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And the hungriest lion doubted
Ere he disputed with him.
The nightingale's complaint,
It dies upon her heart, As I must die on thine,
0, beloved as thou art !
That was a life to live for!
Not this weak human life,
Its poor and petty strife !
The shadows of twilight grow, And the tiger's ancient fierceness
In my veins begins to flow. Come not cringing to sue me !
Take me with triumph and power, As a warrior storms a fortress !
I will not shrink or cower. Come as you came in the desert,
Ere we were women and men, When the tiger passions were in us, And love as you loved me then !
WILLIAM W. STORY,
0, lift me from the grass !
I die, I faint, I fail ! Let thy love in kisses rain
On my lips and eyelids pale. My cheek is cold and white, alas !
My heart beats loud and fast : Oh! press it close to thine again,
Where it will break at last!
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.
SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE.
SMILE AND NEVER HEED ME.
Though, when other maids stand by,
Smile, and never heed me!
Smile, and never heed me !
Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Even if, with maiden pride,
Smile, and never heed me!
The face of all the world is changed, I think,
I ARISE FROM DREAMS OF THEE.
I arise from dreams of thee
In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low,
And the stars are shining bright. I arise from dreams of thee,
And a spirit in my feet
To thy chamber-window, sweet!
INDEED, this very love which is my boast,
The wandering airs they faint
On the dark, the silent stream, The champak odors fail
Like sweet thoughts in a dream ;
And love called love. And thus, I cannot , SAY over again, and yet once over again, speak
That thou dost love me. Though the word reOf love even, as a good thing of my own.
peated Thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and Should seem “a cuckoo-song," as thou dost weak,
Comes the fresh spring in all her green completed.
By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt's pain IF thou must love me, let it be for naught
Cry : "Speak once more — thou lovest !” Who Except for love's sake only. Do not say,
I can fear “I love her for her smile, her look, her way
Too many stars, though each in heaven shall roll, Of speaking gently, --- for a trick of thought
Too many flowers, though each shall crown the That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
year ? A sense of pleasant ease on such a day.”
Say thou dost love me, love me, love me, -- toll For these things in themselves, Beloved, may The silver iterance ! - only minding, dear, Be changed, or change for thee, –and love so To love me also in silence, with thy soul.
wrought May be unwrought so. Neither love me for Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry, — Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead, A creature might forget to weep, who bore | Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine? Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby. And would the sun for thee more coldly shine, But love me for love's sake, that evermore Because of grave-damps falling round my head ? Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity. I marveled, my Beloved, when I read .
Thy thought so in the letter. I am thine
But ... so much to thee? Can I pour thy wine I NEVER gave a lock of hair away
While my hands tremble? Then my soul, instead To a man, Dearest, except this to thee,
Of dreams of death, resumes life's lower range. Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully
Then, love me, Love ! look on me... breathe on I ring out to the full brown length and say,
me! “Take it.” My day of youth went yesterday; | As brighter ladies do not count it strange, My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee.
For love, to give up acres and degree, Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle tree,
I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange As girls do, any more. It only may
| My near sweet view of Heaven, for earth with thee! Now shade on two pale cheeks the mark of
tears, Taught drooping from the head that hangs aside My letters ! all dead paper, mute and white !Through sorrow's trick. I thought the funeral. And yet they seem alive and quivering shears
Against my tremulous hands which loose the string Would take this first, but Love is justified, -- And let them drop down on my knee to-night. Take it thou, finding pure, from all those years, This said, he wished to have me in his sight The kiss my mother left here when she died. Once, as a friend : this fixed a day in spring
To come and touch my hand ... a simple thing,
Yet I wept for it ! this ... the paper 's light... The soul's Rialto hath its merchandise ;
Said, Dear, I love thee ; and I sank and quailed I barter curl for curl upon that mart,
As if God's future thundered on my past. And from my poet's forehead to my heart
This said, I am thine, -- and so its ink has paled Receive this lock which outweighs argosies, —. With lying at my heart that beat too fast. As purely black, as erst, to Pindar's eyes,
| And this ...( Love, thy words have ill availed, The dim purpureal tresses gloomed athwart
If what this said, I dared repeat at last !
