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What voice is this, thou evening gale! That mingles with thy rising wail; And, as it passes, sadly seems The faint return of youthful dreams? Though now its strain is wild and drear, Blithe was it once as sky-lark’s cheer — Sweet as the night-bird’s sweetest song, — Dear as the lisp of infant’s tongue. It was the voice, at whose sweet flow The heart did beat, and cheek did glow, And lip did smile, and eye did weep, And motioned love the measure keep. Oft be thy sound, soft gale of even, Thus to my wistful fancy given; And, as I list the swelling strain, The dead shall seem to live again!

You shout my name from beyond my dreams, beyond the picture window of this Rosarito beach house. Rushing from bed to shore I glimpse their backs— volcanoes rising out of the sea. Your back, a blue-black silhouette, feet wet with the wash of morning waves. Fountains spring from mammal minds, my hands lifting a splash of sand. I'm on my knees, toes finding a cool prayer beneath them, fingers pressing sea foam to my temples, while you open arms wide as a generation, raise them to a compass point, dive. If you could reach them, you would ride their fins under the horizon, then surf the crash of waves left in their wake. And if I could grasp my own fear, I'd drown it, leave it breathless and blue as this ocean, as the brilliant backs of whales surfacing for air.

My love is in a light attire Among the apple trees, Where the gay winds do most desire To run in companies. There, where the gay winds stay to woo The young leaves as they pass, My love goes slowly, bending to Her shadow on the grass. And where the sky’s a pale blue cup Over the laughing land, My love goes lightly, holding up Her dress with dainty hand.

Nay but you, who do not love her, Is she not pure gold, my mistress? Holds earth aught—speak truth—above her? Aught like this tress, see, and this tress, And this last fairest tress of all, So fair, see, ere I let it fall? Because, you spend your lives in praising; To praise, you search the wide world over: Then why not witness, calmly gazing, If earth holds aught—speak truth—above her? Above this tress, and this, I touch But cannot praise, I love so much!

You don’t listen to what I say. When I lean towards you in the car You simply smile and turn away. It’s been like this most of the day, sitting and sipping, bar after bar: You don’t listen to what I say. You squeeze a lemon from a tray, And if you guess how dear you are You simply smile and turn away. Beyond the hairline of the bay the steamers call that shore is far. You don’t listen to what I say: Surely there’s another way? The waiter brings a small guitar. You simply smile and turn away. Sometimes I think you are too gay, smiling and smiling, hour after hour. You don’t listen to what I say. You simply smile and turn away.

Oh, Love, he went a-straying, A long time ago! I missed him in the Maying, When blossoms were of snow; So back I came by the old sweet way; And for I loved him so, wept that he came not with me, A long time ago! Wide open stood my chamber door, And one stepped forth to greet; Gray Grief, strange Grief, who turned me sore With words he spake so sweet. I gave him meat; I gave him drink; (And listened for Love’s feet.) How many years? I cannot think; In truth, I do not know— Ah, long time ago! Oh, love, he came not back again, Although I kept me fair; And each white May, in field and lane, I waited for him there! Yea, he forgot; but Grief stayed on, And in Love’s empty chair Doth sit and tell of days long gone— ’Tis more than I can bear!

Love, thou art best of Human Joys, Our chiefest Happiness below; All other Pleasures are but Toys, Musick without Thee is but Noise, And Beauty but an empty show. Heav’n , who knew best what Man wou’d move, And raise his Thoughts above the Brute; Said, Let him Be, and Let him Love; That must alone his Soul improve, Howe’er Philosophers dispute.

I No riches from his scanty store My lover could impart; He gave a boon I valued more — He gave me all his heart! II His soul sincere, his generous worth, Might well this bosom move; And when I asked for bliss on earth, I only meant his love. III But now for me, in search of gain From shore to shore he flies; Why wander riches to obtain, When love is all I prize? IV The frugal meal, the lowly cot If blest my love with thee! That simple fare, that humble lot, Were more than wealth to me. V While he the dangerous ocean braves, My tears but vainly flow: Is pity in the faithless waves To which I pour my woe? VI The night is dark, the waters deep, Yet soft the billows roll; Alas! at every breeze I weep — The storm is in my soul.

A youth for Jane with ardour sighed, The maid with sparkling eye; But to his vows she still replied, ‘I’ll hear you by and by.’ ‘Suspense (he cries) my bloom decays, And bids my spirits fly; Now hear my vows,’ — but still she says, ‘I’ll hear you by and by.’ At length her frowns his love subdue, He shuns her scornful eye, And Emma seeks, who’ll hear him woo Both now, and by and by. And soon to church he leads the maid, When lo! he sees draw nigh, The now repentant fair who said She’d hear him by and by. ‘Hear me (she cries): no more in vain Thy hear for me shall sigh!’ — ‘I’m busy now (said he) — but, Jane! I’ll hear you by and by.’

Did you ever have a family? Dark dining room, bright kitchen, white steam from the big pot my mother’s stirring reaching in wavy tendrils to her face, around her face, all the way around to me at the table, then beyond me into the darkness where my brother is. Were you ever a child? I’m hungry but I know we’ll eat soon, so even the hunger’s sweet. Did you ever really have a brother? He’s singing there in the dark corner beside the stereo, the volume turned down so low all we hear is him, his voice, and his eyes are closed so that there’s nothing around him anywhere that might reveal he isn’t who the song insists he is. And that is? Irresistible, unforgettable, someone to whom as in imaginary gardens where “the nectarine and curious peach into my hands themselves do reach,” love comes as soon as called, comes just as dreamed. Did any of this ever happen? The hunger’s sweet, it’s as if the song weaves through the fragrance of the braiding steam from him to me to her to me to him because her eyes are closed now too; her slippered feet tap, caper a soft shoe while the ladle sways in her hand as she stirs. Were you ever a child? I know I’ll eat soon. Did you ever really have a brother? You should have heard him, his voice was unforgettable, irresistible, his voice was an imaginary garden woven through with fragrance. Did you ever have a family? Their eyes are closed. That’s how I know we’re there inside it, it’s made of sound and steam that weaves between dark dining room, bright kitchen. We’re there because I’m hungry, and we’ll all be eating soon together, and the hunger’s sweet.