joy of thee can teach.Oh, sea that knows no death!Oh, life-inspiring breath!The heart of me would praiseThe glory of thy days,Thine evenings, fathomless.The soul in me would singTo that eternal SpringBeneath thy heaving breast,Where lurk the depths of rest,The end of everything.
What can I sing to theeOh! thrice-beloved sea?What words can paint thy grace,The beauty of thy face,Enrapt with ecstasy?
What can I sing to thee
Oh! thrice-beloved sea?
What words can paint thy grace,
The beauty of thy face,
Enrapt with ecstasy?
Fling up thy foamy arms,Laden with cooling balms,And touch me where I standHere on the yearning land,With soft embrace that calms.
Fling up thy foamy arms,
Laden with cooling balms,
And touch me where I stand
Here on the yearning land,
With soft embrace that calms.
I gaze into thine eyes,Where mystic shadow lies,And lovelights glow and gleamWithin their emerald beam,And passion lives and dies—
I gaze into thine eyes,
Where mystic shadow lies,
And lovelights glow and gleam
Within their emerald beam,
And passion lives and dies—
Until my heart grows stillBeneath thy magic will,And I can hear and seeNaught but thy song and thee,That seems the world to fill.
Until my heart grows still
Beneath thy magic will,
And I can hear and see
Naught but thy song and thee,
That seems the world to fill.
Upon thy swelling breastRestless and yet at rest,My spirit floats and sings,While Summer laughs and springsFrom off thy snow-white crest.
Upon thy swelling breast
Restless and yet at rest,
My spirit floats and sings,
While Summer laughs and springs
From off thy snow-white crest.
Behold my hot desireFor thee to quench the fire,With dewy kiss that slipsFrom thy divine, wet lips,Making my joy entire.
Behold my hot desire
For thee to quench the fire,
With dewy kiss that slips
From thy divine, wet lips,
Making my joy entire.
Lift up thine endless song,And echo it alongUntil all space rejoice,In thine enchanted voice,That sounds so sweet and strong.
Lift up thine endless song,
And echo it along
Until all space rejoice,
In thine enchanted voice,
That sounds so sweet and strong.
Until the rocks and beachBreak forth in answering speech,And every listening shellSome praise of thee can tell;Some joy of thee can teach.
Until the rocks and beach
Break forth in answering speech,
And every listening shell
Some praise of thee can tell;
Some joy of thee can teach.
Oh, sea that knows no death!Oh, life-inspiring breath!The heart of me would praiseThe glory of thy days,Thine evenings, fathomless.
Oh, sea that knows no death!
Oh, life-inspiring breath!
The heart of me would praise
The glory of thy days,
Thine evenings, fathomless.
The soul in me would singTo that eternal SpringBeneath thy heaving breast,Where lurk the depths of rest,The end of everything.
The soul in me would sing
To that eternal Spring
Beneath thy heaving breast,
Where lurk the depths of rest,
The end of everything.
The gladness and the pain,The sunshine and the rain,The laughter and the sigh,They all must pass and die;And in the by-and-by,Who'll care to question why?
The gladness and the pain,The sunshine and the rain,The laughter and the sigh,They all must pass and die;And in the by-and-by,Who'll care to question why?
The gladness and the pain,The sunshine and the rain,The laughter and the sigh,They all must pass and die;And in the by-and-by,Who'll care to question why?
The gladness and the pain,
The sunshine and the rain,
The laughter and the sigh,
They all must pass and die;
And in the by-and-by,
Who'll care to question why?
You have my thoughts and know it not.The livelong day I think of you,The still, dark night I dream of you,Each moment's life I live to you,And yet you know it not.You have my heart and know it not,Its every beat is love for you,Each sigh a drop of blood for you,Its ceaseless ache regret for you,And yet you know it not.You have my soul and know it not,It makes you God and worships you,Forgets its claim on Heaven for you,Forsakes its hope of life for you,And yet—you know it not.