I THINK of thee ! my thoughts do twine and bud
Who art dearer, better ! Rather instantly
MY LITTLE SAINT.
| I CARE not, though it be And let these bands of greenery which insphere thee
By the preciser sort thought popery ; Drop heavily down, burst, shattered, every
We poets can a license show
For everything we do. where! Because, in this deep joy to see and hear thee
Hear, then, my little saint ! I'll pray to thee.
| If now thy happy mind,
To attend to anything so low
As what I say or do, To love me, I looked forward to the moon Regard, and be -- what thou wast ever -- kind. To slacken all those bonds which seemed too soon And quickly tied to make a lasting troth. Let not the blest above Quick-loving hearts, I thought, may quickly Engross thee quite, but sometimes hither rove : loathe ;
Fain would I thy sweet image see,
And sit and talk with thee;
| Wouldst thou sometimes by stealth converse with I did not wrong myself so, but I placed
me ! A wrong on thec. For perfect strains may float
How should I thy sweet commune prize, Neath master-hands, from instruments defaced, -
And other joys despise ! And great souls, at one stroke, may do and doat. Come, then! I ne'er was yet denied by thee.
I would not long detain First time he kissed me, he but only kissed Thy soul from bliss, nor keep thee here in pain; The fingers of this hand wherewith I write ;
Nor should thy fellow-saints e'er know
(And by thy absence I shall know I have been proud, and said, "My love, my own!” | Whether thy state be so),
Live happy, and be mindful of me there.
WAITING FOR THE GRAPES.
That I love thee, charming maid, I a thousand Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
times have said, I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; And a thousand times more I have sworn it, I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. But 't is easy to be seen in the coldness of your I love thee with the passion put to use
mien In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. That you doubt my affection - or scoin it. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
Had I windows in my bosom, 0, how gladly, I'd
Then tell me, 0 why, .. expose 'em !
In that lovely blue eye,
Not a charm of its tint I discover ;
Or why should you wear
The only blue pair
Dear Fanny !
THOMAS MOORE. But 't is folly to look glum because people did
not come Up the stairs of your nursery to woo ye.
ANSWER TO A CHILD'S QUESTION. Ah me!
Do you ask what the birds say? The sparrow, In a grapery one walks without looking at the the dove, stalks,
The linnet, and thrush say, “ I love, and I love !" While the bunches are green that they 're bear. In the winter they 're silent, the wind is so strong; ing :
What it says I don't know, but it sings a loud All the pretty little leaves that are dangling at the song. eaves
But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny warni Scarce attract e’en a moment of staring.
But the lark is so brimful of gladness and love, But when time has swelled the grapes to a richer The green fields below him, the blue sky above, style of shapes,
That he sings, and he sings, and forever sings he, And the sun has lent warmth to their blushes, “I love my Love, and my Love loves me.” Then to cheer us and to gladden, to enchant us
SAMUEL COLERIDGE. and to madden, Is the ripe ruddy glory that rushes.
O, 't is then that mortals pant while they gaze on Tying her bonnet under her chin,
She tied her raven ringlets in.
For, tying her bonnet under her chin,
They were strolling together up the hill,
And it blew the curls a frolicsome race,
All over the happy peach-colored face.
Till scolding and laughing, she tied them in,
Under her beautiful, dimpled chin.
Of the pinkest fuchsia's tossing plume,
All over the cheeks of the prettiest girl
Or, in tying her bonnet under her chin,
Tied a young man's heart within.
Steeper and steeper grew the hill,
The western wind blew down, and played
The wildest tricks with the little maid, "I love, and am yours, if you love me!" As, tying her bonnet under her chin, Dear Fanny !
| She tied a young man's heart within,