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Nature did her so much right
As she scorns the help of art.
As e'er yet embraced a heart.
To make known how much she hath ; And her anger flames no higher
Than may fitly sweeten wrath.
And her virtues grace her birth;
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.
Burneth soon to waste.
Fadeth not in haste.
For I fear the end.
To be steadfast, friend.
While that life endures;
This my love assures.
I will it restore.
Never can rebel :
LOVE NOT ME FOR COMELY GRACE.
Love not me for comely grace,
So thou and I shall sever ;
HE THAT LOVES A ROSY CHEEK.
He that loves a rosy cheek,
Or a coral lip admires,
Fuel to maintain his fires ;
Gentle thoughts, and calm desires,
Kindle never-dying fires : Where these are not, I despise Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes.
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.
No matter how or where we loved,
Or when we 'll wed, or what befall;
Though to dust crumbles Moreton Hall.
Her pedigree - good sooth, 't is long !
Her grim sires stare from every wall;
As meek she glides through Moreton Hall. Whilst I have — nothing ; save, perhaps,
Some worthless heaps of idle gold
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;
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.
But I'm a simple maiden, -
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.
That thou hast kept a portion back,
While I have staked the whole,
That mine cannot fulfil ?
Could better wake or still ?
The demon-spirit, change,
On all things new and strange ?
And answer to my claim,
Not thou, - had been to blame?
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!
" 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.
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 :
That holds thy spirit yet ?
A possible future shine,
Untouched, unshared by mine?
“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,
Lead her from the festive boards,
GIVE ME MORE LOVE OR MORE
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,
Disdain, that torrent will devour
My vulture hopes; and he's possessed
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.
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.
He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall;
A little riper and more lusty red
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.
SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.
Charms you call your dearest blessing,
Soon you 'll make them grow
THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION.
SHALL I, wasting in despair,