You have my thoughts and know it not.The livelong day I think of you,The still, dark night I dream of you,Each moment's life I live to you,And yet you know it not.You have my heart and know it not,Its every beat is love for you,Each sigh a drop of blood for you,Its ceaseless ache regret for you,And yet you know it not.You have my soul and know it not,It makes you God and worships you,Forgets its claim on Heaven for you,Forsakes its hope of life for you,And yet—you know it not.
You have my thoughts and know it not.The livelong day I think of you,The still, dark night I dream of you,Each moment's life I live to you,And yet you know it not.
You have my thoughts and know it not.
The livelong day I think of you,
The still, dark night I dream of you,
Each moment's life I live to you,
And yet you know it not.
You have my heart and know it not,Its every beat is love for you,Each sigh a drop of blood for you,Its ceaseless ache regret for you,And yet you know it not.
You have my heart and know it not,
Its every beat is love for you,
Each sigh a drop of blood for you,
Its ceaseless ache regret for you,
And yet you know it not.
You have my soul and know it not,It makes you God and worships you,Forgets its claim on Heaven for you,Forsakes its hope of life for you,And yet—you know it not.
You have my soul and know it not,
It makes you God and worships you,
Forgets its claim on Heaven for you,
Forsakes its hope of life for you,
And yet—you know it not.
Remember, sweet! some evening when you sitWith idle hands, and book but half read through;When those dear eyes of yours find incompleteThe landscape deep in shade and wet with dew;When that clear mind of yours goes wandering outTo seek contentment, ay, and finds no rest;When those grave thoughts of yours are filled with doubt,And vague mistrust of all the world deems best;Remember!—for one hour we conquered fate;Filled in the blanks and set the puzzle right;We were complete, a glorious, living whole,A perfect cadence of supreme delight—I think eternity was ours that night.
Remember, sweet! some evening when you sitWith idle hands, and book but half read through;When those dear eyes of yours find incompleteThe landscape deep in shade and wet with dew;When that clear mind of yours goes wandering outTo seek contentment, ay, and finds no rest;When those grave thoughts of yours are filled with doubt,And vague mistrust of all the world deems best;Remember!—for one hour we conquered fate;Filled in the blanks and set the puzzle right;We were complete, a glorious, living whole,A perfect cadence of supreme delight—I think eternity was ours that night.
Remember, sweet! some evening when you sitWith idle hands, and book but half read through;When those dear eyes of yours find incompleteThe landscape deep in shade and wet with dew;When that clear mind of yours goes wandering outTo seek contentment, ay, and finds no rest;When those grave thoughts of yours are filled with doubt,And vague mistrust of all the world deems best;Remember!—for one hour we conquered fate;Filled in the blanks and set the puzzle right;We were complete, a glorious, living whole,A perfect cadence of supreme delight—I think eternity was ours that night.
Remember, sweet! some evening when you sit
With idle hands, and book but half read through;
When those dear eyes of yours find incomplete
The landscape deep in shade and wet with dew;
When that clear mind of yours goes wandering out
To seek contentment, ay, and finds no rest;
When those grave thoughts of yours are filled with doubt,
And vague mistrust of all the world deems best;
Remember!—for one hour we conquered fate;
Filled in the blanks and set the puzzle right;
We were complete, a glorious, living whole,
A perfect cadence of supreme delight—
I think eternity was ours that night.
In passion's hour I met you,And now that from my soul I'm old,Whene'er I watch the pale young moon,Or misty glow of sunset gold,Some echo of the past comes back,Like wild, sweet song o'er lonely trackLest I should e'er forget you.
In passion's hour I met you,And now that from my soul I'm old,Whene'er I watch the pale young moon,Or misty glow of sunset gold,Some echo of the past comes back,Like wild, sweet song o'er lonely trackLest I should e'er forget you.
In passion's hour I met you,And now that from my soul I'm old,Whene'er I watch the pale young moon,Or misty glow of sunset gold,Some echo of the past comes back,Like wild, sweet song o'er lonely trackLest I should e'er forget you.
In passion's hour I met you,
And now that from my soul I'm old,
Whene'er I watch the pale young moon,
Or misty glow of sunset gold,
Some echo of the past comes back,
Like wild, sweet song o'er lonely track
Lest I should e'er forget you.
