“Oh for the Thames and its rippling reaches, Where almond rushes and breezes sport! Take me a walk under Burnham Beeches; Give me a dinner at Hampton Court!” Poets, be still, though your hearts I harden; We’ve flowers by day, and have scents at dark; The limes are in leaf in the cockney garden, And lilacs blossom in Regent’s Park.
“Come for a blow,” says a reckless fellow, Burn’d red and brown by passionate sun; “Come to the downs, where the gorse is yellow The season of kisses has just begun! Come to the fields where bluebells shiver, Hear cuckoo’s carol, or plaint of dove: Come for a row on the silent river; Come to the meadows and learn to love!”
Yes, I will come when this wealth is over Of softened colour and perfect tone: The lilac’s better than fields of clover; I’ll come when blossoming May has flown. When dust and dirt of a trampled city Have dragged the yellow laburnum down, I’ll take my holiday,--more’s the pity,-- And turn my back upon London town.
Margaret! am I so wrong to love it, This misty town that your face shines through? A crown of blossom is waved above it; But heart and life of the whirl--’tis you! Margaret! pearl! I have sought and found you; And though the paths of the wind are free, I’ll follow the ways of the world around you, And build my nest on the nearest tree.
Love in my heart! oh, heart of me, heart of me! Love is my tyrant, Love is supreme. What if he passeth, oh, heart of me, heart of me! Love is a phantom, and Life is a dream!
What if he changeth, oh, heart of me, heart of me! Oh, can the waters be void of the wind? What if he wendeth afar and apart from me, What if he leave me to perish behind?
What if he passeth, oh, heart of me, heart of me! A flame i’ the dusk, a breath of Desire? Nay, my sweet Love is the heart and the soul of me, And I am the innermost heart of his fire!
Love in my heart! oh, heart of me, heart of me! Love is my tyrant, Love is supreme. What if he passeth, oh, heart of me, heart of me! Love is a phantom, and Life is a dream!
In and out the osier beds, all along the shallows, Lifts and laughs the soft south wind, or swoons among the grasses. But, ah! whose following feet are these that bend the tall marsh-mallows? Who laughs so low and sweet? Who sighs--and passes?