Beneath her eyelids deep Love lying seems asleep, To laugh, to gaze; Her breasts are like white birds, As water-grass to herds In the June-days. To her all dews that fall In the least breath that stirs Across the trees. She grows with greenest leaves, The quiet lands and skies None knows her, weak or wise, Or tired or glad. None knows, none understands, What snows are like her feet, Through gazing on my sweet,— Only this thing is said; That white and gold and red, God's three chief words, man's bread And oil and wine, "Meet We No Angels, Pansie?" 567 • Were given her for dowers, This is my lady's praise: Wrought her in unknown ways, This is my lady's birth; God gave her might and mirth. Under deep apple boughs All saying but what God saith To her is as vain breath; She is more strong than death, Being strong as love. Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909] "MEET WE NO ANGELS, PANSIE?" CAME, on a Sabbath morn, my sweet, The grass grew proud beneath her feet, She said, "We meet no angels now"; What! meet no angels, Pansie? O sweet brown hat, brown hair, brown eyes, But, meet we no angels, Pansic? Thomas Ashe [1836-1889] TO DAPHNE LIKE apple-blossoms, white and red; Are Daphne's blushing cheeks, I swear. That pretty rose, which comes and goes Oh, sweet! oh, fair! beyond compare, Are Daphne's blushing cheeks, I swear. Ah! when it lies round lips and eyes, Than still to cry, and still to sing: Are Daphne's cheeks, Are Daphne's blushing cheeks, I swear. Walter Besant [1836-1901] "GIRL OF THE RED MOUTH" GIRL of the red mouth, Love me! Love me! Girl of the red mouth, Love me! The Daughter of Mendoza "Tis by its curve, I know, Love fashioneth his bow, And bends it-ah, even so! Oh, girl of the red mouth, love me! Girl of the blue eye, Love me! Love me! Girl of the dew eye, Love me! Worlds hang for lamps on high; Oh, girl of the blue eye, love me! Girl of the swan's neck, Love me! Love me! Girl of the swan's neck, As a marble Greek doth grow To his steed's back of snow, Thy white neck sits thy shoulder so, Oh, girl of the swan's neck, love me! Girl of the low voice, Love me! Love me! Girl of the sweet voice, Love me! Like the echo of a bell, Like the bubbling of a well, Sweeter! Love within doth dwell, 569 Oh, girl of the low voice, love me! THE DAUGHTER OF MENDOZA O LEND to me, sweet nightingale, And lend to me your cadences, 570 That I may sing my gay brunette, The daughter of Mendoza. How brilliant is the morning star, Their softness and their splendor. O ever bright and beauteous one, The rainbow in thy smiling; The bounding of the young gazelle, The arrow's flight and ocean's swell- What though, perchance, we no more meet, What though too soon we sever? Before my vision ever. For who can see and then forget The glories of my gay brunette Thou art too bright a star to set, Sweet daughter of Mendoza! Mirabeau Bonaparte Lamar [1798-1859] IF SHE BE MADE OF WHITE AND RED " IF she be made of white and red, |