Round thee blow, self-pleached deep, And long purples of the dale. These in every shower creep Through the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. vi. The gold-eyed kingcups fine ; The frail bluebell peereth over Rare broidry of the purple clover. Let them rave. Kings have no such couch as thine, As the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. VII. Wild words wander here and there; God's great gift of speech abused Makes thy memory confused But let them rave. The balm-cricket carols clear In the green that folds thy grave. LOVE AND DEATH. WHAT time the mighty moon was gathering light And all about him roll'd his lustrous eyes; When, turning round a cassia, full in view Death, walking all alone beneath a yew, And talking to himself, first met his sight: "You must begone," said Death, "these walks are mine." Love wept and spread his sheeny vans for flight; Yet ere he parted said, "This hour is thine : Thou art the shadow of life, and as the tree Stands in the sun and shadows all beneath, Life eminent creates the shade of death; The shadow passeth when the tree shall fall, THE BALLAD OF ORIANA. My heart is wasted with my woe, Oriana. There is no rest for me below, Oriana. When the long dun wolds are ribb'd with snow, And loud the Norland whirlwinds blow, Oriana, Alone I wander to and fro, Oriana. Ere the light on dark was growing, Oriana, At midnight the cock was crowing, Winds were blowing, waters flowing, Oriana; Aloud the hollow bugle blowing, Oriana. In the yew-wood black as night, Ere I rode into the fight, Oriana, While blissful tears blinded my sight By star-shine and by moonlight, Oriana, I to thee my troth did plight, Oriana. |