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Room enough for guessing yet,
What lips now or long ago,

Kissed and named you - Colinette.
In what fields from sea to sea,

By what stream your home was set,
Loire or Seine was glad of thee,

Marne or Rhone, O Colinette?
Did you stand with maidens ten,

Fairer maids were never seen,
When the young king and his men

Passed among the orchards green?
Nay, old ballads have a note

Mournful, we would fain forget;
No such sad old air should float

Round your young brows, Colinette.
Say, did Ronsard sing to you,

Shepherdess, to lull his pain,
When the court went wandering through

Rose pleasances of Touraine?
Ronsard and his famous Rose

Long are dust the breezes fret;
You, within the garden close,

You are blooming, Colinette.
Have I seen you proud and gay,

With a patched and perfumed beau,
Dancing through the summer day,

Misty summer of Watteau?
Nay, so sweet a maid as you

Never walked a minuet
With the splendid courtly crew;

Nay, forgive me, Colinette.
Not from Greuze's canvases

Do you cast a glance, a smile;
You are not as one of these,

Yours is beauty without guile.
Round your maiden brows and hair

Maidenhood and Childhood met
Crown and kiss you, sweet and fair,

New art's blossom, Colinette.
A SUNSET OF WATTEAU.

LUI.
The silk sail fills, the soft winds wake,

Arise and tempt the seas;
Our ocean is the Palace lake,

Our waves the ripples that we make
Among the mirrored trees.

ELLE.
Nay, sweet the shore, and sweet the song,

And dear the languid dream;
The music mingled all day long

With paces of the dancing throng,
And murmur of the stream.

An hour ago, an hour ago,
We rested in the shade;

And now, why should we seek to know
What way the wilful waters flow?

There is no fairer glade.
LUI.

Nay, pleasure flits, and we must sail,
And seek him everywhere;

Perchance in sunset's golden pale
He listens to the nightingale,

Amid the perfumed air.
Come, he has fled; you are not you,

And I no more am I;
Delight is changeful as the hue

Of heaven, that is no longer blue
In yonder sunset sky.

ELLE.
Nay, if we seek we shall not find,

If we knock none openeth;
Nay, see, the sunset fades behind

The mountains, and the cold night wind
Blows from the house of Death.

NIGHTINGALE WEATHER.
'Serai-je nonnette, oui ou non?

Semi-je nonnette? je crois que non.
Derriere chez mon pere

Il est un bois taillis,
Le rossignol y chante

Et le jour et la nuit.
Il chante pour les filles

Qui n'ont pas d'ami;
Il ne chant pas pour moi,

J'en ai un, Dieu merci.' - Old French
I'll never be a nun, I trow,

While apple bloom is white as snow,
But far more fair to see;

I'll never wear nun's black and white
While nightingales make sweet the night

Within the apple tree.
Ah, listen! 'tis the nightingale,

And in the wood he makes his wail,
Within the apple tree;

He singeth of the sore distress
Of many ladies loverless;

Thank God, no song for me.
For when the broad May moon is low,

A gold fruit seen where blossoms blow
In the boughs of the apple tree,

A step I know is at the gate;
Ah love, but it is long to wait

Until night's noon bring thee!
Between lark's song and nightingale's

A silent space, while dawning pales,
The birds leave still and free

For words and kisses musical,
For silence and for sighs that fall

In the dawn, 'twixt him and me.
LOVE AND WISDOM.

'When last we gathered roses in the garden
I found my wits, but truly you lost yours.'

The Broken Heart.
July and June brought flowers and love

To you, but I would none thereof,
Whose heart kept all through summer time

A flower of frost and winter rime.
Yours was true wisdom - was it not?

Even love; but I had clean forgot,
Till seasons of the falling leaf,

All loves, but one that turned to grief.
At length at touch of autumn tide

When roses fell, and summer died,
All in a dawning deep with dew,

Love flew to me, Love fled from you.
The roses drooped their weary heads,

I spoke among the garden beds;
You would not hear, you could not know,

Summer and love seemed long ago,
As far, as faint, as dim a dream,

As to the dead this world may seem.
Ah sweet, in winter's miseries,

Perchance you may remember this,
How Wisdom was not justified

In summer time or autumn tide,
Though for this once below the sun,

Wisdom and Love were made at one;
But Love was bitter-bought enough,

And Wisdom light of wing as Love.
GOOD-BYE.

Kiss me, and say good-bye;
Good-bye, there is no word to say but this,

Nor any lips left for my lips to kiss,
Nor any tears to shed, when these tears dry;

Kiss me, and say, good-bye.
Farewell, be glad, forget;

There is no need to say 'forget,' I know,
For youth is youth, and time will have it so,

And though your lips are pale, and your eyes wet,
Farewell, you must forget.

You shall bring home your sheaves,
Many, and heavy, and with blossoms twined

Of memories that go not out of mind;
Let this one sheaf be twined with poppy leaves

When you bring home your sheaves.
In garnered loves of thine,

The ripe good fruit of many hearts and years,
Somewhere let this lie, grey and salt with tears;

It grew too near the sea wind, and the brine
Of life, this love of mine.

This sheaf was spoiled in spring,
And over-long was green, and early sere,

And never gathered gold in the late year
From autumn suns, and moons of harvesting,

But failed in frosts of spring.
Yet was it thine, my sweet,

This love, though weak as young corn withered,
Whereof no man may gather and make bread;

Thine, though it never knew the summer heat;
Forget not quite, my sweet.

AN OLD PRAYER.
[Greek text which cannot be reproduced]

Odyssey, XIII.
My prayer an old prayer borroweth,

Of ancient love and memory -
'Do thou farewell, till Eld and Death,

That come to all men, come to thee.'
Gently as winter's early breath,

Scarce felt, what time the swallows flee,
To lands whereof no man knoweth

Of summer, over land and sea;
So with thy soul may summer be,

Even as the ancient singer saith,
'Do thou farewell, till Eld and Death,

That come to all men, come to thee.'
A LA BELLE HELENE.

After Ronsard.
More closely than the clinging vine

About the wedded tree,
Clasp thou thine arms, ah, mistress mine!

About the heart of me.
Or seem to sleep, and stoop your face

Soft on my sleeping eyes,
Breathe in your life, your heart, your grace,

Through me, in kissing wise.
Bow down, bow down your face, I pray,

To me, that swoon to death,
Breathe back the life you kissed away,

Breathe back your kissing breath.
So by your eyes I swear and say,

My mighty oath and sure,


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