Vi

As strange how the power begot it As why--but to kill it and rot it.

MY SUIT.

Faith! the Dandelion is To my mind too lowly; Then the winsome Violet Is, forsooth, too holy.

There's the Touch-me-not--go to! What! a face that's speckled Like a buxom milking-maid's Which the sun hath freckled!

And the Tiger-lily's wild, Flirts, is fierce and haughty; And the Sweet-Brier Rose, I swear, Pricks you and is naughty.

Columbine a fool's cap hath, Then she is too merry; Gossip, I would sooner woo Some plebeian Berry.

There's the shy Anemone,-- Well--her face shows sorrow; Pale, goodsooth! alive to-day, Dead and gone to-morrow.

And that big-eyed, fair-cheeked wench, The untoward Daisy, She's been wooed, aye! overmuch-- Then she is too lazy.

Pleasant persons are they all, And their virtues many; Faith, I know but good of all, And naught ill of any.

Marry! 'tis a May-apple, Fair-skinned as a Saxon, Whom I woo, a fragrant thing Delicate and waxen.

THE FAMILY BURYING-GROUND.

A wall of crumbling stones doth keep Watch o'er long barrows where they sleep, Old chronicled grave-stones of its dead, On which oblivious mosses creep And lichens gray as lead.

Warm days the lost cows as they pass Rest here and browse the juicy grass That springs about its sun-scorched stones; Afar one hears their bells' deep brass Waft melancholy tones.

Here the wild morning-glory goes A-rambling as the myrtle grows, Wild morning-glories pale as pain, With holy urns, that hint at woes, The night hath filled with rain.

Here are blackberries largest seen, Rich, winey dark, whereon the lean Black hornet sucks, noons sick with heat, That bend not to the shadowed green The heavy bearded wheat.

At dark, for its forgotten dead, A requiem, of no known wind said, Through ghostly cedars moans and throbs, While to thin starlight overhead The shivering screech-owl sobs.

THE WATER-MAID.

There she rose as white as death, Stars above and stars beneath; Where the ripples brake in splendor To a million, million starlets Twinkling on lake-lilies tender, Rocking to the ripple barlets. She, brow-belted with white lilies, Rose and oared a shining shoulder To a downward-purpling boulder: With slim fingers soft and milky, Haled her from the spray-sprent lilies To a ledge, and sitting silky Sang unto the list'ning lilies, Sang and sang beneath the heaven, Belted, wreathed with lilies seven; Falsely sang a wild, wild ditty To a wool-white moon; Till a child both frail and pretty Found her singing on the boulder,-- Dark locks on a milky shoulder,-- 'Neath the wool-white moon. And the creature singing there Strangled him in her long hair.

THE SEA-KING.

1

In green sea-caverns dim, Deep down, A monarch pale and slim, Whose soul's a frown, He ruleth cold and grim In foamy crown: In green sea-caverns dim, Deep down.

2

He hears the Mermaid sing So sad! Far off like some curs'd thing, That ne'er is glad, A vague, wild murmuring, That drives men mad: He hears the Mermaid sing So sad!

3

Strange monster bulks are there, That yawn Or roll huge eyes that glare And then are gone; Weird foliage passing fair Where clings the spawn: Strange monster bulks are there, That yawn.

4

What cares he for wrecked hulls These years! Red gold the water dulls! Grim, dead-men jeers On jaws of a thousand skulls Of mariners! What cares he for wrecked hulls These years!

5

Man's tears are loved of him, Deep down; Set in the foamy rim Of his frail crown To pearls the tear-drops dim Freeze at his frown: Man's tears are loved of him, Deep down.

6

Here be the halls of Sleep Full mute, Chill, shadowy, and deep, Where hangs no lute To make the still heart leap Of man or brute: Here be the halls of Sleep Full mute.