Twelve Songs with Pianoforte Accompaniment , opus 22

"Love me," she said, "not only for to-day,
Or for tomorrow, or for years to come,
But ever and for ever, and alway 
Let my heart find within thy heart its home, 
And not one passing cloud or shadow be, 
Beloved one, between thy soul and me."

"Love me," she said, "at rise and fall of day; 
Love me in summer most, and most in spring; 
Love me in every simple word I say,
And place around my path a magic ring 
Of sweetness and protection, full and free,
All rising from thy tender love for me."

 ... 

"Love me," she said, "for I may often fail 
In judgment, and in daily needs and power;
But if thou lovest me, it will avail 
To smooth each rising wave from hour to hour; 
And whatsoe'er short comings there may be, 
Think of this always — that thou lovest me."

What is the end of fame? 'Tis but to fill
A certain portion of uncertain paper.
Some liken it to climbing up a hill,
Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour.
For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill,
And bards burn what they call their midnight taper,
To have, when the original is dust,
A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust.

When I am dead, my dearest,
  Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
  Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
  With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
  And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not see the shadows,
  I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
  Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
  That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
  And haply may forget.

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary ;
It rains and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldr'ng wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
  And the day is cold and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It  rains and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mould'ring Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
  And the days are cold and dreary.

Be still, sad heart!  and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
  Some days must be dark and dreary.

Go where glory waits thee,
But, while fame elates thee,
Oh! still remember me.
When the praise thou meetest,
To thine ear is sweetest,
O! then remember me.
Other arms may press thee,
Dearer friends caress thee,
All the joys that bless thee,
Sweeter far may be;
But when friends are nearest,
And when joys are dearest,
O! then remember me!

When, at eve, thou rovest
By the star thou lovest,
O! then remember me.
Think, when home returning,
Bright we 've seen it burning,
O! thus remember me.
Oft as summer closes,
When thine eye reposes
On its ling'ring roses,
Once so loved by thee,
Think of her who wove them,
Her who made thee love them,
O! then remember me!

When, around thee dying,
Autumn leaves are lying,
O! then remember me.
And, at night, when gazing
On the gay hearth blazing,
O! still remember me.
Then should music, stealing
All the soul of feeling,
To thy heart appealing,
Draw one tear from thee;
Then let memory bring thee
Strains I used to sing thee
O! then remember me!

Come not, when I am dead,
To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave,
To trample round my fallen head,
And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst not save.
There let the wind sweep and the plover cry;
But thou, go by.

Child, if it were thine error or thy crime
I care no longer, being all unblest:
Wed whom thou wilt, but I am sick of Time,
And I desire to rest.
Pass on, weak heart, and leave me where I lie:
Go by, go by.

Where cloudlets float within the aether vale
And waters break upon a tearless shore;
Sweet tuneful harmony, incessant roar;
All day the sun; at night the moon grows pale;
For me a never ceasing melody;
Alone on some vast height, beneath the sea, 
Fitful and wild scudding across its breast 
From pole to pole, the wailings of a world. 
Ah me! to soar above this wild unrest
To roam at will where mortals ne'er have been
And wander o'er the pathless rocks unseen.
O let me dream on this enchanted shore
And hear the mighty waters rolling ever more!

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
 ... 

When I dream that you love me, you'll surely forgive;
  Extend not your anger to sleep;
For in visions alone your affection can live;
  I rise, and it leaves me to weep.

Then, Morpheus! envelop my faculties fast,
  Shed o'er me your languor benign;
Should the dream of to-night but resemble the last,
  What rapture celestial is mine!

They tell us that slumber, the sister of death,
  Mortality's emblem is given;
To fate how I long to resign my frail breath,
  If this be a foretaste of Heaven!

 ... 

Good-night? ah! no; the hour is ill
Which severs those it should unite;
Let us remain together still,
Then it will be good night.

How can I call the lone night good,
Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight?
Be it not said, thought, understood --
Then it will be -- good night.

To hearts which near each other move
From evening close to morning light,
The night is good; because, my love,
They never say good-night. 

When evening hushed in beauty lies
At the feet of the gathering night,
Bend on me then thy love-deep eyes
Like rays from the starry height,
And as the bosom of the lake
Reflects each treasured beam,
So shall my yearning soul awake
To the angel of my dream.

There is an hour when lover's dreams
Portray a theme so fair,
And in that transient hour it seems
Thou shouldst in truth be there.
For all my soul remembers thee
Not in the sullen day,
But when the stars shine silently
I pine for thee away.

Old Time went loit'ring with a maid
O'er meadowsweet and daisy,
He laughed to think she thought him slow
And long to go and lazy.
He pressed his slender hourglass,
His golden sands dilating,
For Time, you know,
Will never go,
When Love is waiting.

The maiden's lover came to pass
O'er meadowsweet and daisy;
He held her fast; "Ah, sweet," he cried,
"Old Time is surely crazy.
He will not stay,
He speeds away,
His sands are all gyrating,
For Time is fleet
When lovers meet
And hearts are mating.

But lovers linger ne'ertheless
O'er meadowsweet and daisy
And tread the path of primroses
And tread the woodlands mazy.
For Time the Tyrant jeers in vain
His hoary malice voicing;
He might be fled,
Lost, stolen or dead,
'Twere all the same when lovers wed,
Love laughs rejoicing.