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Nature did her so much right

As she scorns the help of art.
In as many virtues dight

As e'er yet embraced a heart.
So much good so truly tried,
Some for less were deified.
Wit she hath, without desier

To make known how much she hath ; And her anger flames no higher

Than may fitly sweeten wrath.
Full of pity as may be,
Though perhaps not so to me.
Reason masters every sense,

And her virtues grace her birth;
Lovely as all excellence,

Modest in her most of mirth. Likelihood enough to prove Only worth could kindle love.

Such she is; and if you know

Such a one as I have sung ; Be she brown, or fair, or so

That she be but somewhat young; Be assured 't is she, or none, That I love, and love alone.

LOVE ME LITTLE, LOVE ME LONG.

ORIGINALLY PRINTED IN 1569.
Love me little, love me long!
Is the burden of my song :
Love that is too hot and strong

Burneth soon to waste.
Still I would not have thee cold, -
Not too backward, nor too bold;
Love that lasteth till 't is old

Fadeth not in haste.
Love me little, love me long!
Is the burden of my song.
If thou lovest me too much,
'T will not prove as true a touch ;
Love me little more than such, --

For I fear the end.
I'm with little well content,
And a little from thee sent
Is enough, with true intent

To be steadfast, friend.
Say thou lovest me, while thou live
I to thee my love will give,
Never dreaming to deceive

While that life endures;
Nay, and after death, in sooth,
I to thee will keep my truth,
As now when in my May of youth :

This my love assures.
Constant love is moderate ever,
And it will through life persever;
Give me that with true endeavor, —

I will it restore.
A suit of durance let it be,
For all weathers, --- that for me,
For the land or for the sea :

Lasting evermore.
Winter's cold or summer's heat,
Autumn's tempests on it beat :
It can never know defeat,

Never can rebel :
Such the love that I would gain,
Such the love, I tell thee plain,
Thou must give, or woo in vain :
So to thee — farewell!

ANONYMOU: .

WILLIAM BROWNE.

LOVE NOT ME FOR COMELY GRACE.

Love not me for comely grace,
For my pleasing eye or face,
Nor for any outward part,
No, nor for my constant heart;
For those may fail or turn to ill,

So thou and I shall sever ;
Keep therefore a true woman's eye,
And love me still, but know not why.
So hast thou the same reason still
To dote upon me ever.

ANONYMOUS.

HE THAT LOVES A ROSY CHEEK.

SONG.

He that loves a rosy cheek,

Or a coral lip admires,
Or from starlike eyes doth seek

Fuel to maintain his fires ;
As old Time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.
But a smooth and steadfast mind

Gentle thoughts, and calm desires,
Hearts with equal love combined,

Kindle never-dying fires : Where these are not, I despise Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes.

T. CAREW.

SHALL I love you like the wind, love,

That is so fierce and strong, That sweeps all barriers from its path

And recks not right or wrong? The passion of the wind, love,

Can nover last for long.

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No matter how or where we loved,

Or when we 'll wed, or what befall;
I only feel she 's mine at last,
I only know I 'll hold her fast,

Though to dust crumbles Moreton Hall.

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Her pedigree - good sooth, 't is long !

Her grim sires stare from every wall;
And centuries of ancestral grace
Revive in her sweet girlish face,

As meek she glides through Moreton Hall. Whilst I have — nothing ; save, perhaps,

Some worthless heaps of idle gold
And a true heart, — the which her eye
Through glittering dross spied, womanly ;

Therefore they say her heart was sold !

You never give a look, not you,

Nor drop him a “Good morning," To keep his long day warm and blue, So fretted by your scorning.

v. She shook her head : “The mouse and bee

For crumb or flower will linger;
The dog is happy at my knee,
The cat purrs at my finger.

VI. “But he... to him, the least thing given

Means great things at a distance ; He wants my world, my sun, my heaven, Soul, body, whole existence.

VII.
“They say love gives as well as takes ;

But I'm a simple maiden, -
My mother's first smile when she wakes
I still have smiled and prayed in.

VIII.
“I only know my mother's love

Which gives all and asks nothing,

I laugh ; she laughs ; the hills and vales

Laugh as we ride 'neath chestnuts tall, Or start the deer that silent graze, And look up, large-eyed, with soft gaze,

At the fair maid of Moreton Hall ;

We let the neighbors talk their fill,

For life is sweet, and love is strong, And two, close knit in marriage ties, The whole world's shams may well despise,

Its folly, madness, shame, and wrong.

