Sudden LightBy Dante G. Rossetti

I have been here beforeBut when or how I cannot tell;I know the grass beyond the door,The sweet keen smell,The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.

You have been mine before,-How long ago I may not know:But just when at swallow's soarYour neck turned so,Some veil did fall,- I knew it of yore.

Then, now, perchance again!O round mine eyes your tresses shake!Shall we not lie as we have lainThus for Love's sake,And sleep, and wake, yet never break the chain?

One Thousand Years Agoby Charles G. Leland

Thou and I in spirit landOne thousand years ago,Watched the waves beat on the strand,Ceaseless ebb and flow,Vowed to love and ever love,One thousand years ago.

Thou and I in greenwood shadeNine hundred years agoHeard the wild dove in the gladeMurmuring soft and low,Vowed to love for evermoreNine hundred years ago.

Thou and I in yonder star Eight hundred years agoSaw strange forms of light afar

In wildest beauty glow.All things change, but love enduresNow as long ago.

Thou and I in Norman hallsSeven hundred years agoHeard the warden on the wallsLoud his trumpet blow,«Ton amor sera tojors»,Seven hundred years ago.

Thou and I in Germany,Six hundred years ago.Then I bound the red cross on,«True love, I must go,But we part to meet againIn the endless flow.»

Thou and I in Syrian plainsFive hundred years agoFelt the wild fire in our veinsTo a fever glow.All things die, but love lives onNow as long ago.

Thou and I in shadow landFour hundred years agoSaw strange flowers bloom on strand,Heard strange breezes blow.In the ideal, love is real,This alone I know.

Thou and I in ItalyThree hundred years agoLived in faith and died for God,Felt the fagots glow,Ever new and ever true,Three hundred years ago.

Thou and I on Southern seasTwo hundred years agoFelt the perfumed even-breeze,Spoke in Spanish by the trees,Had no care or woe.Life went dreamily in song,Two hundred years ago.

Thou and I 'mid Northern snowsOne hundred years agoLed an iron silent lifeAnd were glad to flowOnward into changing death,One hundred years ago.

Thou and I but yesterdayMet in fashion's show.Love, did you remember me,Love of long ago?Yes: we kept the fond oath swornOne thousand years ago.

From 'Rain in Summer'by H.W. Longfellow

Thus the seer, with vision clear,Sees forms appear and disappearIn the perpetual round of strange Mysterious changeFrom birth to death, from death to birth,From earth to heaven, from heaven to earth,Till glimpses more sublimeOf things unseen beforeUnto his wondering eyes revealThe universe, as an immeasureable wheelTurning for evermoreIn the rapid rushing river of time.

LOVE'S  PHILOSOPHY

By

Percy Shelley

The fountains mingle with the river

And the rivers with the Ocean,

The winds of Heaven mix for ever

With a sweet emotion;

Nothing in the world is single;

All things by a law divine

In one spirit meet and mingle.

Why not I with thine? ---  

See the mountains kiss high heaven,

And the waves clasp one another;

No sister-flower would be forgiven

If it disdained its brother;

And the sunlight clasps the earth,

And the moonbeams kiss the sea:

What is all this sweet work worth

If thou kiss not me?  

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Desire

Where true Love burns Desire is Love's pure flame ; It is the reflex of our earthly frame, That takes its meaning from the nobler part, And but translates the language of the heart.

DOWN BY THE SALLEY GARDENS

by: W.B. Yeats

OWN by the salley gardens my love and I did meet; She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet. She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree; But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree. In a field by the river my love and I did stand, And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand. She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs; But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.

A Dream Within a Dreamby Edgar A. Poe

Take this kiss upon the brow!And, in parting from you now,Thus much let me avow:You are not wrong, who deemThat my days have been a dream;Yet if hope has flown awayIn a night, or in the dayIn a vision, or in none,Is it therefore the less gone?All that we see or seemIs but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roarOf a surf-tormented shore,And I hold within my handGrains of golden sand-How few! yet how they creepThrough my fingers to the deep,While I weep – while I weep!O God! can I not graspThem with a tighter clasp?O God! can I not saveOne from the pitiless wave?Is all that we see or seemBut a dream within a dream?

