The garden of love; flowers gathered from the poets . d yet it satisfies, it is great,But there is something else very great, it makes the whole coincide,It, magnificent, beyond materials, with continuous hands sweeps and provides for all. Walt IVhitman. IX. Hidden Love J^ J^ ^ J^ Ji T F, as I have, you also do?^ Virtue in woman dare love that, and say so too,And forget the He and She— And if this love, though placed so,From profane men you hide, Which will no faith on this bestowOr, if they do, deride— Then you have done a braver thing Than all the worthies did ;And a braver thence wi
The garden of love; flowers gathered from the poets . d yet it satisfies, it is great,But there is something else very great, it makes the whole coincide,It, magnificent, beyond materials, with continuous hands sweeps and provides for all. Walt IVhitman. IX. Hidden Love J^ J^ ^ J^ Ji T F, as I have, you also do?^ Virtue in woman dare love that, and say so too,And forget the He and She— And if this love, though placed so,From profane men you hide, Which will no faith on this bestowOr, if they do, deride— Then you have done a braver thing Than all the worthies did ;And a braver thence will spring, Which is, to keep that hid. ^ohn Donne. 3c II. spring Buds The Wooi?zg II THAT stage of courtship, which makes the mostexquisite moment of youth, the freshest blossom-time of passion—when each is sure of the otherslove, but no formal declaration has been made, andall is mutual divination, exalting the most trivialword, the lightest gesture, with thrills delicate aswafted jasmine scent. George Eliot, The Mill on the Floss. m ,^ft^5. K^ X. The Primrose ^ t^ A SK me why I send you here-^^ This firsUing of the infant year ;Ask me why I send to youThis primrose all bepearld with dew ;I straight will whisper in your ears,The sweets of love are washd with tears ;—Ask me why this flower doth showSo yellow, green, and sickly too ;Ask me why the stalk is bending, yet it doth not break ;I must tell you, these discoverWhat doubts and fears are in a lover. Thomas Carew. XI. The Messenger Ji J^ ^ ^ Ji O SWALLOW, Swallow, flying, flying South,Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves,And tell her, tell her, what I tell to O tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each,That bright and fierce and fickle is the South,And dark and true and tender is the North. O Swallow, Swallow, if I could follow, andlightUpon her lattice, I would pipe and trill,And cheep and twitter twenty million loves. O were I thou that she might take me lay me on her bosom, and her h
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