Romantic Love

I

Is it not sweet to know?--
The moon hath told me so--
That in some lost romance, love,
Long lost to us below,
A knight with casque and lance, love,
A thousand years ago,
I kissed you from a trance, love?--
The moon hath told me so.

II

Or were it strange to wis?--
The stars have told me this--
That once a nightingale, love,
Sang on an Isle of Greece;
From whose melodious wail, love,
Its song’s wild harmonies,
Was born a spirit-woman--
Yourself! whom I, a human,
Made mine!... So goes the tale, love!--
The stars have told me this.

III

Is it not quaint to tell?--
The flowers remember well--
How once a wild-rose blew, love,
Dim in a haunted dell;
To which a bee was true, love.
The bee, so it befell,
Was I: the rose was you, love!...
The flowers remember well.

IV

To moon and flower and star
We are not what we are.--
Sometimes, from o’er that sea, love,
Whose golden sands are far,--
From shores of Destiny, love,--
The dreams that know no bar,
Will waft a truth that glistens
To Memory who listens,
Reminding you and me, love,
We are not what we are.