"Where is she?" sighed the rose-trees,The honeysuckle creepers,The pansies, and the lilies,And the little hidden flowers."We are lonely here without her,In the sunlight, in the twilight,In the daytime, in the night-time,Through the solitary hours.""I know not," said the young wind,"Yet will I surely seek her,And whisper low your messageOh faithful-hearted few.For men may kiss in passing,And the world forget its passion,But the soil, remembers ever,And the love of flowers is true."
"Where is she?" sighed the rose-trees,The honeysuckle creepers,The pansies, and the lilies,And the little hidden flowers."We are lonely here without her,In the sunlight, in the twilight,In the daytime, in the night-time,Through the solitary hours.""I know not," said the young wind,"Yet will I surely seek her,And whisper low your messageOh faithful-hearted few.For men may kiss in passing,And the world forget its passion,But the soil, remembers ever,And the love of flowers is true."
"Where is she?" sighed the rose-trees,The honeysuckle creepers,The pansies, and the lilies,And the little hidden flowers."We are lonely here without her,In the sunlight, in the twilight,In the daytime, in the night-time,Through the solitary hours."
"Where is she?" sighed the rose-trees,
The honeysuckle creepers,
The pansies, and the lilies,
And the little hidden flowers.
"We are lonely here without her,
In the sunlight, in the twilight,
In the daytime, in the night-time,
Through the solitary hours."
"I know not," said the young wind,"Yet will I surely seek her,And whisper low your messageOh faithful-hearted few.For men may kiss in passing,And the world forget its passion,But the soil, remembers ever,And the love of flowers is true."
"I know not," said the young wind,
"Yet will I surely seek her,
And whisper low your message
Oh faithful-hearted few.
For men may kiss in passing,
And the world forget its passion,
But the soil, remembers ever,
And the love of flowers is true."
I am but little in your sight,A passing thought, a fleeting lightThat gone, forgotten lies.The humble pastime, that you choseTo honour, as you might a rose,O'er which you cast your eyes.Were I some simple, lifeless thing,A book you read, an oft-worn ring,A favourite flower you wear,I might be close to you and knowThe rapture and the living glowOf lips, and breast, and hair.But as it is, the earth you press,The clinging texture of your dress,The jewel on your handKnow more of Heaven and joys thereinThan I, whose soul has never beenWhere it could understand.
I am but little in your sight,A passing thought, a fleeting lightThat gone, forgotten lies.The humble pastime, that you choseTo honour, as you might a rose,O'er which you cast your eyes.Were I some simple, lifeless thing,A book you read, an oft-worn ring,A favourite flower you wear,I might be close to you and knowThe rapture and the living glowOf lips, and breast, and hair.But as it is, the earth you press,The clinging texture of your dress,The jewel on your handKnow more of Heaven and joys thereinThan I, whose soul has never beenWhere it could understand.
I am but little in your sight,A passing thought, a fleeting lightThat gone, forgotten lies.The humble pastime, that you choseTo honour, as you might a rose,O'er which you cast your eyes.
I am but little in your sight,
A passing thought, a fleeting light
That gone, forgotten lies.
The humble pastime, that you chose
To honour, as you might a rose,
O'er which you cast your eyes.
Were I some simple, lifeless thing,A book you read, an oft-worn ring,A favourite flower you wear,I might be close to you and knowThe rapture and the living glowOf lips, and breast, and hair.
Were I some simple, lifeless thing,
A book you read, an oft-worn ring,
A favourite flower you wear,
I might be close to you and know
The rapture and the living glow
Of lips, and breast, and hair.
But as it is, the earth you press,The clinging texture of your dress,The jewel on your handKnow more of Heaven and joys thereinThan I, whose soul has never beenWhere it could understand.
But as it is, the earth you press,
The clinging texture of your dress,
The jewel on your hand
Know more of Heaven and joys therein
Than I, whose soul has never been
Where it could understand.
One by one the roses' petals fall to earth;Though God's sun is still above them,And the ardent breezes love themThey must die.Ere their greatest joy is born,Lo! they wither and are gone;Like a rose my hope must perishIn a sigh.
