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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, 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,
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!
ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER.
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 shing, 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.
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.
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.
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 ; BECAUSE I breathe not love to everie one,
Then crown my joys, or cure my pain ; Nor do not use set colors for to weare,
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. 'Tis 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.
He 'll make a proper man: The best thing in him Dumb swans, not chattering pies, do lovers 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
I have more cause to hate him than to love him : Rivals banished, bosoms plighted,
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, Now half quenched appears,
And, now I am remembered, scorned at me :
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.
THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION.
dearest blessing, Lips that thrill at your caressing, Eyes a mutual soul confessing,
Soon you 'll make them grow
Not with age, but woe !
SHALL I, wasting in despair,
And if I sleep, then pierceth he
With pretty slight,
The livelong night;
Ah ! wanton, will you ? Else I with roses every day
Will whip you hence, And bind you when you long to play,
For your offence ; I'll shut my eyes to keep you in, I'll make you fast it for your sin, I 'll count your power not worth a pin, Alas ! what hereby shall I win
If he gainsay me!
Be she fairer than the day,
If she be not so to me,
Shall my foolish heart be pined
If she be not so to me,
Shall a woman's virtues move
If she be not such to me,
'Cause her fortune seems too high,
And unless that mind I see,
Great, or good, or kind, or fair,
For if she be not for me,
LET NOT WOMAN E'ER COMPLAIN.
LET not woman e'er complain
Of inconstancy in love ;
Fickle man is apt to rove;
Man should then a monster prove ?
Mark the winds, and mark the skies ;
Ocean's ebb and ocean's flow;
CUPID and my Campaspe played
“God save all here,” – that kind wish flies,
Still sweeter from his lips so sweet ; “God save you kindly," Norah cries,
“Sit down, my child, and rest and eat."
Growing on 's cheek (but none knows how);
“Thanks, gentle Norah, fair and good,
We'll rest awhile our weary feet; But though this old man needeth food,
There 's nothing here that he can eat. His taste is strange, he eats alone,
Beneath some ruined cloister's cope, Or on some tottering turret's stone,
While I can only live on — Hope !
T' OTHER day, as I was twining
“A week ago, ere you were wed,
It was the very night before, Upon so many sweets I fed
While passing by your mother's door, — It was that dear, delicious hour
When Owen here the nosegay brought, And found you in the woodbine bower,
Since then, indeed, I've needed naught."
A blush steals over Norah's face,
A smile comes over Owen's brow, A tranquil joy illumes the place,
As if the moon were shining now; The boy beholds the pleasing pain,
The sweet confusion he has done, And shakes the crystal glass again,
And makes the sands more quickly run.
LOVE AND TIME.
“Dear Norah, we are pilgrims, bound
Upon an endless path sublime; We pace the green earth round and round,
And mortals call us LOVE and TIME; He seeks the many, I the few;
I dwell with peasants, he with kings. We seldom meet; but when we do,
I take his glass, and he my wings.
Two pilgrims from the distant plain
Come quickly o'er the mossy ground. One is a boy, with locks of gold
Thick curling round his face so fair ; The other pilgrim, stern and old,
Has snowy beard and silver hair. The youth with many a merry trick
Goes singing on his careless way ; His old companion walks as quick,
But speaks no word by night or day. Where'er the old man treads, the grass
Fast fadeth with a certain doom ; But where the beauteous boy doth pass
Unnumbered flowers are seen to bloom. And thus before the sage, the boy
Trips lightly o'er the blooming lands, And proudly bears a pretty toy,
A crystal glass with diamond sands.
To see him frolic in the sun,
And make the sands more quickly run. And now they leap the streamlet o'er,
A silver thread so white and thin, And now they reach the open door,
And now they lightly enter in :
“ And thus together on we go,
Where'er I chance or wish to lead ; And Time, whose lonely steps are slow,
Now sweeps along with lightning speed Now on our bright predestined way
We must to other regions pass ;
Look well upon its truthful glass.
“How quick or slow the bright sands fali
Is hid from lovers' eyes alone, If you can see them move at all,
Be sure your heart has colder grown.
The icy hand, the freezing brow;
And then they 'll pass you know not how.'