I did not love him for myself alone:
I loved him that he loved my dearest love.
O God, no blasphemy
It is to feel we loved in trinity,
To tell Thee that I loved him as Thy Dove
Is loved, and is Thy own,
That comforted the moan
Of Thy Beloved, when earth could give no balm
And in Thy Presence makes His tenderest calm.

So I possess this creature of Love's flame,
So loving what I love he lives from me;
Not white, a thing of fire,
Of seraph plumed limbs and one desire,
That is my heart's own, and shall ever be:
An animal — with aim

Love rises up some days
From a blue couch of light
Upon the summer sky;
He wakes, and waking plays
With beams and dewdrops white;
His laugh is like the sunniest rain,
And patters through his voice;
He is so lovely, tolerant, and sane,
That the heart questions why
It doth not, every hour it beats, rejoice.

Yet sometimes Love awakes
On a black, hellish bed,
And rises up as hate:
He drinks the hurtful lakes,
He joys to toss and spread
Sparkles of pitchy, rankling flame,
He joys to play with death;

I care not for my Lady's soul
Though I worship before her smile;
I care not where be my Lady's goal
When her beauty shall lose its wile.

Low sit I down at my Lady's feet
Gazing through her wild eyes
Smiling to think how my love will fleet
When their starlike beauty dies.

I care not if my Lady pray
To our Father which is in Heaven
But for joy my heart's quick pulses play
For to me her love is given.

Then who shall close my Lady's eyes
And who shall fold her hands?
Will any hearken if she cries

Thy strong arms are around me, love,
My head is on thy breast:
Though words of comfort come from thee,
My soul is not at rest:

For I am but a startled thing,
Nor can I ever be
Aught save a bird whose broken wing
Must fly away from thee.

I cannot give to thee the love
I gave so long ago —
The love that turned and struck me down
Amid the blinding snow.

I can but give a sinking heart
And weary eyes of pain,
A faded mouth that cannot smile
And may not laugh again.

Yet keep thine arms around me, love,

IV

I said, " I have shut my heart
As one shuts an open door,
That Love may starve therein
And trouble me no more. "

But over the roofs there came
The wet new wind of May,
And a tune blew up from the curb
Where the street-pianos play.

My room was white with the sun
And Love cried out in me,
" I am strong, I will break your heart
Unless you set me free. "

In summer-time, when all the sky was blue,
And all the garden walks with flowers arrayed,
I sent, dear love, a little song to you.
I heard, you read it where the roses grew,
And then you said, such songs were only made
In summer-time, when all the sky is blue.
So, since you nothing care to prove me true,
I'll fret you not with any homage paid,
Save, love, that little song I sent to you —
I do but ask you, with no thought of rue,
While I shall stand afar off in the shade,
Remember once, when all your sky is blue,

Do you grieve no costly offering
To the Lady you can make?
One there is, and gifts less worthy
Queens have stooped to take.

Take a Heart of virgin silver,
Fashion it with heavy blows,
Cast it into Love's hot furnace
When it fiercest glows.

With Pain's sharpest point transfix it,
And then carve, in letters fair,
Tender dreams and quaint devices,
Fancies sweet and rare.

Set within it Hope's blue sapphire,
Many-changing opal fears,
Blood-red ruby-stones of daring,
Mixed with pearly tears.

How can you all go talking to my lovely
And violating the intimate sanctity
Of her white silence, telling my pale lovely
Of her rare beauty in the poor words that be.
While I who have some power to drill these words,
As fiery emblems of our intimacy,
Into a host more paramount than swords,
Yet fear to finger such proud delicacy,
And only want to bow down low my head
If even distantly I see her form,
Or suddenly feel stabbed by eyes, deep-spread
Of foam and shadow like a sea in storm,
Wondering with my hand across my mouth

Thy love thou sentest oft to me,
And still as oft I thrust it back;
Thy messengers I could not see
In those who everything did lack,
The poor, the outcast and the black.

Pride held his hand before mine eyes,
The world with flattery stuffed mine ears;
I looked to see a monarch's guise,
Nor dreamed thy love would knock for years,
Poor, naked, fettered, full of tears.

Yet, when I sent my love to thee,
Thou with a smile didst take it in,
And entertain'dst it royally,
Though grimed with earth, with hunger thin,

A timid grace sits trembling in her eye,
As loth to meet the rudeness of men's sight,
Yet shedding a delicious lunar light,
That steeps in kind oblivious ecstasy
The care-crazed mind, like some still melody:
Speaking most plain the thoughts which do possess
Her gentle sprite: peace, and meek quietness,
And innocent loves, and maiden purity:
A look whereof might heal the cruel smart
Of changed friends, or fortune's wrongs unkind;
Might to sweet deeds of mercy move the heart
Of him who hates his brethren of mankind.