Vine, vine and eglantine, Clasp her window, trail and twine! Rose, rose and clematis, Trail and twine and clasp and kiss, Kiss, kiss; and make her a bower All of flowers, and drop me a flower, Drop me a flower.
Vine, vine and eglantine, Cannot a flower, a flower, be mine? Rose, rose and clematis, Drop me a flower, a flower, to kiss, Kiss, kiss--and out of her bower All of flowers, a flower, a flower Dropt, a flower.
Gone! Gone till the end of the year, Gone, and the light gone with her and left me in shadow here! Gone--flitted away, Taken the stars from the night and the sun from the day! Gone, and a cloud in my heart, and a storm in the air! Flown to the east or the west, flitted I know not where! Down in the south is a flash and a groan; she is there! she is there!
If thou canst make the frost be gone, And fleet away the snow (And that thou canst, I trow); If thou canst make the spring to dawn, Hawthorn to put her brav’ry on, Willow, her weeds of fine green lawn, Say why thou dost not so-- Aye, aye! Say why Thou dost not so!
If thou canst chase the stormy rack, And bid the soft winds blow (And that thou canst, I trow); If thou canst call the thrushes back To give the groves the songs they lack, And wake the violet in thy track, Say why thou dost not so-- Aye, aye! Say why Thou dost not so!
If thou canst make my winter spring, With one word breathèd low (And that thou canst, I know); If in the closure of a ring Thou canst to me such treasure bring, My state shall be above a king, Say why thou dost not so-- Aye, aye! Say why Thou dost not so!
The breaths of kissing night and day Were mingled in the eastern heaven; Throbbing with unheard melody Shook Lyra all its star-chord seven: When dusk shrunk cold, and light trod shy, And dawn’s gray eyes were troubled gray; And souls went palely up the sky, And mine to Lucidé.
There was no change in her sweet eyes Since last I saw those sweet eyes shine; There was no change in her deep heart Since last that deep heart knocked at mine. Her eyes were clear, her eyes were Hope’s, Wherein did ever come and go The sparkle of the fountain-drops From her sweet soul below.
The chambers in the house of dreams Are fed with so divine an air, That Time’s hoar wings grow young therein, And they who walk there are most fair. I joyed for me, I joyed for her, Who with the Past meet girt about, Where our last kiss still warms the air, Nor can her eyes go out.