With thy scythe depart, O Death, Spare the tender blossom! Fierce the fight ere she will yield Baby from her bosom. With her whole soul will she shield, E’en though sore affrighted, That mysterious flame of life Which from her was lighted, For scarce rose that little flame, Ere to her revealed was What of love,--of wondrous power,-- In her breast concealed was. _THE KISS REFUSED._ I would kiss you, lover true! But I fear the moon may spy; Little bright stars watch us too. Little star might fall from sky To the blue sea, telling all! To the oars the sea will tell, Oars, in turn, tell Fisher Eno-- Him whom Mary loveth well-- And, when Mary knows a thing, All the neighbourhood will know, How by moonlight, in the garden, Where the fragrant flowers grow, I caressed, and fondly kissed thee, While the silver apple-tree Shed its blooms on you and me! _THE SNOWDROP._ How pure and how sweet, Little snowdrop, you blow! While, by you peeped through, Fade the last streaks of snow. Thus our last tears stream For a sorrow gone by, While dawns the first dream Of a joy drawing nigh. ⁂ A smile and a tear, the sun and the shower, How sweet they flash and flow! Like sunlight clear, through the sparkling tear Shines thy soul, refreshed by woe. FROM COUNT TOLSTOI. _BELIEVE IT NOT._ Believe it not, when in excess of sorrow I murmur that my love for thee is o’er! When ebbs the tide, think not the sea’s a traitor-- He will return and love the land once more. I still am pining, full of former passion, To thee, again, my freedom I’ll restore, E’en as the waves, with homeward murmur flowing, Roll back from far to the belovèd shore. _THE SCOLDING._ Do not scold me so, my dear, Wrath with words so feebly matching! Such a scolding soothes my ear; I’m your words intent on catching; As they issue suddenly, Pouring forth in pretty prattling, What marvel that they sound to me Pearls on silver salver rattling! FROM VLADIMIR VLADISLAVLEF. _REFLECTION._ Pressed cheek to cheek we stand before the glass, Wherein our forms reflected shine, Gloomy my glance; but thy alluring face With warmth and light illumines mine! So on the bosom of the sleeping wave The moon smiles with reflected light, Full of the peace that dawns beyond the grave, Softening the darkness of the night. _THE WOULD-BE NUN._ No, no! I can’t believe you! Cease, cease to prattle so Of single bliss, monastic vows, And prayerful life below! No, no! I can’t believe you! That stately form divine, That breast, that neck, those breathing limbs To convent cell confine!