Tell him to turn and come again, For once I sent him packing; He offered me a bargain then, But wit and price were lacking. I have the price he asked of me, The wit that will not weigh it; Ah! bid him come again and see How gladly I will pay it. A heart of gold he offered me As ’twere a penny fairing, And only asked a worthless fee, This heavy heart I’m wearing. I would not then--now long and drear The white way winds behind him; Ah! seek him, seek him, Pigeon dear, But you will never find him! THE GUARDIAN ANGEL When my good-nights and prayers are said And I am safe tucked up in bed, I know my guardian angel stands And holds my soul between his hands. I cannot see his wings of light Because I keep my eyes shut tight, For, if I open them, I know My pretty angel has to go. But through the darkness I can hear His white wings rustling very near; I know it is his darling wings, _Not_ Mother folding up my things! III “SHEPHERDS ALL AND MAIDENS FAIR” Pipe, shepherds, pipe, the summer’s ripe; So wreathe your crooks with flowers; The world’s in tune to Love and June, The days are rich in hours, In rosy hours, in golden hours-- Love’s crown and fortune fair, So gather gold for Love to hold, And flowers for Love to wear! Sing, maidens, sing! A dancing ring Of pleasures speed your way; Too harsh and dry is fierce July, Too maiden-meek was May; But Love and June their old sweet tune Are singing at your ear: So learn the song and troop along To meet your shepherds dear! Oh, Chloris fair, a rose to wear, And gold to spend have I-- When all are gay on this June day You would not bid me sigh? You would not scorn a swain forlorn-- Each shepherd far and near Hastes to his sweet, with flying feet, As I towards my dear. No maids there be in Arcady But have their shepherds true; Must you alone despise the one Who only pipes for you? You have no ear my pipe to hear Though all for you it be; And I no eyes for her who sighs And only sings for me! A PORTRAIT Like the sway of the silver birch in the breeze of dawn Is her dainty way; Like the gray of a twilight sky or a starlit lawn Are her eyes of gray; Like the clouds in their moving white Is her breast’s soft stir; And white as the moon and bright Is the soul of her. Like murmur of woods in spring ere the leaves be green, Like the voice of a bird That sings by a stream that sings through the night unseen, So her voice is heard. And the secret her eyes withhold In my soul abides, For white as the moon and cold Is the heart she hides. THE OFFERING