Yet would I give, and of my best, So delve the kingdom of mine eyes: What say'st thou to a rope of pearls Strung from the cirro-clouded skies? A sunlit beck, just after rain, Should from its ripples lend a chain Of sparkling diamonds, very meet To grace thy wrist, my Lady Sweet. A peaty tarn, lost 'mong the hills, Of beryl tint should make a ring; The moors should yield a coronet Of amethyst, from summer ling. * * * * * _Rubies?_ Already thou hast two! They are the gems for which I sue. RIBBLESDALE. BARGAINING There are many, many forests lying north, south, east, and west, There are many, many rivers moving slowly to the sea, But there's a wood of budding beech that claims the heart of me, And there's a little singing beck that falls from heathered crest. O! I would give the universe to own that singing stream, And watch the stars a-hiding from the rosy-fingered morn, While cuckoos wake the fellside, and daffodils are born-- O! any one can have the world, so I may keep my stream-- Yet would I barter beechen wood and little singing beck If I could fold my arms once more around my sweetheart's neck. NIDDERDALE. SONG OF GOOD-BYE The ship is speeding fast from out the bay, Instead of thine, I feel a kiss of spray; My face is lashed by salt winds from the sea, My eyes are wet with parting now from thee. O Husband Sweetheart! send to me a thought-- Some loving word, perchance my lips have taught! The evening fades to purple, darkly blue, The air is chill, a few white stars creep through The steely buckler of the northern sky; One lonely sound recurs--a sew-mew's cry. O Husband Sweetheart! send thy heart to me Across this tireless, surging, tossing sea! To-night we're severed, many miles apart: I wonder, canst thou rest, my Dearest Heart? In Court of Dreams perhaps we'll briefly meet And kiss upon the Borderland of Sleep. O Husband Sweetheart! say for me a prayer-- God give you peace, and have you in His care! OFF THE YORKSHIRE COAST. KING YESTERDAY You and King Yesterday both have fled To the Land-of-the-beautiful-days-that-are-dead. How full of bird music the dewy-fair Morn When Yesterday, King of the Past, was born; How rosy with roses the passionate noon When you and King Yesterday ruled sweet June; How royal with splendour the crimsoning west As Yesterday bravely grew old with zest; And eve was a glamour of emerald light When Yesterday greeted the world "Good-night." Oh! You and King Yesterday gently wean My thoughts to the Country-it-might-have-been. KISSING Thou canst not kiss without consent, For know, dear Thief, a kiss is lent; And if thou takest one to-day, With interest must thou repay: One now, next week I'll count in fives,-- Thou'lt owe some scores in Paradise! TANFIELD, WENSLEYDALE. PHILOSOPHY