For that old love I once adored I decked my halls and spread my board At Christmas time. With all the winter’s flowers that grow I wreathed my room, and mistletoe Hung in the gloom of my doorway, Wherein my dear lost love might stray When joy-bells chime.

What phantom was it entered there And drank his wine and took his chair At Christmas time? With holly boughs and mistletoe He crowned his head, and at my woe And tears I shed laughed long and loud; “Get back, O phantom! to thy shroud When joy-bells chime.”

p. 26A WEEPING CUPID

p. 26

Why love! I thought you were gay and fair, Merry of mien and debonair. What then means this brow so black, Whose sullen gloom twin eyes give back, Poor little god in tears, alack!

Why love! I thought in your smiling cheek Dainty dimples played hide and seek; Passing by like a winter’s night, With stormy sighs from lips all white. Poor little god, how comes your plight?

A maiden said you were tall and bold, With an arm of steel and a heart of gold; Whose changing face would make her day; When came a frown, the sunshine play Of smiles would chase the clouds away.

A youth once said you were like a maid With sunny hair in a golden braid; Whose cheeks were each a rose uncurled; And brow a lilybell unfurled; The fairest maid in all the world.

p. 27Why love! I find you so weak and small, A human child, not a god at all; Two angry, sleepy eyes that cry, Two little hands so soft and shy, I’ll hush you with a lullaby. Come, love!

p. 27

p. 28THE LOVER

p. 28

I go through wet spring woods alone, Through sweet green woods with heart of stone, My weary foot upon the grass Falls heavy as I pass. The cuckoo from the distance cries, The lark a pilgrim in the skies; But all the pleasant spring is drear. I want you, dear!

I pass the summer meadows by, The autumn poppies bloom and die; I speak alone so bitterly For no voice answers me. “O lovers parting by the gate, O robin singing to your mate, Plead you well, for she will hear ‘I love you, dear!’”

I crouch alone, unsatisfied, Mourning by winter’s fireside. O Fate, what evil wind you blow. p. 29Must this be 

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