How good, dear Heart, the perfect gift of Thee.


IN A COPY OF MR. SWINBURNE'S
_TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE_

Dear Heart, what thing may symbolise for us
A love like ours, what gift, whate'er it be,
Hold more significance 'twixt thee and me
Than paltry words a truth miraculous;
Or the poor signs that in astronomy
Tell giant splendours in their gleaming might:
Yet love would still give such, as in delight
To mock their impotence--so this for thee.

This song for thee! our sweetest honeycomb
Of lovesome thought and passion-hearted rhyme,
Builded of gold and kisses and desire,
By that wild poet who so many a time
Our hungering lips have blessed, until a fire
Burnt speech up and the wordless hour had come.


COMFORT AT PARTING

O little Heart,
So much I see
Thy hidden smart,
So much I long
To sing some song