. Maud, Locksley hall, and other poems . West, Rosy is the South,Roses are her cheeks. And a rose her mouthWhen the happy Yes Falters from her lips,Pass and blush the news Over glowing ships;Over blowing seas. Over seas at the happy news, Blush it thro the West;Till the red man dance By his red cedar-tree,And the red mans babe Leap, beyond the sea, A Motiodrania. 43 Blush from West to East, Blush from East to West,Till the West is East, Blush it thro the is the West, R0S3 is the South,Roses are her cheeks. And a rose her mouth. 44 Maud; XVIII. I have led her home, my love,
. Maud, Locksley hall, and other poems . West, Rosy is the South,Roses are her cheeks. And a rose her mouthWhen the happy Yes Falters from her lips,Pass and blush the news Over glowing ships;Over blowing seas. Over seas at the happy news, Blush it thro the West;Till the red man dance By his red cedar-tree,And the red mans babe Leap, beyond the sea, A Motiodrania. 43 Blush from West to East, Blush from East to West,Till the West is East, Blush it thro the is the West, R0S3 is the South,Roses are her cheeks. And a rose her mouth. 44 Maud; XVIII. I have led her home, my love, my only friend. There is none like her,none. And never 3et so warmlyran my blood And sweetly, on and on Calming itself to the long-wishd-for end, Full to the banks, closeon the promised good. None like her, now the dry-tongued laurels pattering talkSeemd her light foot along the garden walk,And shook my heart to think she comes once more;But even then I heard her close the door,The gates of Heaven are closed, and she is I HAVE LED HER HOME, MY LOVE,MY ONLY FRIEND. A Monodrama. 45 There is none like her, none. Nor will be when our summers have deceased. O, art thou sighing for Lebanon In the long breeze that streams to thy delicious East,Sighing for Lebanon, Dark cedar, tho thy limbs have here increased,Upon a pastoral slope as fair,And looking to the South, and fedWith hone3d rain and delicate haunted by the starry headOf her whose gentle will has changed my fate,And made my life a perfumed altar-flame;And over whom thy darkness must have spreadWith such delight as theirs of old, thy greatForefathers of the thornless garden, thereShadowing the snow-limbd Eve from whom she Here will I lie, while these long branches sway, And you fair stars that crown a happy day Go in and out as if at merry play, Who am no more so all forlorn. As when it seemd far better to be born To labour and the mattock-hardend hand. Than nursed at ease and brought to understand A sa
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