I LOVE the sex, and sometimes would reverse
The tyrant's wish that "mankind only had
One neck, which he with one fell stroke might
pierce:"

My wish is quite as wide, but not so bad,
And much more tender on the whole than fierce ;
It being (not now, but only while a lad)
That womankind had but one rosy mouth,
To kiss them all at once from North to South.

LORD BYRON.

THERE is dew for the flow'ret,

And honey for the bee,

And bowers for the wild bird,
And love for you and me.

There are tears for the many,

And pleasures for the few; But let the world pass on, dear, There's love for me and you. THOMAS HOOD. Poetical Works. (Ward, Lock, and Co.)

O CLASP me, sweet, whilst thou art mine,
And do not take my tears amiss;
For tears must flow to wash away

A thought that shows so stern as this:
Forgive, if somewhile I forget,
In woe to come, the present bliss;
As frighted Proserpine let fall
Her flowers at the sight of Dis :
Ev'n so the dark and bright will kiss-
The sunniest things throw sternest shade,
And there is even a happiness

That makes the heart afraid!

THOMAS HOOD. Poetical Works. (Ward, Lock, and Co.)

THE BRACELET.
WHY I tie about thy wrist,
Julia, this my silken twist,
For what other reason is't

But to show thee how, in part,
Thou my pretty captive art?
But thy bond-slave is my heart.
'Tis but silk that bindeth thee,
Knap the thread and thou art free;
But 'tis otherwise with me:

I am boun 1, and fast bound, so
That from thee I cannot go;
If I could, I would not so!

ROBERT HERRICK.

SWEET to roam beneath a shady cliff, of course with some young lady,

Lalage, Neæra, Haidee, or Elaine, or Mary Ann : Love, you dear delusive dream, you! Very sweet your victims deem you,

When, heard only by the seamew, they talk all the stuff one can.

Sweet to haste, a licensed lover, to Miss Pinkerton the glover,

Having managed to discover what is dear Neæra's "size :"

P'raps to touch that wrist so slender, as your tiny gift you tender,

And to read you're no offender, in those laughing hazel eyes.

Then to hear her call you "Harry," when she makes you fetch and carry

O young men about to marry, what a blessed thing it is!

To be photograph'd--together-cased in pretty

Russia leather

Hear her gravely doubting whether they have spoilt your honest phiz!

Then to bring your plighted fair one first a ring—a rich and rare one

Next a bracelet, if she'll wear one, and a heap of things beside;

And serenely bending o'er her, to inquire if it would bore her

To say when her own adorer may aspire to call

her bride!

C. S. CALVERLEY. Fly Leaves. (Bell.)

ALAS! for the love that's linked with gold!
Better-better a thousand times told-

More honest, happy, and laudable,

The downright loving of pretty Cis,

Who wipes her lips, though there's nothing amiss, And takes a kiss, and gives a kiss,

In which her heart is audible!

Pretty Cis, so smiling and bright,

Who loves—as she labours-with all her might,
And without any sordid leaven!

Who blushes as red as haws and hips,
Down to her very finger-tips,

For Roger's blue ribbons-to her, like strips
Cut out of the azure of Heaven!

THOMAS HOOD.
Poetical Works. (Ward, Lock, and Co.)

You smiled, you spoke, and I believed,
By every word and smile deceived.
Another man would hope no more ;
Nor hope I what I hoped before :
But let not this last wish be vain ;
Deceive, deceive me once again!

WALTER S. LANDOR.

[My extracts from Landor's Poems are given by kind permission of the Publishers, Messrs. Chapman and Hall.]

My heart is like a singing bird

Whose nest is in a watered shoot; My heart is like an apple-tree

Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit; My heart is like a rainbow shell

That paddles in a halcyon sea; My heart is gladder than all these Because my love is come to me. Raise me a daïs of silk and down;

Hang it with vair and purple dyes; Carve it in doves and pomegranates, And peacocks with a hundred eyes; Work it in gold and silver grapes,

In leaves, and silver fleurs-de-lys; Because the birthday of my life

Is come, my love is come to me.

CHRISTINA ROSSETTI.
Poems. (Macmillan.)

NEEDS not these lovers' joys to tell:
One day, fair maids, you'll know them well.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

O, LET me once more rest

My soul upon that dazzling breast!

Let once again these aching arms be placed,
The tender gaolers of thy waist !

And let me feel that warm breath here and there
To spread a rapture in my very hair,—
O, the sweetness of the pain!
Give me those lips again!

Enough! enough! it is enough for me
To dream of thee!

JOHN KEATS.

AH! sweet, if now so pure and fair This love that binds us fast, What face of beauty shall it wear When perfected at last?

MARY ROWLES.

O BEAR a little yet and wait :
Ere God hath ceased from you and furled
Away from you the great fair blue,
That paints eternity,-your true,
Your dreamed-of love shall come to you.

ARTHUR W. E. O'SHAUGHNESSY.
Lays of France. (Chatto and Windus.)

LOVE'S FOLLOWERS.

THERE was an evil in Pandora's box
Beyond all other ones, yet it came forth
In guise so lovely, that men crowded round
And sought it as the dearest of all treasure.
Then were they stung with madness and despair;
High minds were bowed in abject misery.

The hero trampled on his laurell'd crown,
While genius broke the lute it waked no more.
Young maidens, with pale cheeks, and faded eyes,
Wept till they died. Then there were broken
hearts-

Insanity-and Jealousy that feeds
Unto satiety, yet loathes its food;
Suicide digging its own grave; and Hate,
Unquenchable and deadly; and Remorse-
The vulture feeding on its own life-blood.
The evil's name was Love-these curses seem
His followers for ever.

L. E. LANDON.
Poetical Works. (Routledge.)