Seven Songs

Asleep! O sleep a little while, white pearl!
And let me kneel, and let me pray to thee,
And let me call Heaven's blessing on thine eyes,
And let me breathe into the happy air
That doth enfold and touch thee all about,
Vows of my slavery, my giving up,
My sudden adoration, my great love!

When we two parted
    In silence and tears, 
Half broken-hearted
    To sever for years, 
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
    Colder thy kiss; 
Truly that hour foretold
    Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
    Sunk chill on my brow -- 
It felt like the warning
    Of what I feel now. 
Thy vows are all broken,
    And light is thy fame; 
I hear thy name spoken,
    And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
    A knell to mine ear; 
A shudder comes o'er me --
    Why wert thou so dear? 
They know not I knew thee,
    Who knew thee too well:-- 
Long, long shall I rue thee,
    Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met --
    In silence I grieve 
That thy heart could forget,
    Thy spirit deceive. 
If I should meet thee
    After long years, 
How should I greet thee? --
    With silence and tears.

The apple trees are hung with gold,
  And birds are loud in Arcady,
The sheep lie bleating in the fold,
The wild goat runs across the wold,
But yesterday his love he told,
  I know he will come back to me.
O rising moon! O Lady moon!
  Be you my lover's sentinel,
  You cannot choose but know him well,
For he is shod with purple shoon,
You cannot choose but know my love,
  For he a shepherd's crook doth bear,
And he is soft as any dove,
  And brown and curly is his hair.
  
The turtle now has ceased to call
  Upon her crimson-footed groom,
The grey wolf prowls about the stall,
The lily's singing seneschal
Sleeps in the lily-bell, and all
  The violet hills are lost in gloom.
O risen moon! O holy moon!
  Stand on the top of Helice,
  And if my own true love you see,
Ah! if you see the purple shoon,
The hazel crook, the lad's brown hair,
  The goat-skin wrapped about his arm,
Tell him that I am waiting where
  The rushlight glimmers in the Farm.
  
The falling dew is cold and chill,
  And no bird sings in Arcady,
The little fauns have left the hill,
Even the tired daffodil
Has closed its gilded doors, and still
  My lover comes not back to me.
False moon! False moon! O waning moon!
  Where is my own true lover gone,
  Where are the lips vermilion,
The shepherd's crook, the purple shoon?
Why spread that silver pavilion,
  Why wear that veil of drifting mist?
Ah! thou hast young Endymion,
  Thou hast the lips that should be kissed!