One by one the roses' petals fall to earth;Though God's sun is still above them,And the ardent breezes love themThey must die.Ere their greatest joy is born,Lo! they wither and are gone;Like a rose my hope must perishIn a sigh.
One by one the roses' petals fall to earth;Though God's sun is still above them,And the ardent breezes love themThey must die.Ere their greatest joy is born,Lo! they wither and are gone;Like a rose my hope must perishIn a sigh.
One by one the roses' petals fall to earth;
Though God's sun is still above them,
And the ardent breezes love them
They must die.
Ere their greatest joy is born,
Lo! they wither and are gone;
Like a rose my hope must perish
In a sigh.
If you were just one street away,One only!I know that in my heart I'd sayI'm lonely.But with the world between us twoA-lying,I hear my soul cry out, "For youI'm dying!"
If you were just one street away,One only!I know that in my heart I'd sayI'm lonely.But with the world between us twoA-lying,I hear my soul cry out, "For youI'm dying!"
If you were just one street away,One only!I know that in my heart I'd sayI'm lonely.
If you were just one street away,
One only!
I know that in my heart I'd say
I'm lonely.
But with the world between us twoA-lying,I hear my soul cry out, "For youI'm dying!"
But with the world between us two
A-lying,
I hear my soul cry out, "For you
I'm dying!"
Our love is near akin unto regret;We love, and are beloved again, and yetThere oft is something that we lack.So Life is very near akin to Death,We live and laugh awhile, yet with each breathSomething is passing, that will ne'er come back.
Our love is near akin unto regret;We love, and are beloved again, and yetThere oft is something that we lack.So Life is very near akin to Death,We live and laugh awhile, yet with each breathSomething is passing, that will ne'er come back.
Our love is near akin unto regret;We love, and are beloved again, and yetThere oft is something that we lack.So Life is very near akin to Death,We live and laugh awhile, yet with each breathSomething is passing, that will ne'er come back.
Our love is near akin unto regret;
We love, and are beloved again, and yet
There oft is something that we lack.
So Life is very near akin to Death,
We live and laugh awhile, yet with each breath
Something is passing, that will ne'er come back.
The damp, sweet smell of the earth after rain,A golden rift in the sky,The deepening twilight, the purple plain,And you and I.The strange, still hush of the slumbering world,The mist in the wood close by,A deer that nibbles a leaf dew-pearled,And you and I.The falling rain has left tremulous lakesWhere the shattered branches lie;The storm has bowed the tree till it breaks,And you and I!Yet the green earth smiles through the tears she wept;With one long, rapturous sighThe Noon in the arms of Night has crept,And you and I?
The damp, sweet smell of the earth after rain,A golden rift in the sky,The deepening twilight, the purple plain,And you and I.The strange, still hush of the slumbering world,The mist in the wood close by,A deer that nibbles a leaf dew-pearled,And you and I.The falling rain has left tremulous lakesWhere the shattered branches lie;The storm has bowed the tree till it breaks,And you and I!Yet the green earth smiles through the tears she wept;With one long, rapturous sighThe Noon in the arms of Night has crept,And you and I?
The damp, sweet smell of the earth after rain,A golden rift in the sky,The deepening twilight, the purple plain,And you and I.
The damp, sweet smell of the earth after rain,
A golden rift in the sky,
The deepening twilight, the purple plain,
And you and I.
The strange, still hush of the slumbering world,The mist in the wood close by,A deer that nibbles a leaf dew-pearled,And you and I.
The strange, still hush of the slumbering world,
The mist in the wood close by,
A deer that nibbles a leaf dew-pearled,
And you and I.
The falling rain has left tremulous lakesWhere the shattered branches lie;The storm has bowed the tree till it breaks,And you and I!
The falling rain has left tremulous lakes
Where the shattered branches lie;
The storm has bowed the tree till it breaks,
And you and I!
Yet the green earth smiles through the tears she wept;With one long, rapturous sighThe Noon in the arms of Night has crept,And you and I?
Yet the green earth smiles through the tears she wept;
With one long, rapturous sigh
The Noon in the arms of Night has crept,
And you and I?
