Love me or not, love her I must or dye;
Leave me or not, follow her needs must I.
O, that her grace would my wisht comforts give:
How rich in her, how happy should I live!

All my desire, all my delight should be
Her to enjoy, her to unite to mee:
Envy should cease, her would I love alone:
Who loves by lookes, is seldome true to one.

Could I enchant, and that it lawfull were,
Her would I charme softly that none should heare.
But love enforc'd rarely yeelds firme content;
So would I love that neyther should repent.

Look not to me for wisdom,
There's naught you shall be told;
I make the moon my loving cup
And toast the spilling gold.

Look not to me for wisdom—
The cup is warm above,
And I shall drink of kisses,
So look to me for love.

When love speaks well of wisdom,
Watch out, and guard your heart,
Oh, do not give it wholly,
Or happiness depart.

For love with me is courage,
A vagabond, a road,
Two roving underneath the moon,
And on their hearts no load.

For love with me is madness—
Go to, who would be wise!—

In the nativity of time,
Chloris, it was not thought a crime
In direct Hebrew for to woo.
Now we make love as all on fire,
Ring retrograde our loud desire,
And court in English, backward, too.

Thrice happy was that golden age,
When compliment was construed rage,
And fine words in the centre hid;
When cursèd No stained no maid's bliss,
And all discourse was summed in Yes,
And nought forbad, but to forbid.

Love, then unstinted, Love did sip,
And cherries plucked fresh from the lip;
On cheeks and roses free he fed;

It’s often those
who talk a streak
on world affairs
and love and peace
who seem to love
and peace the least.

If only I could pretend to be a bow woven with rattan
and hang on to the shoulders of a Bando lord!
Pretending I'm a bow I've fallen in love with a Bando lord!
Why doesn't my body go to him, as I wish?
Sheer beauty—that's what my Bando lord is!

If love were what the rose is,
And I were like the leaf,
Our lives would grow together
In sad or singing weather,
Blown fields or flowerful closes,
Green pleasure or grey grief;
If love were what the rose is,
And I were like the leaf.

If I were what the words are,
And love were like the tune,
With double sound and single
Delight our lips would mingle,
With kisses glad as birds are
That get sweet rain at noon;
If I were what the words are,
And love were like the tune.

If you were life, my darling,

I SET a charm upon your hurrying breath,
I set a charm upon your wandering feet,
You shall not leave me—not for life, nor death,
Not even though you cease to love me, Sweet.

A woman's love nine Angels cannot bind,
Nor any rune that wind or water knows,
My heart were all as well set on the wind,
Or bound, to live or die, upon a rose.

I set a charm upon you, foot and hand,
That you and Knowledge, love, may never meet,
That you may never chance to understand
How strong you are, how weak your lover, Sweet.

I BEAR an unseen burden constantly;
Waking or sleeping I can never thrust
The load aside; through summer's heat and dust
And winter's snows it still abides with me.
I cannot let it fall, though I should be
Never so weary; carry it I must.
Nor can the bands that bind it on me rust
Or break, nor ever shall I be set free.
Sometimes 't is heavy as the weight that bore
Atlas on giant shoulders; sometimes light
As the frail message of the carrier dove;
But, light or heavy, shifting nevermore.
What is it thus oppressing, day and night?

I am afraid to
put my love into words.
Wine loses its bouquet
when poured out of its jug.

Here lies the Reverend Jonathan Doe,
Where he has gone to I don't know:
If haply to the realms above,
Farewell to happiness and love.
If haply to a lower level,
I can't congratulate the Devil.