"Or did you spy a ruddy hound, Sister fair and tall, Went snuffing round my garden bound, Or crouched by my bower wall? With a silken leash about his neck; But in his mouth may be A chain of gold and silver links, Or a letter writ to me."-- "I heard a hound, high-born sister, Stood baying at the moon: I rose and drove him from your wall Lest you should wake too soon."--

"Or did you meet a pretty page Sat swinging on the gate; Sat whistling, whistling like a bird, Or may be slept too late: With eaglets broidered on his cap, And eaglets on his glove? If you had turned his pockets out, You had found some pledge of love."-- "I met him at this daybreak, Scarce the east was red: Lest the creaking gate should anger you, I packed him home to bed."--

"O patience, sister. Did you see A young man tall and strong, Swift-footed to uphold the right And to uproot the wrong, Come home across the desolate sea To woo me for his wife? And in his heart my heart is locked, And in his life my life."-- "I met a nameless man, sister, Who loitered round our door: I said: Her husband loves her much. And yet she loves him more."--

"Fie, sister, fie, a wicked lie, A lie, a wicked lie; I have none other love but him, Nor will have till I die. And you have turned him from our door, And stabbed him with a lie: I will go seek him thro' the world In sorrow till I die."-- "Go seek in sorrow, sister, And find in sorrow too: If thus you shame our father's name My curse go forth with you."

SPRING.

Frost-locked all the winter, Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits, What shall make their sap ascend That they may put forth shoots? Tips of tender green, Leaf, or blade, or sheath; Telling of the hidden life That breaks forth underneath, Life nursed in its grave by Death.

Blows the thaw-wind pleasantly, Drips the soaking rain, By fits looks down the waking sun: Young grass springs on the plain; Young leaves clothe early hedgerow trees; Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits, Swollen with sap, put forth their shoots; Curled-headed ferns sprout in the lane; Birds sing and pair again.

There is no time like Spring, When life's alive in everything, Before new nestlings sing, Before cleft swallows speed their journey back Along the trackless track,-- God guides their wing, He spreads their table that they nothing lack,-- Before the daisy grows a common flower, Before the sun has power To scorch the world up in his noontide hour.

There is no time like Spring, Like Spring that passes by; There is no life like Spring-life born to die,-- Piercing the sod, Clothing the uncouth clod, Hatched in the nest, Fledged on the windy bough, Strong on the wing: There is no time like Spring that passes by, Now newly born, and now Hastening to die.

THE LAMBS OF GRASMERE, 1860.

The upland flocks grew starved and thinned: Their shepherds scarce could feed the lambs Whose milkless mothers butted them, Or who were orphaned of their dams. The lambs athirst for mother's milk Filled all the place with piteous sounds: Their mothers' bones made white for miles The pastureless wet pasture grounds.

Day after day, night after night, From lamb to lamb the shepherds went, With teapots for the bleating mouths Instead of nature's nourishment. The little shivering gaping things Soon knew the step that brought them aid, And fondled the protecting hand, And rubbed it with a woolly head.

Then, as the days waxed on to weeks, It was a pretty sight to see These lambs with frisky heads and tails Skipping and leaping on the lea, Bleating in tender, trustful tones, Resting on rocky crag or mound, And following the beloved feet That once had sought for them and found.

These very shepherds of their flocks, These loving lambs so meek to please, Are worthy of recording words And honor in their due degrees: So I might live a hundred years, And roam from strand to foreign strand, Yet not forget this flooded spring And scarce-saved lambs of Westmoreland.

A BIRTHDAY.

My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a watered shoot; My heart is like an apple-tree Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit; My heart is like a rainbow shell That paddles in a halcyon sea; My heart is gladder than all these Because my love is come to me.

Raise me a dais of silk and down; Hang it with vair and purple dyes; Carve it in doves and pomegranates, And peacocks with a hundred eyes; Work it in gold and silver grapes, In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys; Because the birthday of my life Is come, my love is come to me.

