LI LOVE'S BLINDNESS I HAVE heard of reasons manifold What outward form and feature are SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. LII AMATURUS SOMEWHERE beneath the sun, These quivering heart-strings prove it, Somewhere there must be one Made for this soul, to move it ; Some one that hides her sweetness From neighbours whom she slights, Nor can attain completeness, Nor give her heart to rights; Some one whom I could court With no great change of manner, Still holding reason's fort, Though waving fancy's banner; A lady, not so queenly As to disdain my hand, Yet born to smile serenely Like those that rule the land Noble, but not too proud; ; With soft hair simply folded, On little glistening seas, Of things one may not know; Speak, Love, be not afraid, But plead as thou art bidden; WILLIAM CORY. LIII ROUSSEAU'S LOVE His love was passion's essence—as a tree In him existence, and o'erflowing teems This breathed itself to life in Julie, this Invested her with all that's wild and sweet; This hallow'd, too, the memorable kiss Which every morn his fever'd lip would greet, From hers, who but with friendship his would meet ; But to that gentle touch, through brain and breast Flash'd the thrill'd spirit's love-devouring heat; In that absorbing sigh perchance more blest Than vulgar minds may be with all they seek possest. GEORGE, LORD BYRON. LIV A MEDITATION FOR HIS MISTRESSE You are a tulip seen to-day, But, dearest, of so short a stay That where you grew, scarce man can say. You are a lovely July-flower, Yet one rude wind or ruffling shower Will force you hence, and in an hour. You are a sparkling rose i' th' bud, Yet lost, ere that chaste flesh and blood You are a dainty violet, Yet withered, ere you can be set You are the queen all flowers among, ROBERT HERRICK. LV THINGS base and vile, holding no quantity, Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. LVI LOVE'S IMMORTALITY THEY sin who tell us Love can die. In Heaven Ambition cannot dwell, Nor Avarice in the vaults of hell; They perish where they have their birth, Its holy flame for ever burneth, From Heaven it came, to Heaven returneth; Too oft on earth a troubled guest, At times deceived, at times opprest, It here is tried and purified, Then hath in Heaven its perfect rest: But the harvest-time of love is there. ROBERT SOUTHEY. LVII FIE, foolish Earth, think you the heaven wants glory, All's dark unto the blind, let them be sorry; Fie, fond desire, think you that Love wants glory, Then Earth stand fast, the sky that you benight FULKE GREVILLE, LORD BROOKE. |