To......

(WITH A VOLUME OF EPIGRAMS)

Unto the Lady of The Nook
Fly, tiny book.
There thou hast lovers--even thou!
Fly thither now.

Seven years hast thou for honour yearned,
And scant praise earned;
But ah! to win, at last, _such_ friends,
Is full amends.

poem by William Watson
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Nay, Bid Me Not My Cares To Leave

Nay, bid me not my cares to leave,
Who cannot from their shadow flee.
I do but win a short reprieve,
'Scaping to pleasure and to thee.

I may, at best, a moment's grace,
And grant of liberty, obtain;
Respited for a little space,
To go back into bonds again.

poem by William Watson
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Thy Voice from Inmost Dreamland Calls

Thy voice from inmost dreamland calls;
The wastes of sleep thou makest fair;
Bright o'er the ridge of darkness falls
The cataract of thy hair.

The morn renews its golden birth:
Thou with the vanquished night dost fade;
And leav'st the ponderable earth
Less real than thy shade.

poem by William Watson
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And These--Are These Indeed The Rnd

And these-are these indeed the end,
This grinning skull, this heavy loam?
Do all green ways whereby we wend
Lead but to yon ignoble home?

Ah well! Thine eyes invite to bliss;
Thy lips are hives of summer still.
I ask not other worlds while this
Proffers me all the sweets I will.

poem by William Watson
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April

April, April,
Laugh thy girlish laughter;
Then, the moment after,
Weep thy girlish tears!
April, that mine ears
Like a lover greetest,
If I tell thee, sweetest,
All my hopes and fears,
April, April,
Laugh thy golden laughter,
But, the moment after,
Weep thy golden tears!

poem by William Watson
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Song

APRIL, April,
Laugh thy girlish laughter;
Then, the moment after,
Weep thy girlish tears!
April, that mine ears
Like a lover greetest,
If I tell thee, sweetest,
All my hopes and fears,
April, April,
Laugh thy golden laughter,
But, the moment after,
Weep thy golden tears!

poem by William Watson
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Love's Astrology

I know not if they erred
Who thought to see
The tale of all the times to be,
Star-character'd;
I know not, neither care,
If fools or knaves they were.

But this I know: last night
On me there shone

Two stars
that made all stars look wan
And shamèd quite,
Wherefrom the soul of me
Divined her destiny.

poem by William Watson
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The Flight of Youth

Youth! ere thou be flown away.
Surely one last boon to-day
Thou'lt bestow-
One last light of rapture give,
Rich and lordly fugitive!
Ere thou go.

What, thou canst not? What, all spent?
All thy spells of ravishment
Pow'rless now?
Gone thy magic out of date?
Gone, all gone that made thee great?-
Follow thou!

poem by William Watson
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Art Maxims

Often ornateness
Goes with greatness;
Oftener felicity
Comes of simplicity.

Talent that's cheapest
Affects singularity.
Thoughts that dive deepest
Rise radiant in clarity.

Life is rough:
Sing smoothly, O Bard.
Enough, enough,
To have _found_ life hard.

No record Art keeps
Of her travail and throes.
There is toil on the steeps,--
On the summits, repose.

poem by William Watson
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Mensis Lacrimarum

March, that comes roaring, maned, with rampant paws,
And bleatingly withdraws;
March,--'tis the year's fantastic nondescript,
That, born when frost hath nipped
The shivering fields, or tempest scarred the hills,
Dies crowned with daffodils.
The month of the renewal of the earth
By mingled death and birth:
But, England! in this latest of thy years
Call it--the Month of Tears.

poem by William Watson
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