Six Songs , opus 20

If love were what the rose is,
  And I were like the leaf,
Our lives would grow together
In sad or singing weather,
Blown fields or flowerful closes,
  Green pleasure or grey grief;
If love were what the rose is,
  And I were like the leaf.

If I were what the words are,
  And love were like the tune,
With double sound [or]1 single
Delight our lips would mingle,
With kisses glad as birds are
  That get sweet rain at noon;
If I were what the words are,
  And love were like the tune.

If you were life, my darling,
  And I your love were death,
We 'd shine and snow together
Ere March made sweet the weather
With daffodil and starling
  And hours of fruitful breath;
If you were life, my darling,
  And I your love were death.

If you were thrall to sorrow,
  And I were page to joy,
We 'd play for lives and seasons
With loving looks and treasons
And tears of night and morrow
  And laughs of maid and boy;
If you were thrall to sorrow,
  And I were page to joy.

If you were April's lady,
  And I were lord in May,
We 'd throw with leaves for hours
And draw for days with flowers,
Till day like night were shady
  And night were bright like day;
If you were April's lady,
  And I were lord in May.

If you were queen of pleasure,
  And I were king of pain,
We 'd hunt down love together,
Pluck out his flying-feather,
  And teach his feet a measure,
And find his mouth a rein;
  If you were queen of pleasure,
And I were king of pain.

He kissed me, and I knew 't was wrong,
For he was neither kith nor kin.
Must one do penance very long
For such a tiny little sin?

He pressed my hand, that was not right;
Why will men have such wicked ways?
It was not for a moment quite,
But in it there were days and days.

There's mischief in the moon, I know,
I'm positive I saw it wink;
When I requested him to go,
I meant it too, I think.

Yet after all, I'm not to blame,
He took the kiss. I do think men
Are born without a sense of shame.
I wonder when he'll come again?

The sun is set, but there falls no dew;
The year is old an the moon is new.
My fate is cruel, my heart is true,
And I sit in the silence and think of you,
My dearest, dear little heart.

I sit in the silence and watch the skies
As the tender red of the evening dies.
My fate is cruel, but faith defies
The dreary night that between us lies,
My dearest, dear little heart.

All the dreaming is broken through;
Both what is done and undone I rue.
Nothing is steadfast, nothing is true
But your love for me and my love for you,
My dearest, dear little heart.

With the waves that ebb, with waves that flow,
When the winds are loud, when the winds are low,
When the roses come, when the roses go
One thought, one feeling is all I know,
My dearest dear little heart.

The time is weary, the year is old;
The light o' the lily burns close to the mould.
The grave is cruel, the grave is cold,
But the other side is the city of gold,
My dearest dear little heart.

My lady is sweet and tender, and the charm of her presence lingers
In the sunwarm room where she kisses my lips and goes;
And my cheeks are all a-glow with the touch of her dainty fingers,
And my lips are sealed for love of her, but she knows.

My lady is true and tender, ah ! my heart is staunch and tender,
And I am weak and trustless as the wildest wind that blows.
But I love to watch my lady as I love to watch the splendour
That burns in regal glory, in the exquisite heart of the rose.

What does the little one see down there
In the cups of the crocuses fresh and fair
With their purple tints and delicate veins,
Born of spring sunshine and April rains,
Her eager feet pausing in glad surprise,
A happy light shining from wond'ring eyes
As she catches their fragrance faint and sweet,
Pure blossoms for Easter morning meet?

Sees she a meaning hidden well
In the trembling heart of the fragile bell,
A blessing withheld from the prudent and wise,
Yet granted, perchance, to the trusting eyes
Of him, who with simple, patient mind
Waits God's own time, the answer to find
To mysteries deep and questionings wild,
And entereth in like a little child?

When the buds begin to swell,
When the streams leap through the dell,
When the swallows dip and fly
Wheeling, circling through the sky,
When the violet bids the rose
Waken from its long repose,
When the gnats in sunshine dance,
When the long bright hours advance,
When the robin by the door
Sings as ne'er he sang before;
Then, when heart and flow'r and wing
Leap and laugh - then comes the spring!