Six songs

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Alas when thou went near I wish'd thee far
But now thy distance is a jangling pain
That all the harmony of life must mar.
All day I murmur, "Wilt thou come again?"
Unless thou wilt return, I sing no more;
A hawk o'er towers the songbird of my heart;
Leagues have I drifted on toward the shore of mute remorse

Since we were driven apart
For though to sing is more to me than breath,
If I might only sing one worthy song
Who sings beneath the basilisk eyes of death?
Or, worse than death, the hovering wing of wrong?

They have o'er me like a brooding mist
That beams the mountains in the morning light,
And blemishes the austered amethyst
Of pleasure's grapes with grey mysterious blight.
Alas when thou are near I wish'd thee far
But now thy distance is a jangling pain
That all the harmony of life must mar;
All day I murmur, "Wilt thou come again?"

There eyes, where laughing loves recline,
There lips that just divided pout,
To let the fluttering kisses out,
Like birds from love's own shrine.
To pain or please you gave me these
But still I ask, "Will you be mine?"

These glances that so ardent shine,
These words that come with reckless rout
And rush of passion thronging out
Sweet vows at love's own shrine.
To pain or please you gave me these,
But still I ask, "Will you be mine?"

In weal or woe, in love's eternal bond
In life and death, and all that lies beyond
Will you be mine?

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— This text is not currently
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as soon as we obtain it. —

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