Loves fire bored into the poppy,
the moment they he-nnaed hands it saw.
The wild rose is nursing
its boils from burning, dear
LOVE, any devil else but you
Would for a given soul give something too.
At court your fellows every day
Give th' art of rhyming, huntsmanship, or play,
For them which were their own before ;
Only I have nothing, which gave more,
But am, alas ! by being lowly, lower.
I ask no dispensation now,
To falsify a tear, or sigh, or vow ;
I do not sue from thee to draw
A non obstante on nature's law ;
These are prerogatives, they inhere
In thee and thine ; none should forswear
As when two children, hand clasped fast in hand,
Explore the dimness of a fairy bower
In tremulous encroachment, each one fanned
To ardour by his playmate's fancied power;
Then see with wondering eyes the thing they sought,
Half feared, half hoped for, suddenly in view,
So we on tip-toe came, and dear Love wrought
Enchantments for us, long before we knew
Each other's heart; then led us gaily o'er
The flower-starred meadows, onward, eagerly,
Until we reached at length the open door
NOW the lusty spring is seen;
Golden yellow, gaudy blue,
Daintily invite the view:
Everywhere on every green
Roses blushing as they blow,
And enticing men to pull,
Lilies whiter than the snow,
Woodbines of sweet honey full:
All love's emblems, and all cry,
'Ladies, if not pluck'd, we die.'
Yet the lusty spring hath stay'd;
Blushing red and purest white
Daintily to love invite
Every woman, every maid:
Cherries kissing as they grow,
Believe me not, dear, when in hours of anguish
I say my love for thee exists no more.
At ebb of tide, think not the sea is faithless;
It will return with love unto the shore.
E'en now I pine for thee with old-time passion,
And place my freedom in thy hands once more.
Already, with loud noise, the waves are hasting
Back from afar to the beloved shore.
't is love that blinds my heart and eyes,
I sometimes say in doubting dreams,-
The face that near me perfect seems
Cold Memory paints in fainter dyes.
'T was but love's dazzled eyes I say
That made her seem so strangely bright;
The face I worshipped yesternight,
I dread to meet it changed to-day.
As, when dies out some song's refrain,
And leaves your eyes in happy tears,
Awake the same fond idle fears,
It cannot sound so sweet again.
You wait and say with vague annoy,
Who will hear me? Whom shall I lament to?
Who would pity me that heard my sorrows?
Ah, the lip that erst so many raptures
Used to taste, and used to give responsive,
Now is cloven, and it pains me sorely;
And it is not thus severely wounded
By my mistress having caught me fiercely,
And then gently bitten me, intending
To secure her friend more firmly to her:
No, my tender lip is crack'd thus, only
By the winds, o'er rime and frost proceeding,
Pointed, sharp, unloving, having met me.
To what a cumbersome unwieldiness
And burdenous corpulence my love had grown,
But that I did, to make it less,
And keep it in proportion,
Give it a diet, made it feed upon
That which love worst endures, discretion
Above one sigh a day I allow'd him not,
Of which my fortune, and my faults had part ;
And if sometimes by stealth he got
A she sigh from my mistress' heart,
And thought to feast upon that, I let him see
'Twas neither very sound, nor meant to me.
Old memories come trooping down
The vistas of the years;
In blue-girt robes of pleasure clad
Or garbed in tears.
Down from the days when hope was young
And sorrow never born,
My thoughts sweep o'er remembered scenes
Unto this morn.
Though motley company they are
Of smile or tear or frown,
They hold aloft the burnished gold
Of my heart's crown.
For through it all and over all
There gleams the light serene,
On purpled walls and crimson heights
I long to talk with some old lover's ghost,
Who died before the god of love was born.
I cannot think that he, who then lov'd most,
Sunk so low as to love one which did scorn.
But since this god produc'd a destiny,
And that vice-nature, custom, lets it be,
I must love her, that loves not me.
Sure, they which made him god, meant not so much,
Nor he in his young godhead practis'd it.
But when an even flame two hearts did touch,
His office was indulgently to fit
Actives to passives. Correspondency
