Alone she sat with her accusing heart， That， like a restless comrade， frightened sleep， And every thought that found her left a dart That hurt her so， she could not even weep.
Her heart that once had been a cup well filled With love's red wine， save for some drops of gall， She knew was empty； though it had not spilled Its sweets for one， but wasted them on all.
She stood upon the grave of her dead truth， And saw her soul's bright armour red with rust， And knew that all the riches of her youth Were Dead Sea apples， crumbling into dust.
Love that had turned to bitter， biting scorn， Hearthstones despoiled， and homes made desolate， Made her cry out that she was ever born To loathe her beauty and to curse her fate.
IF
Dear love， if you and I could sail away， With snowy pennons to the winds unfurled， Across the waters of some unknown bay， And find some island far from all the world； If we could dwell there， ever more alone， While unrecorded years slip by apace， Forgetting and forgotten and unknown By aught save native song-birds of the place；
If Winter never visited that land， And Summer's lap spilled o'er with fruits and flowers， And tropic trees cast shade on every hand， And twined boughs formed sleep-inviting bowers； If from the fashions of the world set free， And hid away from all its jealous strife， I lived alone for you， and you for me - Ah！ then， dear love， how sweet were wedded life.
But since we dwell here in the crowded way， Where hurrying throngs rush by to seek for gold， And all is commonplace and workaday， As soon as love's young honeymoon grows old； Since fashion rules and nature yields to art， And life is hurt by daily jar and fret， 'Tis best to shut such dreams down in the heart And go our ways alone， love， and forget.
LOVE'S BURIAL
Let us clear a little space， And make Love a burial-place.
He is dead， dear， as you see， And he wearies you and me.
Growing heavier， day by day， Let us bury him， I say.
Wings of dead white butterflies， These shall shroud him， as he lies In his casket rich and rare， Made of finest maiden-hair.
With the pollen of the rose Let us his white eyelids close.
Put the rose thorn in his hand， Shorn of leaves--you understand.
Let some holy water fall On his dead face， tears of gall - As we kneel by him and say， "Dreams to dreams，" and turn away.
Those gravediggers， Doubt， Distrust， They will lower him to the dust.
Let us 第一章PART here with a kiss - You go that way， I go this.
Since we buried Love to-day We will walk a separate way.
LIPPO
Now we must part， my Lippo. Even so， I grieve to see thy sudden pained surprise； Gaze not on me with such accusing eyes -
'Twas thine own hand which dealt dear Love's death-blow.
I loved thee fondly yesterday. Till then Thy heart was like a covered golden cup Always above my eager lip held up.
I fancied thou wert not as other men.
I knew that heart was filled with Love's sweet wine， Pressed wholly for my drinking. And my lip Grew parched with thirsting for one nectared sip Of what， denied me， seemed a draught divine.
Last evening， in the gloaming， that cup spilled Its precious contents. Even to the lees Were offered to me， saying， "Drink of these！"
And， when I saw it empty， Love was killed.
No word was left unsaid， no act undone， To prove to me thou wert my abject slave.
Ah！ Love， hadst thou been wise enough to save One little drop of that sweet wine--but one - I still had loved thee， longing for it then.
But even the cup is mine. I look within， And find it holds not one last drop to win， And cast it down.--Thou art as other men.
"LOVE IS ENOUGH"
Love is enough. Let us not ask for gold.
Wealth breeds false aims， and pride and selfishness； In those serene， Arcadian days of old Men gave no thought to princely homes and dress， The gods who dwelt on fair Olympia's height Lived only for dear love and love's delight.
Love is enough.
Love is enough. Why should we care for fame？
Ambition is a most unpleasant guest：
It lures us with the glory of a name Far from the happy haunts of peace and rest.
Let us stay here in this secluded place Made beautiful by love's endearing grace！
Love is enough.
Love is enough. Why should we strive for power？
It brings men only envy and distrust.
The poor world's homage pleases but an hour， And earthly honours vanish in the dust.
The grandest lives are ofttimes desolate； Let me be loved， and let who will be great.
Love is enough.
Love is enough. Why should we ask for more？
What greater gift have gods vouchsafed to men？
What better boon of all their precious store Than our fond hearts that love and love again？
Old love may die； new love is just as sweet； And life is fair and all the world complete：
Love is enough！
LIFE IS LOVE
Is anyone sad in the world， I wonder？
Does anyone weep on a day like this， With the sun above and the green earth under？
Why， what is life but a dream of bliss？
With the sun and the skies and the birds above me， Birds that sing as they wheel and fly - With the winds to follow and say they loved me - Who could be lonely？ O ho， not I！
Somebody said in the street this morning， As I opened my window to let in the light， That the darkest day of the world was dawning； But I looked， and the East was a gorgeous sight One who claims that he knows about it Tells me the Earth is a vale of sin； But I and the bees and the birds--we doubt it， And think it a world worth living in.
Someone says that hearts are fickle， That love is sorrow， that life is care， And the reaper Death， with his shining sickle， Gathers whatever is bright and fair.
I told the thrush， and we laughed together - Laughed till the woods were all a-ring； And he said to me， as he plumed each feather， "Well， people must croak， if they cannot sing！"
Up he flew， but his song， remaining， Rang like a bell in my heart all day， And silenced the voices of weak complaining That pipe like insects along the way.
O world of light， and O world of beauty！
Where are there pleasures so sweet as thine？
Yes， life is love， and love is duty； And what heart sorrows？ O no， not mine！