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That thou hast kept a portion back,

While I have staked the whole,
Let no false pity spare the blow,
But in true mercy tell me so.
Is there within thy heart a need

That mine cannot fulfil ?
One chord that any other hand

Could better wake or still ?
Speak now, lest at some future day
My whole life wither and decay.
Lives there within thy nature hid

The demon-spirit, change,
Shedding a passing glory still

On all things new and strange ?
It may not be thy fault alone,
But shield my heart against thine own.
Couldst thou withdraw thy hand one day

And answer to my claim,
That fate, and that to-day's mistake, —

Not thou, - had been to blame?
Some soothe their conscience thus; but thou
Wilt surely warn and save me now.
Nay, answer not, - I dare not hear,

The words would come too late ; Yet I would spare thee all remorse,

So comfort thee, my fate : Whatever on my heart may fall, Remember, I would risk it all!

XIII.

" Dear neighbor of the trellised house,

A man should murmur never, Though treated worse than dog and mouse, Till doted on forever !"

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING,

ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER.

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BEFORE I trust my fate to thee,

Or place my hand in thine, Before I let thy future give

Color and form to mine, Before I peril all for thee, Question thy soul to-night for me.

I break all slighter bonds, nor feel

A shadow of regret :
Is there one link within the past

That holds thy spirit yet ?
Or is thy faith as clear and free
As that which I can pledge to thee ?
Does there within thy dimmest dreams

A possible future shine,
Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe,

Untouched, unshared by mine?
If so, at any pain or cost,
O, tell me before all is lost !

“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.

Look deeper still : if thou canst feel,

Within thy inmost soul,

THOMAS CAREW.

Lead her from the festive boards,

GIVE ME MORE LOVE OR MORE
Point her to the starry skies,

DISDAIN.
Guard her, by your truthful words,
Pure from courtship's flatteries.

Give me more love or more disdain";

The torrid or the frozen zone
By your truth she shall be true,

Brings equal ease unto my pain ;
Ever true, as wives of yore ;

The temperate affords me none;
And her yes, once said to you,

Either extreme, of love or hate,
SUALL be Yes forevermore.

Is sweeter than a calm estate.
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

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
LOVE'S SILENCE.

My vulture hopes; and he's possessed
BECAUSE I breathe not love to everie one,

Of heaven that's but from hell released ; Nor do not use set colors for to weare,

Then crown my joys, or cure my pain ;

Give me more love or more disdain.
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,

LOVE DISSEMBLED. “ What! he?” say they of me. “Now I dare

FROM “AS YOU LIKE IT.” sweare He cannot love: No, no ! let him alone.”

THINK not I love him, though I ask for him ; And think so still, — if Stella know my minde. /'T is but a peevish boy :- yet he talks well ;

But what care I for words? - yet words do well, Profess, indeed, I do not Cupid's art;

When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. But you, faire maids, at length this true shall

But, sure, he's proud ; and yet his pride becomes finde, -That his right badge is but worne in the hearte.

le. He'll make a proper man: The best thing in him Dumb swans, not chattering pies, do lovers 1.

Is his complexion ; and faster than his tongue prove :

Did make offence, his eye did heal it up.
They love indeed who quake to say they love. He

He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall;
His leg is but so so; and yet 't is well :
There was a pretty redness in his lip,

A little riper and more lusty red
THE MAID'S REMONSTRANCE. | Than that mixed in his cheek ; 't was just the

difference NEVER wedding, ever wooing,

Betwixt the constant red, and mingled damask. Still a love-lorn heart pursuing,

There be some women, Silvius, had they marked Read you not the wrong you 're doing

him In my cheek's pale hue ?

In parcels, as I did, would have gone near All my life with sorrow strewing,

To fall in love with him : but, for my part, Wed, or cease to woo.

I love him not, nor hate him not; and yet Rivals banished, bosoms plighted,

I have more cause to hate him than to love him :

For what had he to do to chide at me ? Still our days are disunited;

He said mine eyes were black, and my hair black; Now the lamp of hope is lighted,

And, now I am remembered, scorned at me : Now half quenched appears,

I marvel, why I answered not again : Damped and wavering and benighted

But that's all one ; omittance is no quittance. Midst my sighs and tears.

SHAKESPEARE.

him :

SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.

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 SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION.

SHALL I, wasting in despair,
Die because a woman's fair ?
Or make pale my cheeks with care
'Cause another's rosy are ?

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