Love-Illness
I tremble like the blade;
my face is clear and dewy.
I feel ten parts alive,
yet ill, afflicted, fluey;
my voice no longer works,
dry-mouthed, my tongue is swelling,
yet heart now overflows,
too many words for telling.
Let all things be endured;
though I am poor and dying,
my heart is brightly fresh
like breeze in green grass sighing.
A fire thrills my skin;
thus changed, I am elated,
but starving -- how I starve! --
with need divine, unsated.
Three Ravens: A Fragment
Three ravens sat upon a tree;
hey down, derry down day,
hey down!
They sang a song as grim could be,
hey down, derry down day,
hey down!
My love is gone across the sea,
hey down, derry down day,
hey down! --
and I now hold just memory,
hey down, derry down day,
hey down!
Three ravens sat upon a tree,
hey down, derry down day,
hey down!
They sang the sadness deep in me,
hey down, derry down day,
hey down!