I thought that I might see you, sweet,That after all this weary yearBy some good fortune we might meet,And kiss each other here.I told my heart to bide awhile,And not to faint with vain regret;I even forced my lips to smile,My conscience to forget.I killed depression as it rose,And built new castles on the sand;This was the place my fancy choseThat I should hold your hand.And I have held your hand, my dear,A second, daring not to pressYour finger-tips, in mortal fearTo meet your eyes; and yet I blessThat little moment none the less.
I thought that I might see you, sweet,That after all this weary yearBy some good fortune we might meet,And kiss each other here.I told my heart to bide awhile,And not to faint with vain regret;I even forced my lips to smile,My conscience to forget.I killed depression as it rose,And built new castles on the sand;This was the place my fancy choseThat I should hold your hand.And I have held your hand, my dear,A second, daring not to pressYour finger-tips, in mortal fearTo meet your eyes; and yet I blessThat little moment none the less.
I thought that I might see you, sweet,That after all this weary yearBy some good fortune we might meet,And kiss each other here.
I thought that I might see you, sweet,
That after all this weary year
By some good fortune we might meet,
And kiss each other here.
I told my heart to bide awhile,And not to faint with vain regret;I even forced my lips to smile,My conscience to forget.
I told my heart to bide awhile,
And not to faint with vain regret;
I even forced my lips to smile,
My conscience to forget.
I killed depression as it rose,And built new castles on the sand;This was the place my fancy choseThat I should hold your hand.
I killed depression as it rose,
And built new castles on the sand;
This was the place my fancy chose
That I should hold your hand.
And I have held your hand, my dear,A second, daring not to pressYour finger-tips, in mortal fearTo meet your eyes; and yet I blessThat little moment none the less.
And I have held your hand, my dear,
A second, daring not to press
Your finger-tips, in mortal fear
To meet your eyes; and yet I bless
That little moment none the less.
Hush! my soul is singing;Through the still night ringingSounds its voice.Till the dark in wonderSeemeth cleft asunder,And the stars rejoice.E'en the air is breathless,For my soul, the deathless,Sings of thee.Beats its wings of fire,In the vast desireFor eternity.Lifts its eyes of splendourFull of deep surrenderFor thy sake.Bids me let it press theeIn its arms, and bless theeTill thy love awake.
Hush! my soul is singing;Through the still night ringingSounds its voice.Till the dark in wonderSeemeth cleft asunder,And the stars rejoice.E'en the air is breathless,For my soul, the deathless,Sings of thee.Beats its wings of fire,In the vast desireFor eternity.Lifts its eyes of splendourFull of deep surrenderFor thy sake.Bids me let it press theeIn its arms, and bless theeTill thy love awake.
Hush! my soul is singing;Through the still night ringingSounds its voice.Till the dark in wonderSeemeth cleft asunder,And the stars rejoice.
Hush! my soul is singing;
Through the still night ringing
Sounds its voice.
Till the dark in wonder
Seemeth cleft asunder,
And the stars rejoice.
E'en the air is breathless,For my soul, the deathless,Sings of thee.Beats its wings of fire,In the vast desireFor eternity.
E'en the air is breathless,
For my soul, the deathless,
Sings of thee.
Beats its wings of fire,
In the vast desire
For eternity.
Lifts its eyes of splendourFull of deep surrenderFor thy sake.Bids me let it press theeIn its arms, and bless theeTill thy love awake.
Lifts its eyes of splendour
Full of deep surrender
For thy sake.
Bids me let it press thee
In its arms, and bless thee
Till thy love awake.
What am I to presume to sayWere you good or bad,Was I wrong or right?After all life's only a dayAnd perhaps—a night.What am I to set up for Judge?Shall I wound myselfWith a vain regret?Our fleeting pleasure if Time begrudgeCan he not forget?The thrill of it all is past we know,Say we both were right,And we both were wrong,There's little enough joy here below,And love's none too long.
What am I to presume to sayWere you good or bad,Was I wrong or right?After all life's only a dayAnd perhaps—a night.What am I to set up for Judge?Shall I wound myselfWith a vain regret?Our fleeting pleasure if Time begrudgeCan he not forget?The thrill of it all is past we know,Say we both were right,And we both were wrong,There's little enough joy here below,And love's none too long.