REMEMBER.

SONNET.

Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. Remember me when no more, day by day, You tell me of our future that you planned: Only remember me; you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad.

AFTER DEATH.

SONNET.

The curtains were half drawn, the floor was swept And strewn with rushes, rosemary and may Lay thick upon the bed on which I lay, Where through the lattice ivy-shadows crept. He leaned above me, thinking that I slept And could not hear him; but I heard him say: "Poor child, poor child": and as he turned away Came a deep silence, and I knew he wept. He did not touch the shroud, or raise the fold That hid my face, or take my hand in his, Or ruffle the smooth pillows for my head: He did not love me living; but once dead He pitied me; and very sweet it is To know he still is warm though I am cold.

AN END.

Love, strong as Death, is dead. Come, let us make his bed Among the dying flowers: A green turf at his head; And a stone at his feet, Whereon we may sit In the quiet evening hours.

He was born in the Spring, And died before the harvesting: On the last warm summer day He left us; he would not stay For autumn twilight, cold and gray. Sit we by his grave, and sing He is gone away.

To few chords and sad and low Sing we so: Be our eyes fixed on the grass Shadow-veiled as the years pass, While we think of all that was In the long ago.

MY DREAM.

Hear now a curious dream I dreamed last night, Each word whereof is weighed and sifted truth.

I stood beside Euphrates while it swelled Like overflowing Jordan in its youth: It waxed and colored sensibly to sight, Till out of myriad pregnant waves there welled Young crocodiles, a gaunt blunt-featured crew, Fresh-hatched perhaps and daubed with birthday dew. The rest if I should tell, I fear my friend, My closest friend, would deem the facts untrue; And therefore it were wisely left untold; Yet if you will, why, hear it to the end.

Each crocodile was girt with massive gold And polished stones, that with their wearers grew: But one there was who waxed beyond the rest, Wore kinglier girdle and a kingly crown, Whilst crowns and orbs and sceptres starred his breast. All gleamed compact and green with scale on scale, But special burnishment adorned his mail, And special terror weighed upon his frown; His punier brethren quaked before his tail, Broad as a rafter, potent as a flail. So he grew lord and master of his kin: But who shall tell the tale of all their woes? An execrable appetite arose, He battened on them, crunched, and sucked them in. He knew no law, he feared no binding law, But ground them with inexorable jaw: The luscious fat distilled upon his chin, Exuded from his nostrils and his eyes, While still like hungry death he fed his maw; Till every minor crocodile being dead And buried too, himself gorged to the full, He slept with breath oppressed and unstrung claw. O marvel passing strange which next I saw: In sleep he dwindled to the common size, And all the empire faded from his coat. Then from far off a wingèd vessel came, Swift as a swallow, subtle as a flame: I know not what it bore of freight or host, But white it was as an avenging ghost. It levelled strong Euphrates in its course; Supreme yet weightless as an idle mote It seemed to tame the waters without force Till not a murmur swelled or billow beat: Lo, as the purple shadow swept the sands, The prudent crocodile rose on his feet And shed appropriate tears and wrung his hands.

What can it mean? you ask. I answer not For meaning, but myself must echo, What? And tell it as I saw it on the spot.

SONG.

O roses for the flush of youth, And laurel for the perfect prime; But pluck an ivy branch for me Grown old before my time.

O violets for the grave of youth, And bay for those dead in their prime; Give me the withered leaves I chose Before in the old time.

THE HOUR AND THE GHOST.

BRIDE.

O love, love, hold me fast,-- He draws me away from thee; I cannot stem the blast, Nor the cold strong sea: Far away a light shines Beyond the hills and pines; It is lit for me.

BRIDEGROOM.

I have thee close, my dear, No terror can come near; Only far off the northern light shines clear.

GHOST.

Come with me, fair and false, To our home, come home. It is my voice that calls: Once thou wast not afraid When I wooed, and said, "Come, our nest is newly made,"-- Now cross the tossing foam.