I vow to thee, my country — all earthly things above —
Entire and whole and perfect, the service of my love,
The love that asks no question: the love that stands the test,
That lays upon the altar the dearest and the best:
The love that never falters, the love that pays the price,
The love that makes undaunted the final sacrifice.
And there's another country, I've heard of long ago —
Most dear to them that love her, most great to them that know —
We may not count her armies; we may not see her King —

I took leave of my beloved one evening: how I wish
I had rather tasted death than been away from him!
I find that even the sun complains of love for him,
And the doves weep with the pain of loving him:
The evenings seem so feeble after he has left,
As if they also felt the pain of what I now suffer,
The breeze began to carry the feelings of our love,
And became soft with love, its breath grew fragrant,
The dew of the garden was mixed in the morning
With the sweet fragrance of remembrance of him,
The flowers are his mouth, the breeze his breath,

I shall say what inordinat love is:
The furiosite and wodness of minde,
A instinguible brenning fawting blis,
A gret hungre, insaciat to finde,
A dowcet ille, a ivell swetness blinde,
A right wonderfulle, sugred, swete errour,
Withoute labour rest, contrary to kinde,
Or withoute quiete to have huge labour.

I send you here a wreath of blossoms blown,
And woven flowers at sunset gathered,
Another dawn had seen them ruined, and shed
Loose leaves upon the grass at random strown.
By this, their sure example, be it known,
That all your beauties, now in perfect flower,
Shall fade as these, and wither in an hour.
Flowerlike, and brief of days, as the flower sown.

Ah, time is flying, lady, — time is flying;
Nay, 'tis not time that flies but we that go,
Who in short space shall be in churchyard lying,
And of our loving parley none shall know,

I saw a Vision yesternight
Enough to sate a Seeker's sight,
I wish'd my self a shaker there,
And her quick Pants my trembling Sphere.
It was a She so glittering bright,
You'd think her Soul an Adamite,
A Person of so rare a frame,
Her Body might be lin'd with th' same.
Beautie's chiefest Maid of Honour,
You may break Lent with looking on her.
Not the fair Abbess of the Skies
With all her Nunnery of Eyes
Can shew me such a glorious Prize.

I PRAY thee, Dante, shouldst thou meet with Love
In any place where Lapo then may be,
That there thou fail not to mark heedfully
If Love with lover's name that man approve;
If to our Master's will his lady move
Aright, and if himself show fealty:
For ofttimes, by ill custom, ye may see
This sort profess the semblance of true love.
Thou know'st that in the court where Love holds sway
A law subsists, that no man who is vile
Can service yield to a lost woman there.
If suffering aught avail the sufferer,

I never thought that my love would leave me
Until one evening when he came in.
He sat him down and I sat beside him
And then our troubles did begin.

Oh love is teasing and love is pleasing,
And love's a pleasure when first it's new.
But as it grows older it waxes colder
And fades away like the morning dew.

There is a blackbird sits on yon tree,
Some say that he's blind and cannot see.
How I wish it had been the same by me
Before my false love I did see.

Oh I wish my father had never whistled,

I never saw youe madam laye aparte
Your cornet black, in colde nor yet in heate,
Sythe first ye knew of my desire so greate,
Which other fances chac'd cleane from my harte.
Whiles to my self I did the thought reserve
That so unware did wounde my wofull brest,
Pytie I saw within your hart dyd rest;
But since ye knew I did youe love and serve
Your golden treese was clad alway in blacke,
Your smilyng lokes that hid thus evermore,
All that withdrawne that I did crave so sore.
So doth this cornet governe me, a lacke,

I must possess you utterly
And utterly must you possess me;
So even if that dreamer's tale
Of heaven and hell be true
There shall be two spirits rived together
Either in whatever peace be heaven
Or in the icy whirlwind that is hell
For those who loved each other more than God —
So that the other spirits shall cry out:
" Ah! Look how the ancient love yet holds to them
That these two ghosts are never driven apart
But kiss with shadowy kisses and still take
Joy from the mingling of their misty limbs! "

I met this lovely scene once before, on horseback,
but then I was constrained by official duties.
Now I have retired, and nothing holds me back:
I've earned the chance to look carefully
at the eastern mountains.