What am I to presume to sayWere you good or bad,Was I wrong or right?After all life's only a dayAnd perhaps—a night.
What am I to presume to say
Were you good or bad,
Was I wrong or right?
After all life's only a day
And perhaps—a night.
What am I to set up for Judge?Shall I wound myselfWith a vain regret?Our fleeting pleasure if Time begrudgeCan he not forget?
What am I to set up for Judge?
Shall I wound myself
With a vain regret?
Our fleeting pleasure if Time begrudge
Can he not forget?
The thrill of it all is past we know,Say we both were right,And we both were wrong,There's little enough joy here below,And love's none too long.
The thrill of it all is past we know,
Say we both were right,
And we both were wrong,
There's little enough joy here below,
And love's none too long.
What a pity that all our wishes,And most of our prayers are vain;When we strive to recall a pleasure,Or crave to forget a pain.When the motives we deemed sufficient,Seem paltry, and mean, and weak;And the goal we'd have lost our soul for,Is that which we least would seek.And the pride of those vast ambitions,That rendered our hopes so greatHas become but the coal-black cinders,Consumed in the fire of fate.What a pity! that blind with folly,We fancied all incompleteEvery flower of the true contentment,That grew by our careless feet;Nor did pause in our path, to gatherThe fruits of a gracious Spring;Or to seek in our hearts the anthemWe called on the world to sing.Ah, well! maybe God will remember,As payment of many debts,The penance of sad non-attainments,The sackcloth of vain regrets.And perhaps the Recording AngelMay wipe out the faults of yearsWith the hem of His shining garment,Grown damp with a sinner's tears.
What a pity that all our wishes,And most of our prayers are vain;When we strive to recall a pleasure,Or crave to forget a pain.When the motives we deemed sufficient,Seem paltry, and mean, and weak;And the goal we'd have lost our soul for,Is that which we least would seek.And the pride of those vast ambitions,That rendered our hopes so greatHas become but the coal-black cinders,Consumed in the fire of fate.What a pity! that blind with folly,We fancied all incompleteEvery flower of the true contentment,That grew by our careless feet;Nor did pause in our path, to gatherThe fruits of a gracious Spring;Or to seek in our hearts the anthemWe called on the world to sing.Ah, well! maybe God will remember,As payment of many debts,The penance of sad non-attainments,The sackcloth of vain regrets.And perhaps the Recording AngelMay wipe out the faults of yearsWith the hem of His shining garment,Grown damp with a sinner's tears.
What a pity that all our wishes,And most of our prayers are vain;When we strive to recall a pleasure,Or crave to forget a pain.
What a pity that all our wishes,
And most of our prayers are vain;
When we strive to recall a pleasure,
Or crave to forget a pain.
When the motives we deemed sufficient,Seem paltry, and mean, and weak;And the goal we'd have lost our soul for,Is that which we least would seek.
When the motives we deemed sufficient,
Seem paltry, and mean, and weak;
And the goal we'd have lost our soul for,
Is that which we least would seek.
And the pride of those vast ambitions,That rendered our hopes so greatHas become but the coal-black cinders,Consumed in the fire of fate.
And the pride of those vast ambitions,
That rendered our hopes so great
Has become but the coal-black cinders,
Consumed in the fire of fate.
What a pity! that blind with folly,We fancied all incompleteEvery flower of the true contentment,That grew by our careless feet;
What a pity! that blind with folly,
We fancied all incomplete
Every flower of the true contentment,
That grew by our careless feet;
Nor did pause in our path, to gatherThe fruits of a gracious Spring;Or to seek in our hearts the anthemWe called on the world to sing.
Nor did pause in our path, to gather
The fruits of a gracious Spring;
Or to seek in our hearts the anthem
We called on the world to sing.
Ah, well! maybe God will remember,As payment of many debts,The penance of sad non-attainments,The sackcloth of vain regrets.
Ah, well! maybe God will remember,
As payment of many debts,
The penance of sad non-attainments,
The sackcloth of vain regrets.
