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THE LOVER THINKS OF HIS LADY IN THE

NORTH

Now many are the stately ships that northward steam away, And gray sails northward blow black hulls, and many more are they;

And myriads of viking gulls flap to the northern seas:

But Oh my thoughts that go to you are more than all of these!

The winds blow to the northward like a million eager wings, The driven sea a million white-capped waves to northward flings:

I send you thoughts more many than the waves that fleck

the sea,

More eager than tempestuous winds, O Love long leagues from me!

O Love, long leagues from me, I would I trod the drenched deck

Of some ship speeding to the North and staunch against all wreck,

I would I were a sea-gull strong of wing and void of fear:
Unfaltering and fleet I'd fly the long way to my Dear!

O if I were the sea, upon your northern land I'd beat Until my waves flowed over all, and kissed your wandering feet;

And if I were the winds, I'd waft you perfumes from the South,

And give my pleadings to your ears, my kisses to your mouth.

Though many ships are sailing, never one will carry me,
I may not hurry northward with the gulls, the winds, the sea;
But fervid thoughts they say can flash across long leagues of
blue-

Ah, so my love and longing must be known, Dear Heart, to

you!

Shaemas O Sheel [18

Ad Domnulam Suam

CHANSON DE ROSEMONDE

THE dawn is lonely for the sun,

And chill and drear;

The one lone star is pale and wan

As one in fear.

But when day strides across the hills,
The warm blood rushes through
The bared soft bosom of the blue
And all the glad east thrills.

Oh, come, my King! The hounds of joy
Are waiting for thy horn

To chase the doe of heart's desire

Across the heights of morn.

Oh, come, my Sun, and let me know

The rapture of the day!

Oh, come, my love! Oh, come, my love!

Thou art so long away!

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Richard Hovey [1864-1900]

AD DOMNULAM SUAM

LITTLE lady of my heart!

Just a little longer,

Love me: we will pass

and part,

Ere this love grow stronger.

I have loved thee, Child! too well,

To do aught but leave thee:

Nay! my lips should never tell
Any tale to grieve thee.

Little lady of my heart!

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Little lady of my heart!
Just a little longer

Be a child; then we will part,

Ere this love grow stronger.

Ernest Dowson [1867-1900]

MARIAN DRURY

MARIAN DRURY, Marian Drury,

How are the marshes full of the sea! Acadie dreams of your coming home

All year through, and her heart gets free,—

Free on the trail of the wind to travel,
Search and course with the roving tide,
All year long where his hands unravel
Blossom and berry the marshes hide.

Marian Drury, Marian Drury,

How are the marshes full of the surge! April over the Norland now

Walks in the quiet from verge to verge.

Burying, brimming, the building billows
Fret the long dikes with uneasy foam.
Drenched with gold weather, the idling willows
Kiss you a hand from the Norland home.

Marian Drury, Marian Drury,

How are the marshes full of the sun!
Blomidon waits for your coming home,
All day long where the white wings run.

All spring through they falter and follow,
Wander, and beckon the roving tide,
Wheel and float with the veering swallow,
Lift you a voice from the blue hillside.

Marian Drury, Marian Drury,

How are the marshes full of the rain! April over the Norland now

Bugles for rapture, and rouses pain,—

Love's Rosary

Halts before the forsaken dwelling,

Where in the twilight, too spent to roam, Love, whom the fingers of death are quelling, Cries you a cheer from the Norland home.

Marian Drury, Marian Drury,

How are the marshes filled with you!
Grand Pré dreams of your coming home,-
Dreams while the rainbirds all night through,

Far in the uplands calling to win you,

Tease the brown dusk on the marshes wide;
And never the burning heart within you
Stirs in your sleep by the roving tide.

Bliss Carman [1861

LOVE'S ROSARY

ALL day I tell my rosary

For now my love's away:

To-morrow he shall come to me
About the break of day;

A rosary of twenty hours,

And then a rose of May;

A rosary of fettered flowers,
And then a holy-day.

All day I tell my rosary,

My rosary of hours:

And here's a flower of memory,

And here's a hope of flowers,

And here's an hour that yearns with pain
For old forgotten years,

An hour of loss, an hour of gain,
And then a shower of tears.

All day I tell my rosary,

Because my love's away;

And never a whisper comes to me,

And never a word to say;

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But, if it's parting more endears,
God bring him back, I pray;

Or my heart will break in the darkness
Before the break of day.

All day I tell my rosary,

My rosary of hours,

Until an hour shall bring to me

The hope of all the flowers

I tell my rosary of hours,

For O, my love's away;

And a dream may bring him back to me

About the break of day.

Alfred Noyes [1880

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