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Beat time to nothing in my head

From some odd corner of the brain.
It haunted me, the morning long,

With weary sameness in the rhymes,
The phantom of a silent song,

That went and came a thousand times.


Then leapt a trout. In lazy mood
I watch'd the little circles die;
They past into the level flood,
And there a vision caught my eye;
The reflex of a beauteous form,
A glowing arm, a gleaming neck,
As when a sunbeam wavers warm
Within the dark and dimpled beck.
For you remember, you had set

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That morning, on the casement's edge

A long green box of mignonette,


And you were leaning from the ledge:ont
And when I raised my eyes, above
They met with two so full and b
Such eyes! I swear to you, my love,
That these have never lost their light.

I loved, and love dispell'd the fear
That I should die an early death:
For love possess'd the atmosphere,
And fill'd the breast with purer breath,
My mother thought, What ails the boy?
For I was alter'd, and began

To move about the house with joy,
And with the certain step of man.

I loved the brimming wave that swam
Thro' quiet meadows round the mill,
The sleepy pool above the dam,

The pool beneath it never still,
The meal-sacks on the whiten'd floor,
The dark round of the dripping wheel,

The very air about the door

Made misty with the floating meal.
And oft in ramblings on the wold,
When April nights began to blow,
And April's crescent glimmer'd cold,
I saw the village lights below;

I knew your taper far away,
And full at heart of trembling hope,
From off the wold I came, and lay
Upon the freshly-flower'd slope.

The deep brook groan'à beneath the mill;
And "by that lamp," I thought, "she sits!"
The white chalk-quarry from the hill
Gleam'd to the flying moon by fits.
"O that I were beside her now!
O will she answer if I call?
O would she give me vow for vow,
Sweet Alice, if I told her all ?"

Sometimes I saw you sit and spin ;
And, in the pauses of the wind,
Sometimes I heard you sing within;
Sometimes your shadow cross'd the blind.
At last you rose and moved the light,
And the long shadow of the chair
Flitted across into the night,

And all the casement darken'd there.
the casement

But when at last I dared to speak,

my The lanes, you know, were white with may,

Your ripe lips moved not, but your cheek

Flush'd like the coming of the day;


And so it was-half-sly, half-shy,

You would, and would not, little one!
Although I pleaded tenderly,

And you and I


all alone.

And slowly was my mother brought
To yield consent to my desire:
She wish'd me happy, but she thought
I might have look'd a little higher;
And I was young-too young to wed:
"Yet must I love her for your sake;
Go fetch your Alice here," she said:

Her eyelid quiver'das she spake.
And down I went to fetch my bride:
But, Alice, you were ill at ease;
This dress and that by turns you tried,
Too fearful that you should not please.
I loved you better for your fears,

I knew you could not look but well;

And dews, that would have fall'n in tears, I kiss'd away before they fell. 20

I watch'd the little flutterings,

The doubt my mother would not see; She spoke at large of many things, And at the last she spoke of me; And turning look'd upon your face, As near this door you sat apart, And rose, and, with a silent grace Approaching, press'd you heart to heart. Ah, well-but sing the foolish song I gave you, Alice, on the day When, arm in arm, we went along, A pensive pair, and you were gay With bridal flowers-that I may seem, As in the nights of old, to lie Beside the mill-wheel in the stream, While those full chestnuts whisper by.

It is the miller's daughter,

And she is grown so dear, so dear,
That I would be the jewel

That trembles at her ear:

For hid in ringlets day and night,
I'd touch her neck so warm and white.

And I would be the girdle

About her dainty dainty waist,

And her heart would beat against me,
In sorrow and in rest :

And I should know if it beat right,

I'd clasp it round so close and tight.

And I would be the necklace,

And all day long to fall and rise
Upon her balmy bosom,

With her laughter or her sighs,
And I would lie so light, so light,
I scarce should be unclasp'd at night.

A trifle, sweet! which true love spells--
True love interprets-right alone.
His light upon the letter dwells,
For all the spirit is his own.
So, if I waste words now, in truth

You must blame Love. His early rage Had force to make me rhyme in youth, And makes me talk too much in age.

And now those vivid hours are gone,
Like mine own life to me thou art,
Where Past and Present, wound in one,
Do make a garland for the heart:
So sing that other song I made,
Half-anger'd with my happy lot,
The day, when in the chestnut shade
I found the blue Forget-me-not.

Love that hath us in the net,
Can he pass, and we forget?
Many suns arise and set.

Many a chance the years beget.
Love the gift is Love the debt.
Even so.

Love is hurt with jar and fret.
Love is made a vague regret.
Eyes with idle tears are wet.
Idle habit links us yet.
What is love? for we forget:
Ah, no! no!


Look thro' mine eyes with thine. True wife, Round my true heart thine arms entwine; My other dearer life in life,

Look thro' my very soul with thine! Untouch'd with any shade of years,

May those kind eyes for ever dwell! They have not shed a many tears,

Dear eyes, since first I knew them well.

Yet tears they shed: they had their part
Of sorrow for when time was ripe,
The still affection of the heart

Became an outward breathing type,
That into stillness past again,

And left a want unknown before;
Although the loss that brought us pain,
That loss but made us love the more,

With farther lookings on. The kiss,
The woven arms, seem but to be
Weak symbols of the settled bliss,

The comfort, I have found in thee:
But that God bless thee, dear-who wrought
Two spirits to one equal mind—
With blessings beyond hope or thought,
With blessings which no words can find.


Fatima walk, my bank

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Arise and let us wander forth,
To yon old mill across the wolds
For look, the sunset, south and north,
Winds all the vale in rosy folds,
And fires your narrow casement glass,
Touching the sullen pool below:
On the chalk-hill the bearded grass
Is dry and dewless. Let us go.





O Love, Love, Love! O withering might!
O sun, that from thy noonday height
Shudderest when I strain my sight,
Throbbing thro' all thy heat and light,
Lo, falling from my constant mind,
Lo, parch'd and wither'd, deaf and blind,
I whirl like leaves in roaring wind.


Last night I wasted hateful hours

Below the city's eastern towers:

I thirsted for the brooks, the showers:

I roll'd among the tender flowers:

I crush'd them on my breast, my mouth:
I look'd athwart the burning drouth

Of that long desert to the south.


Last night, when some one spoke his name,
From my swift blood that went and came
A thousand little shafts of flame

Were shiver'd in my narrow frame.

O Love, O fire! once he drew

With one long kiss my whole soul thro'
My lips, as sunlight drinketh dew.

Before he mounts the hill, I know
He cometh quickly: from below
Sweet gales, as from deep gardens, blow
Before him, striking on my brow.

In my dry brain my spirit soon,
Down-deepening from swoon to swoon,
Faints like a dazzled morning moon.

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