Five songs , opus 17

Fidelis was the word, 
A rosebud smile the wand 
To touch my soul that stirred 
All ecstasy beyond, 
Like a soaring bird. 

The bird is in the skies, 
My heart was even there, 
Where Summer's cradle lies 
Rocked by a secret air 
Slipped from Paradise. 

The Summer light it goes, 
The bird away it flies, 
And Love is one with those : 
The rose that never dies 
Never was a rose. 

— This text is not currently
in the database but will be added
as soon as we obtain it. —

Of old we knew a glade 
Whose morn and evening shade 
Were dearer than the shine 
Of all the hills divine. 
One flower is alway best ; 
And, hidden near the nest, 
One bird of all the brood 
Will sanctify the wood. 

Favonius from the setting sun, 
Sigh, sigh not so upon her tresses ! 
What though thou diest in the dun, 
She trembled at thy mute caresses. 

The rose shall lose her diadem, 
The nightingale shall weep his singing, 
And Love shall hear his requiem 
From bells that Sorrow sets a-ringing. 

Delight is alway in the earth, 
From soul to soul a meteor flying. 
And as some spirit gives it birth 
Some other spirit feels it dying.

How blest the wounded bird that sings 
With such a woodland ecstasy, 
Till song is Sorrow's self, and he 
Folds on thy roof his fretted wings, 
All pain forgotten when with thee ! 

Thus would my wandered heart achieve 
(So far outborne on wayward tide) 
A still roof in thy heart, to hide 
Shielded from lonely Night, and weave 
Youth's dream again, and there abide 

One bird upon the roof, 
A chorister forlorn, 
Sings to the cloistered Morn, 
Hid in her cloudy woof, 
A song that doth unfold 
Itself in plaited gold. 

Sing what I ne'er can say 
The wave may love the shore, 
The flowers the dews that pour, 
The tired winds love to stay 
On cliffs where moss has lain, 
Spent with the toiling main. 

Dearer to me one heart 
Where I would love to dwell, 
Woven with magic spell 
Into its inner part; 
Sunk in its secrecy 
Like a star in the sea.