Will you be jealous? Did you guess before
I loved so many things?-Still you the best:
Dearest, remember that I love you more,
O, more a thousand times, than all the rest!

ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER.

Charms you call your dearest blessing, Lips that thrill at your caressing, Eyes a mutual soul confessing,

Soon you'll make them grow Dim, and worthless your possessing, Not with age, but woe!

THOMAS CAMPBELL,

THE LADY'S "YES." "YES," I answered you last night; "No," this morning, sir, I say. Colors seen by candle-light

Will not look the same by day.

When the viols played their best, Lamps above, and laughs below, Love me sounded like a jest,

Fit for yes or fit for no. Call me false or call me free,

Vow, whatever light may shine, No man on your face shall see Any grief for change on mine.

Yet the sin is on us both;

Time to dance is not to woo; Wooing light makes fickle troth, Scorn of me recoils on you.

Learn to win a lady's faith

Nobly, as the thing is high,
Bravely, as for life and death,
With a loyal gravity.

Lead her from the festive boards,
Point her to the starry skies,
Guard her, by your truthful words,
Pure from courtship's flatteries.
By your truth she shall be true,

Ever true, as wives of yore;
And her yes, once said to you,
SHALL be Yes forevermore.

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

THE MAID'S REMONSTRANCE.

NEVER wedding, ever wooing,
Still a lovelorn heart pursuing,
Read you not the wrong you're doing
In my cheek's pale hue?

All my life with sorrow strewing,
Wed, or cease to woo.

Rivals banished, bosoms plighted,
Still our days are disunited;
Now the lamp of hope is lighted,

Now half quenched appears, Damped and wavering and benighted Midst my sighs and tears.

LOVE'S SILENCE.

BECAUSE I breathe not love to everie one,
Nor do not use set colors for to weare,
Nor nourish special locks of vowed haire,
Nor give each speech a full point of a groane,
The courtlie nymphs, acquainted with the moane
Of them who on their lips Love's standard beare,
"What! he?" say they of me. "Now I

dare sweare

He cannot love: No, no! let him alone."

And think so still, if Stella know my minde. Profess, indeed, I do not Cupid's art ;

But you, faire maids, at length this true shall

finde,

That his right badge is but worne in the hearte. Dumb swans, not chattering pies, do lovers

prove:

They love indeed who quake to say they love.

SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.

GIVE ME MORE LOVE OR MORE DISDAIN.

GIVE me more love or more disdain ;

The torrid or the frozen zone
Brings equal ease unto my pain;

The temperate affords me none;
Either extreme, of love or hate,
Is sweeter than a calm estate.

Give me a storm; If it be love,

Like Danaë in a golden shower, I swim in pleasure; if it prove

Disdain, that torrent will devour My vulture hopes; and he's possessed Of heaven that's but from hell released; Then crown my joys, or cure my pain; Give me more love or more disdain.

THOMAS CAREW.

LOVE DISSEMBLED.

FROM "AS YOU LIKE IT," ACT III. SC. 5.

THINK not I love him, though I ask for him; 'Tis but a peevish boy:- yet he talks well; But what care I for words?- yet words do well, When he that speaks them pleases those that hear.