I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.

You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.

Oh plunge me deep in love — put out
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,
Swept by the tempest of your love,
A taper in a rushing wind.

He will not be too deeply in Love

I am enamored, and yet not so much
But that I'd do without it easily;
And my own mind thinks all the more of me
That Love has not quite penned me in his hutch.
Enough if for his sake I dance and touch
The lute, and serve his servants cheerfully:
An overdose is worse than none would be:
Love is no lord of mine, I'm proud to vouch.
So let no woman who is born conceive

I am a roving gambler, I've gambled all around,
Wherever I meet with a deck of cards I lie my money down.

2

I've gambled down in Washington and I've gambled over in Spain;
I am on my way to Georgia to knock down my last game.

3

I had not been in Washington many more weeks than three,
Till I fell in love with a pretty little girl and she fell in love with me.

4

She took me in her parlor, she cooled me with her fan,
She whispered low in her mother's ears, " I love this gambling man! "

5

The hunched camels of the night
Trouble the bright
And silver waters of the moon.
The Maiden of the Morn will soon
Through Heaven stray and sing,
Star gathering.
Now while the dark about our loves is strewn,
Light of my dark, blood of my heart, O come!
And night will catch her breath up, and be dumb.

Leave thy father, leave thy mother
And thy brother;
Leave the black tents of thy tribe apart!
Am I not thy father and thy brother,
And thy mother?
And thou--what needest with thy tribe's black tents

How they came into the world,
the women-loving-women
came in three by three
and four by four
the women-loving-women
came in ten by ten
and ten by ten again
until there were more
than you could count

they took care of each other
the best they knew how
and of each other's children,
if they had any.

How they lived in the world,
the women-loving-women
learned as much as they were allowed
and walked and wore their clothes
the way they liked
whenever they could. They did whatever

1. How sweet is the language of love, Which dwells on the penitents' tongue! The
3. Immanuel's glory the theme, Our hearts are inflamed with desire; Or
theme of their heavenly joys, The notes of Immanuel's song!
while of his suffering we tell, We wonder, repent, and admire.
2. 'Twas thus with the converts of old, Though prisons and chains were their lot; At
4. O loving Redeemer, we come, With panting and longing to be As-
midnight, when Jesus appeared, They sang, and their bands were forgot.
sured of sweet pardon and peace, And wholly conformed to thee.

How strangely this sun reminds me of my love!
Of my walk alone at evening, when like the cottage smoke
Hope vanished into the red fading of the sky.
I remember my strained listening to his voice
My staring at his face and taking the photograph
With the river behind, and the woods touched by Spring:
Till the identification of a morning —
Expansive sheets of blue rising from fields
Roaring movements of light discerned under shadow —
With his figure leaning over a map, is now complete.
What is left of that smoke which the wind blew away?

How should I love my best?
What though my love unto that height be grown,
That taking joy in you alone
I utterly this world detest,
Should I not love it yet as th'only place
Where Beauty hath his perfect grace,
And is possest?

But I beauties despise,
You, universal beauty seem to me,
Giving and shewing form and degree
To all the rest, in your fair eyes,
Yet should I not love them as parts whereon
Your beauty, their perfection
And top, doth rise?

But ev'n my self I hate,
So far my love is from the least delight

How often, when life's summer day
Is waning, and its sun descends,
Wisdom drives laughing wit away,
And lovers shrivel into friends!

How ill doth he deserve a Lovers name,
Whose pale weak flame
Cannot retain
His heat in spight of absence or disdain;
But doth at once, like paper set on fire,
Burn and expire;
True love can never change his seat,
Nor did he ever love, that could retreat.

That noble flame, which my brest keeps alive,
Shall still survive,
When my soule 's fled;
Nor shall my love dye, when my bodye 's dead,
That shall wait on me to the lower shade,
And never fade:
My very ashes in their urn,
Shall, like a hallowed Lamp, for ever burn.