Fleet to the dark abyss with all your fading flowers,
One rose that none may pluck within my heart I hold.
Your flying wings may smite, but they can never spill
The cup fulfilled of love from which my lips are wet,
My heart has far more fire than you have frost to chill.
My soul more love than you can make my soul forget.
SILENTIA LUNAE--FROM RONSARD
Hide this one night thy crescent, kindly Moon,
So shall Endymion faithful prove, and rest
Loving and unawakened on thy breast;
So shall no foul enchanter importune
Thy quiet course, for now the night is boon,
And through the friendly night unseen I fare
Who dread the face of foemen unaware,
And watch of hostile spies in the bright noon.
Thou know'st, O Moon, the bitter power of Love.
'Tis told how shepherd Pan found ways to move
With a small gift thy heart; and of your grace,
Sweet stars, be kind to this not alien fire,
Because on earth ye did not scorn desire,
Bethink ye, now ye hold your heavenly place.
HIS LADY'S TOMB--FROM RONSARD
As in the gardens, all through May, the Rose,
Lovely, and young, and rich apparelled,
Makes sunrise jealous of her rosy red,
When dawn upon the dew of dawning glows;
Graces and Loves within her breast repose,
The woods are faint with the sweet odour shed,
Till rains and heavy suns have smitten dead
The languid flower and the loose leaves unclose, -
So this, the perfect beauty of our days,
When heaven and earth were vocal of her praise,
The fates have slain, and her sweet soul reposes:
And tears I bring, and sighs, and on her tomb
Pour milk, and scatter buds of many a bloom,
That, dead as living, Rose may be with roses.
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