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- The Home Book of Verse, Volume 2 - 10/175 -


And where is now that palace gone, All the magical skilled stone, All the dreaming towers wrought By Love as if no more than thought The unresisting marble was? How could such a wonder pass? Ah, it was but built in vain Against the stupid horns of Rome, That pushed down into the common loam The loveliness that shone in Spain. But we have raised it up again! A loftier palace, fairer far, Is ours, and one that fears no war. Safe in marvellous walls we are; Wondering sense like builded fires, High amazement of desires, Delight and certainty of love, Closing around, roofing above Our unapproached and perfect hour Within the splendors of love's power.

Lascelles Abercrombie [1881-

ON HAMPSTEAD HEATH

Against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree, His scarlet tunic burns; And livelier than the green sap's mantling glee The Spring fire tingles through him headily As quivering he turns And stammers out the old amazing tale Of youth and April weather; While she, with half-breathed jests that, sobbing, fail, Sits, tight-lipped, quaking, eager-eyed and pale, Beneath her purple feather.

Wilfrid Wilson Gibson [1878-

ONCE ON A TIME

Once on a time, once on a time, Before the Dawn began, There was a nymph of Dian's train Who was beloved of Pan; Once on a time a peasant lad Who loved a lass at home; Once on a time a Saxon king Who loved a queen of Rome.

The world has but one song to sing, And it is ever new, The first and last of all the songs For it is ever true - A little song, a tender song, The only song it hath; "There was a youth of Ascalon Who loved a girl of Gath."

A thousand thousand years have gone, And aeons still shall pass, Yet shall the world forever sing Of him who loved a lass - An olden song, a golden song, And sing it unafraid: "There was a youth, once on a time, Who dearly loved a maid."

Kendall Banning [1879-

IN PRAISE OF HER

FIRST SONG From "Astrophel and Stella"

Doubt you to whom my Muse these notes intendeth, Which now my breast, o'ercharged, to music lendeth? To you! to you! all song of praise is due; Only in you my song begins and endeth.

Who hath the eyes which marry state with pleasure? Who keeps the key of Nature's chiefest treasure? To you! to you! all song of praise is due; Only for you the heaven forgat all measure.

Who hath the lips where wit in fairness reigneth? Who womankind at once both decks and staineth? To you! to you! all song of praise is due; Only by you Cupid his crown maintaineth.

Who hath the feet, whose step all sweetness planteth? Who else, for whom Fame worthy trumpets wanteth? To you! to you! all song of praise is due; Only to you her sceptre Venus granteth.

Who hath the breast, whose milk doth passions nourish? Whose grace is such, that when it chides doth cherish? To you! to you! all song of praise is due; Only through you the tree of life doth flourish.

Who hath the hand, which without stroke subdueth? Who long-dead beauty with increase reneweth? To you! to you! all song of praise is due; Only at you all envy hopeless rueth.

Who hath the hair, which loosest fastest tieth? Who makes a man live then glad when he dieth? To you! to you! all song of praise is due; Only of you the flatterer never lieth.

Who hath the voice, which soul from senses sunders? Whose force but yours the bolts of beauty thunders? To you! to you! all song of praise is due; Only with you not miracles are wonders.

Doubt you to whom my Muse these notes intendeth, Which now my breast, o'ercharged, to music lendeth? To you! to you! all song of praise is due; Only in you my song begins and endeth.

Philip Sidney [1554-1586]

SILVIA From "The Two Gentlemen of Verona"

Who is Silvia? What is she? That all our swains commend her? Holy, fair, and wise is she; The heaven such grace did lend her, That she might admired be.

Is she kind as she is fair? For beauty lives with kindness: Love doth to her eyes repair, To help him of his blindness; And, being helped, inhabits there.

Then to Silvia let us sing, That Silvia is excelling; She excels each mortal thing Upon the dull earth dwelling: To her let us garlands bring.

William Shakespeare [1564-1616]

CUPID AND CAMPASPE From "Alexander and Campaspe"

Cupid and my Campaspe played At cards for kisses; Cupid paid: He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows, His mother's doves, and team of sparrows; Loses them too; then down he throws The coral of his lip, the rose Growing on's cheek (but none knows how); With these, the crystal of his brow, And then the dimple on his chin; All these did my Campaspe win: And last he set her both his eyes - She won, and Cupid blind did rise.

O Love! has she done this to thee? What shall, alas! become of me?

John Lyly [1554?-1606]

APOLLO'S SONG From "Midas"

My Daphne's hair is twisted gold, Bright stars apiece her eyes do hold, My Daphne's brow enthrones the Graces, My Daphne's beauty stains all faces, On Daphne's cheek grow rose and cherry, On Daphne's lip a sweeter berry, Daphne's snowy hand but touched does melt, And then no heavenlier warmth is felt, My Daphne's voice tunes all the spheres, My Daphne's music charms all ears. Fond am I thus to sing her praise; These glories now are turned to bays.

John Lyly [1554?-1606]

"FAIR IS MY LOVE FOR APRIL'S IN HER FACE"


The Home Book of Verse, Volume 2 - 10/175

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