While sweetly, gently, secretly, The flowery bells of morn are stirred And the wise choirs of faery Begin (innumerous!) to be heard. XVI O cool is the valley now And there, love, will we go For many a choir is singing now Where Love did sometime go. And hear you not the thrushes calling, Calling us away? O cool and pleasant is the valley And there, love, will we stay. XVII Because your voice was at my side I gave him pain, Because within my hand I held Your hand again. There is no word nor any sign Can make amend— He is a stranger to me now Who was my friend. XVIII O sweetheart, hear you Your lover’s tale; A man shall have sorrow When friends him fail. For he shall know then Friends be untrue And a little ashes Their words come to. But one unto him Will softly move And softly woo him In ways of love. His hand is under Her smooth round breast; So he who has sorrow Shall have rest. XIX Be not sad because all men Prefer a lying clamour before you: Sweetheart, be at peace again— Can they dishonour you? They are sadder than all tears; Their lives ascend as a continual sigh. Proudly answer to their tears: As they deny, deny. XX In the dark pine-wood I would we lay, In deep cool shadow At noon of day. How sweet to lie there, Sweet to kiss, Where the great pine-forest Enaisled is! Thy kiss descending Sweeter were With a soft tumult Of thy hair. O, unto the pine-wood At noon of day Come with me now, Sweet love, away. XXI He who hath glory lost, nor hath Found any soul to fellow his, Among his foes in scorn and wrath Holding to ancient nobleness, That high unconsortable one— His love is his companion. XXII Of that so sweet imprisonment My soul, dearest, is fain— Soft arms that woo me to relent And woo me to detain. Ah, could they ever hold me there Gladly were I a prisoner! Dearest, through interwoven arms By love made tremulous, That night allures me where alarms Nowise may trouble us; But sleep to dreamier sleep be wed Where soul with soul lies prisoned. XXIII This heart that flutters near my heart My hope and all my riches is, Unhappy when we draw apart And happy between kiss and kiss; My hope and all my riches—yes!— And all my happiness. For there, as in some mossy nest The wrens will divers treasures keep, I laid those treasures I possessed Ere that mine eyes had learned to weep. Shall we not be as wise as they Though love live but a day? XXIV Silently she’s combing, Combing her long hair, Silently and graciously, With many a pretty air. The sun is in the willow leaves And on the dappled grass, And still she’s combing her long hair Before the looking-glass. I pray you, cease to comb out, Comb out your long hair, For I have heard of witchery Under a pretty air,