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LOVE.

IF IT BE TRUE THAT ANY BEAUTEOUS | Forgive me if I cannot turn away

THING.

Ir it be true that any beauteous thing
Raises the pure and just desire of man
From earth to God, the eternal fount of all,
Such I believe my love; for as in her
So fair, in whom I all besides forget,
I view the gentle work of her Creator,
I have no care for any other thing,
Whilst thus I love. Nor is it marvellous,
Since the effect is not of my own power,
If the soul doth, by nature tempted forth,
Enamored through the eyes,

Repose upon the eyes which it resembleth,
And through them riseth to the Primal Love,
As to its end, and honors in admiring ;

From those sweet eyes that are my earthly

heaven,

For they are guiding stars, benignly given
To tempt my footsteps to the upward way;
And if I dwell too fondly in thy sight,

I live and love in God's peculiar light.

MICHAEL ANGELO (Italian). Translation of J. E. TAYLOR.

WERE I AS BASE AS IS THE LOWLY PLAIN.

WERE I as base as is the lowly plain,
And you, my Love, as high as heaven above,

For who adores the Maker needs must love his Yet should the thoughts of me your humble

work.

MICHAEL ANGELO (Italian). Translation of J. E. TAYLOR.

SONNET.

MUSES, that sing Love's sensual empirie,
And lovers kindling your enraged fires
At Cupid's bonfires burning in the eye,
Blown with the empty breath of vain desires;
You, that prefer the painted cabinet
Before the wealthy jewels it doth store ye,
That all your joys in dying figures set,
And stain the living substance of your glory;
Abjure those joys, abhor their memory;
And let my love the honored subject be
Of love and honor's complete history!
Your eyes were never yet let in to see
The majesty and riches of the mind,
That dwell in darkness; for your god is blind.

GEORGE CHAPMAN.

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THE MIGHT OF ONE FAIR FACE.

THE might of one fair face sublimes my love,
For it hath weaned my heart from low desires ;
Nor death I heed, nor purgatorial fires.
Thy beauty, antepast of joys above,
Instructs me in the bliss that saints approve;
For O, how good, how beautiful, must be
The God that made so good a thing as thee,
So fair an image of the heavenly Dove!

THE night has a thousand eyes,

The day but one;

Yet the light of the bright world dies With the dying sun.

The bind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When its love is done.

FRANCIS W. BOURDILLON

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For kings have wars and broils to take in hand,
When shepherds laugh, and love upon the land;
Ah then, ah then,

If country loves such sweet desires gain,
What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

ROBERT GREENE.

TELL ME, MY HEART, IF THIS BE
LOVE.

WHEN Delia on the plain appears,
Awed by a thousand tender fears,

I would approach, but dare not move; —
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.

Whene'er she speaks, my ravished ear
No other voice than hers can hear ;
No other wit but hers approve ;
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.

If she some other swain commend,
Though I was once his fondest friend,
His instant enemy I prove ;-
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.

When she is absent, I no more
Delight in all that pleased before,
The clearest spring, the shadiest grove ;-
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.

When fond of power, of beauty vain,
Her nets she spread for every swain,
I strove to hate, but vainly strove ;-
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.

GEORGE, LORD LYTTELTON.

MY TRUE-LOVE HATH MY HEART.
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his,
By just exchange one to the other given :
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,
There never was a better bargain driven :
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his.

His heart in me keeps him and me in one;
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides:
He loves my heart, for once it was his own;
I cherish his because in me it bides:
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his.

SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.

I SAW TWO CLOUDS AT MORNING.

I SAW two clouds at morning,
Tinged by the rising sun,

And in the dawn they floated on,

And mingled into one;

I thought that morning cloud was blest,
It moved so sweetly to the west.

I saw two summer currents

Flow smoothly to their meeting, And join their course, with silent force, In peace each other greeting;

Calm was their course through banks of green, While dimpling eddies played between.

Such be your gentle motion,

Till life's last pulse shall beat;

Like summer's beam, and summer's stream,
Float on, in joy, to meet

A calmer sea, where storms shall cease,
A purer sky, where all is peace.

JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD.

THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY.

It was a friar of orders gray

Walked forth to tell his beads;

And he met with a lady fair

Clad in a pilgrim's weeds.

"Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar;

I pray thee tell to me,

If ever at yon holy shrine

My true-love thou didst see."

"And how should I know your true-love From many another one?"

"O, by his cockle hat, and staff, And by his sandal shoon.

"But chiefly by his face and mien,
That were so fair to view;
His flaxen locks that sweetly curled,
And eyes of lovely blue."

"O lady, he is dead and gone!

Lady, he's dead and gone! And at his head a green grass turf, And at his heels a stone.

"Within these holy cloisters long
He languished, and he died,
Lamenting of a lady's love,
And 'plaining of her pride.

Here bore him barefaced on his bier Six proper youths and tall, And many a tear bedewed his grave Within yon kirkyard wall.”

"And art thou dead, thou gentle youth! And art thou dead and gone?

And didst thou die for love of me?

Break, cruel heart of stone !"

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