97 PROUD ROUD word you never spoke, but you will speak Over my open volume, you will say, 98 Walter Savage Landor RONSARD TO HIS MISTRESS SOME COME winter night, shut snugly in I think I see you sit and spin, There's not a maiden in your hall, Of lady cold and lover true, "Our lady's old and feeble now," They'll say: "she once was fresh and fair, And yet she spurned her lover's vow, The lover lies in silent earth, No kindly mate the lady cheers; With threescore and ten years!" Ah! dreary thoughts and dreams are those, While yet the dame is peerless fair! William Makepeace Thackeray ODE TO CASSANDRA1 EE, Lady, how the selfsame rose, Its purple petals to the sun, Alas! see how each flitting hour, And why should roses flourish less Than dures a day from morn to eve! 1 Translated by William F. Giese. Nay, heed, oh heed me, Lady mine, And cull youth's blossoms, lovely Maid- Pierre Ronsard 100 Go, lovely rose! Tell her that wastes her time That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts, where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired; Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Then die! that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee; How small a part of time they share and me, Edmund Waller My lady comes at last, Timid, and stepping fast And hastening hither, With modest eyes downcast; She comes she's here-she's past! Kneel undisturbed, fair Saint! Meekly and duly; I will not enter there, To sully your pure prayer With thoughts unruly. 102 But suffer me to pace Round the forbidden place, Lingering a minute, Like outcast spirits, who wait, William Makepeace Thackeray TO HELEN JELEN, thy beauty is to me On desperate seas long wont to roam, Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche The agate lamp within thy hand! Edgar Allan Poe 103 WEET stream, that winds through yonder glade, SWE Apt emblem of a virtuous maid,— Silent and chaste she steals along, Far from the world's gay, busy throng; |