Four songs , opus 67

Dew in the heart of the rose,
Spirit of lambent fire;
Breath of the wind that blows,
Voice of the Spring's desire;
Soul of the song that thrills
With rapture through earth and sea,
Light of the dawn on the darkling hills,
Such is my love to me.

Blithe are her feet that fall,
Quickening the tender grass,
Sweet are her lips that call,
As the music of streams that pass;
The sum of the world's delight,
In all fair things that be,
Star of the mariner's longing sight,
Such is my love to me.

Love guides the roses of thy lips,
And flies about them like a bee;
If I approach he forward skips,
And if I kiss he stingeth me.
Love in thine eyes doth build his bower,
And sleeps within their pretty shine;
And if I look the boy will lower,
And from their orbs shoot shafts divine.
 ... 
Love, let me cull her choicest flowers,
And pity me, and calm her eye,
Make soft her heart, dissolve her lowers,
Then will I praise thy deity.
 ... 

Once at the Angelus
(Ere I was dead),
Angels all glorious
Came to my Bed; --
Angels in blue and white
Crowned on the Head.

One was the Friend I left
Stark in the Snow;
One was the Wife that died
Long, -- long ago;
One was the Love I lost . . .
How could she know?

One had my Mother's eyes,
Wistful and mild;
One had my Father's face;
One was a Child:
All of them bent to me, --
Bent down and smiled!

The winds of morning move and sing;
The western stars are lingering;
In the pale east one planet still
Shines large above King Philip's hill;--

And near, in gold against the blue,
The old moon, in its arms the new.
Lo, the deep waters of the bay
Stir with the breath of hurrying day.

Wake, loved one, wake and look with me
Across the narrow, dawn-lit sea!
Such beauty is not wholly mine
Till thou, dear heart, hast made it thine.