And perhaps the Recording AngelMay wipe out the faults of yearsWith the hem of His shining garment,Grown damp with a sinner's tears.
And perhaps the Recording Angel
May wipe out the faults of years
With the hem of His shining garment,
Grown damp with a sinner's tears.
Good-morning, sweet! a thousand little birdsTheir requiem to you sing;And tender flowers, with soft, perfuming wordsTheir greetings bring.Good-morning, sweet! this faithful heart of mineOffers devotion vast as Heaven above,Beneath thy window, worships at thy shrine;Good-morning, love.Good-morning, sweet! the glory of the dayIs naught compared to thee;Come forth and smile, with rapture bright and gay,That I may see.Good-morning, sweet! look up that I may live,Kiss me that I may taste of Heaven here,The joys of Paradise are thine to give,Good-morning, dear!
Good-morning, sweet! a thousand little birdsTheir requiem to you sing;And tender flowers, with soft, perfuming wordsTheir greetings bring.Good-morning, sweet! this faithful heart of mineOffers devotion vast as Heaven above,Beneath thy window, worships at thy shrine;Good-morning, love.Good-morning, sweet! the glory of the dayIs naught compared to thee;Come forth and smile, with rapture bright and gay,That I may see.Good-morning, sweet! look up that I may live,Kiss me that I may taste of Heaven here,The joys of Paradise are thine to give,Good-morning, dear!
Good-morning, sweet! a thousand little birdsTheir requiem to you sing;And tender flowers, with soft, perfuming wordsTheir greetings bring.
Good-morning, sweet! a thousand little birds
Their requiem to you sing;
And tender flowers, with soft, perfuming words
Their greetings bring.
Good-morning, sweet! this faithful heart of mineOffers devotion vast as Heaven above,Beneath thy window, worships at thy shrine;Good-morning, love.
Good-morning, sweet! this faithful heart of mine
Offers devotion vast as Heaven above,
Beneath thy window, worships at thy shrine;
Good-morning, love.
Good-morning, sweet! the glory of the dayIs naught compared to thee;Come forth and smile, with rapture bright and gay,That I may see.
Good-morning, sweet! the glory of the day
Is naught compared to thee;
Come forth and smile, with rapture bright and gay,
That I may see.
Good-morning, sweet! look up that I may live,Kiss me that I may taste of Heaven here,The joys of Paradise are thine to give,Good-morning, dear!
Good-morning, sweet! look up that I may live,
Kiss me that I may taste of Heaven here,
The joys of Paradise are thine to give,
Good-morning, dear!
It is weary, weary this waiting,For that which can never be.It is dreary, dreary this mating,With tears and despondency.And methinks if beneath the grasses,There was somewhere, both still and deep,I would close my eyes to the morning,And thankfully fall asleep.
It is weary, weary this waiting,For that which can never be.It is dreary, dreary this mating,With tears and despondency.And methinks if beneath the grasses,There was somewhere, both still and deep,I would close my eyes to the morning,And thankfully fall asleep.
It is weary, weary this waiting,For that which can never be.It is dreary, dreary this mating,With tears and despondency.
It is weary, weary this waiting,
For that which can never be.
It is dreary, dreary this mating,
With tears and despondency.
And methinks if beneath the grasses,There was somewhere, both still and deep,I would close my eyes to the morning,And thankfully fall asleep.
And methinks if beneath the grasses,
There was somewhere, both still and deep,
I would close my eyes to the morning,
And thankfully fall asleep.
A gondola, the still lagoon;A Summer's night, an August moon;The splash of oars, a distant song,A little sigh, and—was it wrong?A kiss, both passionate and long.
A gondola, the still lagoon;A Summer's night, an August moon;The splash of oars, a distant song,A little sigh, and—was it wrong?A kiss, both passionate and long.
A gondola, the still lagoon;A Summer's night, an August moon;The splash of oars, a distant song,A little sigh, and—was it wrong?A kiss, both passionate and long.
A gondola, the still lagoon;
A Summer's night, an August moon;
The splash of oars, a distant song,
A little sigh, and—was it wrong?
A kiss, both passionate and long.