ove hath no wealth they say;
But when they do, I tell them nay,--
The wild-brier bough hath less of grace
And on wild violets when she treads
They turn to look into her face
And scarcely bow their azure heads.

My True-love hath no wealth they say;
But when they do, I tell them nay,--
For oh! she hath herself, in fee,
And this is more than worlds to me.

A VALENTINE

My patron saint, St. Valentine,
Why dost thou leave me to repine,
Still supplicating at her shrine?

But bid her eyes to me incline,
I 'll ask no other sun to shine,
More rich than is Golconda's mine.

Range all that Woman, Song, or Wine
Can give; Wealth, Power, and Fame combine;
For her I 'd gladly all resign.

Take all the pearls are in the brine,
Sift heaven for stars, earth's flowers entwine,
But be her heart my Valentine.

A PORTRAIT

A mouth red-ripened like a warm, sweet rose,
Wherein are gleaming pearls all pure and bright
As dewdrops nestled where the zephyr blows
With pinion soft across the humid night;
A cheek not ruddy, but soft-tinged and fair,
Where whiles the rich patrician blood is seen,
As though it knew itself a thing too rare
For common gaze, yet did its high demean;
A brow serene and pure as her white soul,
By which the sifted snow would blackened seem
That sleeps untrodden where the Northern pole
Rests calm, unscanned save by the Moon's chaste beam;
Eyes gray as Summer twilight skies are gray,
And deep with light as deep, still waters are,--
Tender as evening's smile when kissing day,
Yet bright and true as is her lustrous star.
These all unite and with accordant grace
Make heaven mirrored ever in her face.

FELICE

You are very fair, Felice, wondrous fair,
And the light deep in your eyes
Is more soft than summer skies,
And rare roses in your cheek
Play with lilies hide-and-seek,--
Play as Pleasure plays with Care.

And your throat is white, Felice, wondrous white,
White as sifted snow, I wis,
Ere the sun hath stol'n a kiss,
High up starry mountain-heights,
Or as in rich moonful nights
Parian baths in Cynthia's light.

And, Felice, your rippling waves of soft hair,
In their mystic depths aye hold
Shade and shimmer of red gold,
Like a halo round your face,
Lending you another grace
From the sunbeams shining there.

And your voice is sweet, Felice, wondrous sweet,