Five songs with pianoforte , opus 43

How fair the night! How fair the night!
In sky and sea the crescent moon so bright!
Did sea and sky
Perchance a silver sixpence break
For sweet love’s sake?

But you and I
No vows did make,
For well we knew
What empty things are words when hearts are true!

It was evening.

He chanced to be passing the stile,
Wherein the dogroses blow;
She chanced to be picking the roses the while,
What then? Why of course they encountered, you smile.
It happened by chance, you know.

She held in her hand the rare four-leavèd clover
That chanced by the stile to grow;
They say ’tis a sign of meeting your lover,
But the lucky old days of the fairies are over,
And it happened by chance, you know.

Of course the old tale is worth less than a puff
Of the lightest of Zephyrs; but oh!
If she could believe there were truth in the stuff,
And he could confirm her impressions – enough!
It happened by chance, you know.

Soft, softly the shadows around them fell,
As faded the evening’s bright glow;
And suppose that he lingered a tale to tell,
And suppose that she tarried to heaken it; well, well,
It happened by chance, you know.

She waits for him apart,
Patiently, –
Alone with breaking heart
Tarries he.
Such grief is Love, I ween
When shadows come between:
And yet, – it might have been.
Woe is me!

The teardrop on her cheek
Saw not he.
The words he dared to speak
Ne’er knew she.
For lack of sign or token,
His love hath ne’er been spoken;
And so – two hearts are broken.
Woe is me.

"Here's pansies, that's for thoughts!"
Ah, no. My thoughts are thine!
Hearts-ease thou never could'st bestow,
Nor I call mine.

Then keep the pansies. 
Meet for thee their glowing hue.
Remembrance, rosemary for me,
And sprigs of rue.

If Love would tell or Love could guess
What heart and lip would fain confess,
Ah, sweetheart,
If!

If Love could read with daedal art
One May-morn maiden's wayward heart,
Ah, sweetheart,
If!

If Love had known the fancied claim
Which bowed his head in needless shame,
Ah, sweetheart,
If!

If Love from doubt in trust would rise;
If only earth were Paradise,
Ah, sweetheart,
If!