"It is my wish that with MESSRS. TICK NOR AND FIELDS alone the right of publishing my books in America should rest." ALFRED TENNYSON. UNIVERSITY PRESS: SONGS FOR ALL SEASONS. COME INTO THE GARDEN, MAUD. COM has flown; COME into the garden, Maud, I am here at the gate alone; And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, For a breeze of morning moves, And the planet of Love is on high, On a bed of daffodil sky, To faint in the light of the sun she loves, All night have the roses heard The flute, violin, bassoon; All night has the casement jessamine stirr'd Till a silence fell with the waking bird, I said to the lily, "There is but one Low on the sand and loud on the stone I said to the rose, "The brief night goes O young lord-lover, what sighs are those, But mine, but mine," so I sware to the rose, 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, The slender acacia would not shake |