Valentine Song ~ by Robert Argyle Campbell



Dearest, let these roses

In their purity,

Be a present symbol

Of my love for theeUnderneath the blossom

Thorns are sure to grow;

Take heed lest you touch them,

They would pain you so!

Ah ! My faults like thorns are,

But cannot they be

Hidden 'neath the flower

Of my love for thee ?

A Song ~ by Thomas Carew

ASK me no more where Jove bestows,

When June is past, the fading rose;

For in your beauty's orient deep

These flowers, as in their causes, sleepAsk me no more whither doth stray

The golden atoms of the day;

For in pure love heaven did prepare

Those powders to enrich your hairAsk me no more whither doth haste

The nightingale, when May is past;

For in your sweet, dividing throat

She winters, and keeps warm her noteAsk me no more where those stars light,

That downwards fall in dead of night;

For in your eyes they sit, and there

Fixed become, as in their sphereAsk me no more if east or west

The phoenix builds her spicy nest;

For unto you at last she flies,

And in your fragrant bosom diesSong: Persuasions to Enjoy ~ by Thomas Carew

IF the quick spirits in your eye

Now languish, and anon must die;

If every sweet, and every grace

Must fly from that forsaken face;

Then, Celia, let us reap our joys,

Ere Time such goodly fruit destroysOr if that golden fleece must grow

Forever, free from aged snow;

If those bright suns must know no shade,

Nor your fresh beauties ever fade;

Then fear not, Celia, to bestow

What, still being gathered, still must grow.

Thus, either Time his sickle brings

In vain, or else in vain his wingsA Wedding-Song ~ by John White Chadwick

I SAID: "My heart, now let us sing a song

For a fair lady on her wedding-day;

Some solemn hymn or pretty roundelay,

That shall be with her as she goes along

To meet her joy, and for her happy feet

Shall make a pleasant music, low and sweet."

Then said my heart: "It is right bold of thee

To think that any song that we could sing

Would for this lady be an offering

Meet for such gladness as hers needs must be,

What time she goes to don her bridal ring,

And her own heart makes sweetest caroling."

And so it is that with my lute unstrung,

Lady, I come to greet thy wedding-day;

But once, methinks, I heard a poet say,

The sweetest songs remain for aye unsung.

So mine, unsung, at thy dear feet I lay,

And with a "Peace be with you !" go my way

Lovers and a Reflection ~ by Charles S. Calverley

In moss-prankt dells which the sunbeams flatter

(And heaven it knoweth what that may mean;

Meaning, however, is no great matter)

Where woods are a-tremble with words a-tweenThro' God's own heather we wonned together,

I and my Willie (O love my love):

I need hardly remark it was glorious weather,

And flitter-bats wavered alow, above;

Boats were curtseying, rising, bowing,

(Boats in that climate are so polite,)

And sands were a ribbon of green endowing,

And O the sun-dazzle on bark and bight !

Thro' the rare red heather we danced together

(O love my Willie,) and smelt for flowers:

I must mention again it was glorious weather,

Rhymes are so scarce in this world of ours:

By rises that flushed with their purple favors,

Thro' becks that brattled o'er grasses sheen,

We walked or waded, we two young shavers,

Thanking our stars we were both so greenWe journeyed in parallels, I and Willie,

In fortunate parallels ! Butterflies,

Hid in weltering shadows of daffodilly

Or marjoram, kept making peacock eyes:

Song-birds darted about, some inky

As coal, some snowy (I ween) as curds;

Or rosy as pinks, or as roses pinky--

They reck of no eerie To-come, those birds !

But they skim over bents which the mill-stream washes,

Or hang in the lift 'neath a white cloud's hem;

They need no parasols, no goloshes;

And good Mrs. Trimmer she feedeth themThen we thrid God's cowslips (as erst His heather),

That endowed the wan grass with their golden blooms;

And snapt--(it was perfectly charming weather)--

Our fingers at Fate and her goddess-glooms:

And Willie 'gan sing--(Oh, his notes were fluty;

Wafts fluttered them out to the white-winged sea)--

Something made up of rhymes that have done much duty,

Rhymes (better to put it) of "ancientry":

Bowers of flowers encountered showers

In William's carol--(O love my Willie !)

Then he bade sorrow borrow from blithe tomorrow

I quite forget what--say a daffodillyA nest in a hollow, "with buds to follow,"

I think occurred next in his nimble strain;

And clay that was "kneaden" of course in "Eden"--

A rhyme most novel I do maintain:

Mists, bones, the singer himself, love-stories,

And all least furlable things got "furled";

Not with any design to conceal their glories,

But simply and solely to rhyme with "world."

O if "billows" and "pillows" and "hours" and "flowers,"

And all the brave rhymes of an elder day,

Could be furled together, this genial weather,

And carted or carried on wafts away,

Nor ever again trotted out--ah me !

How much fewer volumes of verse there'd be.