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"It is my wish that with MESSRS. TICKNOR AND FIELDS alone the right of publishing my books in America should rest."

ALFRED TENNYSON.

UNIVERSITY PRESS:

WELCH, BIGELOW, AND COMPANY,

CAMBRIDGE.

SONGS FOR ALL SEASONS.

COME INTO THE GARDEN, MAUD.

'OME into the garden, Maud,

flown;

Come into the garden, Maud,

I am here at the gate alone;
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,
And the musk of the roses blown.

For a breeze of morning moves,

And the planet of Love is on high,
Beginning to faint in the light that she loves
On a bed of daffodil sky,

To faint in the light of the sun she loves,
To faint in his light, and to die.

All night have the roses heard
The flute, violin, bassoon;

All night has the casement jessamine stirr'd
To the dancers dancing in tune:
Till a silence fell with the waking bird,
And a hush with the setting moon.

I said to the lily, "There is but one
With whom she has heart to be gay.
When will the dancers leave her alone?

She is weary of dance and play." Now half to the setting moon are gone,

And half to the rising day;

Low on the sand and loud on the stone
The last wheel echoes away.

I said to the rose, "The brief night goes
In babble and revel and wine.

O young lord-lover, what sighs are those,
For one that will never be thine?

But mine, but mine," so I sware to the rose,
"For ever and ever, mine."

And the soul of the rose went into my blood,
As the music clash'd in the hall;

And long by the garden lake I stood,

For I heard your rivulet fall

From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood, Our wood, that is dearer than all;

From the meadow your walks have left so sweet That whenever a March-wind sighs

He sets the jewel-print of your feet

In violets blue as your eyes,
To the woody hollows in which we meet
And the valleys of Paradise.

The slender acacia would not shake
One long milk-bloom on the tree;
The white lake-blossom fell into the lake,
As the pimpernel dozed on the lea;

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