William Blake - Auguries of InnocenceTo see a world in a grain of sand,And a heaven in a wild flower,Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,And eternity in an hour.

A robin redbreast in a cagePuts all heaven in a rage.

A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeonsShudders hell thro' all its regions.A dog starv'd at his master's gatePredicts the ruin of the state.

A horse misused upon the roadCalls to heaven for human blood.Each outcry of the hunted hareA fibre from the brain does tear.

A skylark wounded in the wing,A cherubim does cease to sing.The game-cock clipt and arm'd for fightDoes the rising sun affright.

Every wolf's and lion's howlRaises from hell a human soul.

The wild deer, wand'ring here and there,Keeps the human soul from care.The lamb misus'd breeds public strife,And yet forgives the butcher's knife.

The bat that flits at close of eveHas left the brain that won't believe.The owl that calls upon the nightSpeaks the unbeliever's fright.

He who shall hurt the little wrenShall never be belov'd by men.He who the ox to wrath has mov'dShall never be by woman lov'd.

The wanton boy that kills the flyShall feel the spider's enmity.He who torments the chafer's spriteWeaves a bower in endless night.

The caterpillar on the leafRepeats to thee thy mother's grief.Kill not the moth nor butterfly,For the last judgement draweth nigh.

He who shall train the horse to warShall never pass the polar bar.The beggar's dog and widow's cat,

Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.

The gnat that sings his summer's songPoison gets from slander's tongue.The poison of the snake and newtIs the sweat of envy's foot.

The poison of the honey beeIs the artist's jealousy.

The prince's robes and beggar's ragsAre toadstools on the miser's bags.A truth that's told with bad intentBeats all the lies you can invent.

It is right it should be so;Man was made for joy and woe;And when this we rightly know,Thro' the world we safely go.

Joy and woe are woven fine,A clothing for the soul divine.Under every grief and pineRuns a joy with silken twine.

The babe is more than swaddling bands;Every farmer understands.Every tear from every eyeBecomes a babe in eternity;

This is caught by females bright,And return'd to its own delight.The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar,Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.

The babe that weeps the rod beneathWrites revenge in realms of death.The beggar's rags, fluttering in air,Does to rags the heavens tear.

The soldier, arm'd with sword and gun,Palsied strikes the summer's sun.The poor man's farthing is worth moreThan all the gold on Afric's shore.

One mite wrung from the lab'rer's handsShall buy and sell the miser's lands;Or, if protected from on high,Does that whole nation sell and buy.

He who mocks the infant's faithShall be mock'd in age and death.He who shall teach the child to doubtThe rotting grave shall ne'er get out.

He who respects the infant's faithTriumphs over hell and death.

The child's toys and the old man's reasonsAre the fruits of the two seasons.

The questioner, who sits so sly,Shall never know how to reply.He who replies to words of doubtDoth put the light of knowledge out.

The strongest poison ever knownCame from Caesar's laurel crown.Nought can deform the human raceLike to the armour's iron brace.

When gold and gems adorn the plow,To peaceful arts shall envy bow.A riddle, or the cricket's cry,Is to doubt a fit reply.

The emmet's inch and eagle's mileMake lame philosophy to smile.He who doubts from what he seesWill ne'er believe, do what you please.

If the sun and moon should doubt,They'd immediately go out.To be in a passion you good may do,But no good if a passion is in you.

The whore and gambler, by the stateLicensed, build that nation's fate.The harlot's cry from street to streetShall weave old England's winding-sheet.

The winner's shout, the loser's curse,Dance before dead England's hearse.

Every night and every mornSome to misery are born,Every morn and every nightSome are born to sweet delight.

Some are born to sweet delight,Some are born to endless night.

We are led to believe a lieWhen we see not thro' the eye,Which was born in a night to perish in a night,When the soul slept in beams of light.

God appears, and God is light,To those poor souls who dwell in night;But does a human form displayTo those who dwell in realms of day.