WINE, WOMEN, AND SONG. - The Language Realm

The Queen of Love my heart is killing
With her gold arrow pain­distilling;
[76]The God of Love with torches burning
Lights pyre on pyre of ardent yearning.
She is the girl for whom I'd die;
I want none dearer, far or nigh,
Though grief on grief upon me lie.
I with her love am thralled and taken,
Whose flower doth flower, bud, bloom, and waken;
Sweet were the labour, light the burden,
Could mouth kiss mouth for wage and guerdon.
No touch of lips my wound can still,
Unless two hearts grow one, one will,
One longing! Flower of flowers, farewell!
Once at least we find him writing in absence to his mistress, and imploring her fidelity. This
ranks among the most delicate in sentiment of the whole series.
THE LOVE­LETTER IN SPRING.
No. 17.
Now the sun is streaming,
Clear and pure his ray;
April's glad face beaming
On our earth to­day.
Unto love returneth
Every gentle mind;
And the boy­god burneth
Jocund hearts to bind.
[77]
All this budding beauty,
Festival array,
Lays on us the duty
To be blithe and gay.
Trodden ways are known, love!
And in this thy youth,
To retain thy own love
Were but faith and truth.
In faith love me solely,
Mark the faith of me,
From thy whole heart wholly,
From the soul of thee.
At this time of bliss, dear,