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;
But the rose was awake all night for your sake,
 Knowing your promise to me;
The lilies and roses were all awake,
 They sigh’d for the dawn and thee.

Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,
 Come hither, the dances are done,
In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,
 Queen lily and rose in one;
Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls.
 To the flowers, and be their sun.

There has fallen a splendid tear
 From the passion-flower at the gate,
She is coming, my dove, my dear;
 She is coming, my life, my fate;
The red rose cries, ‘She is near, she is near;’
 And the white rose weeps, ‘She is late;’
The larkspur listens, ‘I hear, I hear;’
 And the lily whispers, ‘I wait’.

She is coming, my own, my sweet;
 Were it ever so airy a tread,
My heart would hear her and beat,
 Were it earth in an earthy bed;
My dust would hear her and beat,
 Had I lain for a century dead;
Would start and tremble under her feet,
 And blossom in purple and red.

716   From ‘In Memoriam’

(ARTHUR HENRY HALLAM, MDCCCXXXIII)

LOVE is and was my Lord and King,
     And in his presence I attend
     To hear the tidings of my friend,
Which every hour his couriers bring.

Love is and was my King and Lord,
     And will be, tho’ as yet I keep
     Within his court on earth, and sleep
Encompass’d by his faithful guard,

And hear at times a sentinel
     Who moves about from place to place,
     And whispers to the world of space,
In the deep night, that all is well.

717   In the Garden at Swainston

NIGHTINGALES warbled without,
 Within was weeping for thee:
Shadows of three dead men
 Walk’d in the walks with me:
Shadows of three dead men, and thou wast one of the three.

Nightingales sang in the woods:
 The Master was far away:
Nightingales warbled and sang
 Of a passion that lasts but a day;
  Still in the house in his coffin the Prince of courtesy lay.