THE Moth's kiss, first!

Kiss me as if you made believe
You were not sure, this eve,

How my face, your flower, had pursed

Its petals up; so, here and there

You brush it, till I grow aware

Who wants me, and wide open burst.

The Bee's kiss, now!

Kiss me as if you entered gay
My heart at some noonday,

A bud that dares not disallow

The claim, so all is rendered up,
And paffively its shattered cup
Over your head to fleep I bow.

ROBERT BROWNING.

THE LOST MISTRESS.

[1845.]

ALL'S over, then-does truth sound bitter,
As one at first believes?

Hark, 'tis the sparrows' good-night twitter
About your cottage eaves!

And the leaf-buds on the vine are woolly,
I noticed that to-day;

One day more bursts them open fully
-You know the red turns gray.

To-morrow we meet the same then, deareft?
May I take your hand in mine?

Mere friends are we, well, friends the mereft
Keep much that I'll refign:

For each glance of that eye so bright and black,
Though I keep with heart's endeavour,—
Your voice, when you wish the snow-drops back,
Though it stays in my soul forever!

ROBERT BROWNING.

RONDEAU.

[1844.]

JENNY kiffed me when we met,
Jumping from the chair fhe sat in;
Time, you thief, who love to get
Sweets into your lift, put that in:

Say I'm weary, say I'm sad,

Say that health and wealth have missed me,
Say I'm growing old, but add,
Jenny killed me.

LEIGH HUNT.

CUPID SWALLOWED.

A PARAPHRASE

FROM THE ANTHOLOGY.

.

[1844.]

T'OTHER day, as I was twining
Roses, for a crown to dine in,
What, of all things, midst the heap
Should I light on, fast asleep,
But the little desperate elf,

The tiny traitor, Love himself!

By the wings I pinched him up

Like a bee, and in a cup

Of my wine I plunged and sank him,

And what d'ye think I did?—I drank him.
Faith, I thought him dead. Not he!
There he lives with tenfold glee;
And now this moment with his wings
I feel him tickling my heart-firings.

LEIGH HUNT.

SONG.
[1846.]

ONE year ago my path was green,
My footstep light, my brow serene;

Alas! and could it have been so

One year ago?

There is a love that is to laft
When the hot days of youth are past:
Such love did a sweet maid bestow
One year ago.

I took a leaflet from her braid
And gave it to another maid.

Love! broken should have been thy bow
One year ago.

WALTER SAVAGE LANDor.

SONG.

[1846.]

I LOVE to hear that men are bound
By your enchanting links of sound:
I love to hear that none rebel
Against your beauty's filent spell.
I know not whether I may bear
To see it all, as well as hear;
And never shall I clearly know
Unless you nod and tell me so.

WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.

SONG.

[1846.]

LITTLE it interests me how

Some insolent usurper now

Divides your narrow chair;

Little heed I whose hand is placed
(No, nor how far) around your waist,
your hair.

Or paddles in

A time, a time there may have been
(Ah! and there was) when every scene
Was brightened by your eyes.

And dare you ask what you have done?
My answer, take it, is but one—

The weak have taught the wise.

WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.

SONG.

[1846.]

OFTEN have I heard it said
That her lips are ruby-red.
Little heed I what they say,
I have seen as red as they.
Ere fhe smiled on other men,
Real rubies were they then.

When he killed me once in play,
Rubies were less bright than they,
And less bright were those which shone
In the palace of the Sun.

Will they be as bright again?

Not if killed by other men.

WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.