I would I could adopt your will,

See with your eyes, and set my heart Beating by yours, and drink my fill

At your soul's springs,-your part, my part In life, for good and ill.

No. I yearn upward, touch you close,
Then stand away. I kiss your cheek,
Catch your soul's warmth,-I pluck the rose
And love it more than tongue can speak-
Then the good minute goes.

Already how am I so far

Out of that minute? Must I go Still like the thistle-ball, no bar,

Onward, whenever light winds blow,

Fixed by no friendly star?

Just when I seemed about to learn!

Where is the thread now? Off again!

The old trick! Only I discern—

Infinite passion, and the pain

of finite hearts that yearn.

Robert Browning (1812-1889]

ONE WAY OF LOVE

ALL June I bound the rose in sheaves.

Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves

And strew them where Pauline may pass.
She will not turn aside? Alas!

Let them lie. Suppose they die?

The chance was they might take her eye.

How many a month I strove to suit
These stubborn fingers to the lute!
To-day I venture all I know.

She will not hear my music? So!
Break the string; fold music's wing:
Suppose Pauline had bade me sing!

Song

My whole life long I learned to love.
This hour my utmost art I prove
And speak my passion-heaven or hell?
She will not give me heaven? 'Tis well!
Lose who may-I still can say,

Those who win heaven, blest are they!

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Robert Browning [1812-1889]

"NEVER THE TIME AND THE PLACE"

NEVER the time and the place

And the loved one all together! This path-how soft to pace!

This May-what magic weather!
Where is the loved one's face?

In a dream that loved one's face meets mine,
But the house is narrow, the place is bleak
Where, outside, rain and wind combine

With a furtive ear, if I strive to speak,
With a hostile eye at my flushing cheek,
With a malice that marks each word, each sign!
O enemy sly and serpentine,

Uncoil thee from the waking man!

Do I hold the Past

Thus firm and fast

Yet doubt if the Future hold I can?

This path so soft to pace shall lead

Through the magic of May to herself indeed!
Or narrow if needs the house must be,
Outside are the storms and strangers: we-
Oh, close, safe, warm sleep I and she,

-I and she!

Robert Browning [1812-1889]

SONG

From "The Saint's Tragedy "

OH! that we two were Maying

Down the stream of the soft spring breeze;

Like children with violets playing

In the shade of the whispering trees.

Oh! that we two sat dreaming

On the sward of some sheep-trimmed down,
Watching the white mist steaming

Over river and mead and town.

Oh! that we two lay sleeping

In our nest in the churchyard sod,

With our limbs at rest on the quiet earth's breast, And our souls at home with God!

Charles Kingsley [1819-1875]

TWICE

I TOOK my heart in my hand
(O my love, O my love),
I said: Let me fall or stand,
Let me live or die,

But this once hear me speak

(O my love, O my love)Yet a woman's words are weak; You should speak, not I.

You took my heart in your hand
With a friendly smile,

With a critical eye you scanned,

Then set it down,

And said, "It is still unripe,

Better wait awhile;

Wait while the skylarks pipe,

Till the corn grows brown.”

As you set it down it broke-
Broke, but I did not wince;
I smiled at the speech you spoke,
At your judgment I heard:
But I have not often smiled

Since then, nor questioned since,
Nor cared for cornflowers wild,
Nor sung with the singing bird.

I take

Jessie

my heart in my hand,
O my God, O my God,
My broken heart in my hand:
Thou hast seen, judge Thou.
My hope was written on sand,
O my God, O my God:
Now let thy judgment stand-
Yea, judge me now.

This contemned of a man,

This marred one heedless day,

This heart take thou to scan
Both within and without:
Refine with fire its gold,

Purge Thou its dross away—
Yea, hold it in Thy hold,

Whence none can pluck it out.

I take my heart in my hand-
I shall not die, but live-
Before Thy face I stand;

I, for Thou callest such:

All that I have I bring,
All that I am I give,
Smile Thou and I shall sing,

But shall not question much.

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Christina Georgina Rossetti [1830-1894]

JESSIE

WHEN Jessie comes with her soft breast,

And yields the golden keys,

Then is it as if God caressed

Twin babes upon His knees

Twin babes that, each to other pressed,

Just feel the Father's arms, wherewith they both are blessed.

But when I think if we must part,

And all this personal dream be fled

O then my heart! O then my useless heart!

Would God that thou wert dead

A clod insensible to joys and ills—

A stone remote in some bleak gully of the hills! Thomas Edward Brown [1830-1897]

THE CHESS-BOARD

My little love, do you remember,
Ere we were grown so sadly wise,
Those evenings in the bleak December,
Curtained warm from the snowy weather,
When you and I played chess together,
Checkmated by each other's eyes?

Ah! still I see your soft white hand Hovering warm o'er Queen and Knight; Brave Pawns in valiant battle stand; The double Castles guard the wings; The Bishop, bent on distant things, Moves, sliding, through the fight.

Our fingers touch; our glances meet,
And falter; falls your golden hair

Against my cheek; your bosom sweet
Is heaving. Down the field, your Queen
Rides slow, her soldiery all between,
And checks me unaware.

Ah me! the little battle's done:

Dispersed is all its chivalry.

Full many a move, since then, have we

'Mid Life's perplexing chequers made,

And many a game with Fortune played;—
What is it we have won?

This, this at least,-if this alone:

That never, never, never more,

As in those old still nights of yore
(Ere we were grown so sadly wise),
Can you and I shut out the skies,