Transcribed from the 1903 John Lane edition by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk Poems by Alice Meynell Contents: SONNET--MY HEART SHALL BE THY GARDEN SONNET--THOUGHTS IN SEPARATION TO A POET SONG OF THE SPRING TO THE SUMMER TO THE BELOVED MEDITATION TO THE BELOVED DEAD--A LAMENT SONNET IN AUTUMN A LETTER FROM A GIRL TO HER OWN OLD AGE SONG BUILDERS OF RUINS SONNET SONG OF THE DAY TO THE NIGHT 'SOEUR MONIQUE' IN EARLY SPRING PARTED REGRETS SONG SONNET--IN FEBRUARY SAN LORENZO GIUSTINIANI'S MOTHER SONNET--THE LOVE OF NARCISSUS TO A LOST MELODY SONNET--THE POET TO NATURE THE POET TO HIS CHILDHOOD SONNET AN UNMARKED FESTIVAL SONNET--THE NEOPHYTE SONNET--SPRING ON THE ALBAN HILLS SONG OF THE NIGHT AT DAYBREAK SONNET--TO A DAISY SONNET--TO ONE POEM IN A SILENT TIME FUTURE POETRY THE POET SINGS TO HER POET A POET'S SONNET THE MODERN POET AFTER A PARTING RENOUNCEMENT VENI CREATOR DEDICATION TO W. M. _Most of these verses were written in the author's early youth, and were published in a volume called 'Preludes,' now out of print. Other poems, representing the same transitory and early thoughts, which appeared in that volume, are now omitted as cruder than the rest; and their place is taken by the few verses written in maturer years_. SONNET--MY HEART SHALL BE THY GARDEN My heart shall be thy garden. Come, my own, Into thy garden; thine be happy hours Among my fairest thoughts, my tallest flowers, From root to crowning petal, thine alone. Thine is the place from where the seeds are sown Up to the sky enclosed, with all its showers. But ah, the birds, the birds! Who shall build bowers To keep these thine? O friend, the birds have flown. For as these come and go, and quit our pine To follow the sweet season, or, new-comers, Sing one song only from our alder-trees. My heart has thoughts, which, though thine eyes hold mine, Flit to the silent world and other summers, With wings that dip beyond the silver seas. SONNET--THOUGHTS IN SEPARATION We never meet; yet we meet day by day Upon those hills of life, dim and immense: The good we love, and sleep--our innocence. O hills of life, high hills! And higher than they, Our guardian spirits meet at prayer and play. Beyond pain, joy, and hope, and long suspense, Above the summits of our souls, far hence, An angel meets an angel on the way. Beyond all good I ever believed of thee Or thou of me, these always love and live. And though I fail of thy ideal of me, My angel falls not short. They greet each other. Who knows, they may exchange the kiss we give, Thou to thy crucifix, I to my mother. TO A POET Thou who singest through the earth, All the earth's wild creatures fly thee, Everywhere thou marrest mirth. Dumbly they defy thee. There is something they deny thee.