I love Him more, so let me love you too;
Yea, as I apprehend it, love is such
I cannot love you if I love not Him,
I cannot love Him if I love not you.
CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI.
IF thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love's sake only. Do not say
"I love her for her smile-her look-her way
Of speaking gently,—for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day "—
For these things in themselves, Beloved, may
Be changed, or change for thee,—and love, so wrought
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheek dry,—
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby !
But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.
IMMORTAL Verse! Is mine the strain
To last and live? As ages wane
What hand for me will twine the bays?
Who'll praise me then as now you praise?
Will there be one to praise? Ah no!
My laurel leaf may never grow;
My bust is in the quarry yet,
Oblivion weaves my coronet.
Immortal for a month-a week!
The garlands wither as I speak ;
The song will die, the harp's unstrung,
But, singing, have I vainly sung ?
You deign'd to lend an ear the while
I trill'd my lay. I won your smile.
Now, let it die, or let it live,-
My verse was all I had to give.
The linnet flies on wistful wings,
And finds a Bower, and lights and sings;
Enough if my poor verse endures
To light and live-to die in Yours.
FREDERICK LOCKER-LAMPSON.
I WISH I could remember that first day,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me,
If bright or dim the season, it might be
Summer or Winter for aught I can say ;
So unrecorded did it slip away,
So blind was I to see and to foresee,
So dull to mark the budding of my tree
That would not blossom yet for many a May.
If only I could recollect it, such
A day of days! I let it come and go
As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow;
It seemed to mean so little, meant so much;
If only now I could recall that touch,
First touch of hand in hand-Did one but know!
CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI.
By Logan's streams that rin sae deep
Fu' aft, wi' glee, I've herded sheep,
I've herded sheep, or gather'd slaes,
Wi' my dear lad, on Logan braes.
But wae's my heart! thae days are gane
And fu' o' grief I herd alane,
While my dear lad maun face his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan braes.
Nae mair, at Logan Kirk, will he,
Atween the preachings, meet wi' me-
Meet wi' me, or when it's mirk,
Convoy me hame frae Logan kirk.
I weel may sing thae days are gane -
Frae kirk and fair I come alane
While my dear lad maun face his faes
Far, far frae me and Logan braes.
At e'en, when hope amaist is gane,
I dander dowie and forlane,
Or sit beneath the trysting-tree,
Where first he spak' of love to me.
O! could I see thae days again,
My lover skaithless, and my ain,
Rever'd by friends, and far frae faes,
We'd live in bliss on Logan braes.
THOUGH I am young and cannot tell
Either what Death or Love is well,
Yet I have heard they both bear darts,
And both do aim at human hearts :
And then again, I have been told
Love wounds with heat, as Death with cold;
So that I fear they do but bring
Extremes to touch, and mean one thing.
As in a ruin we it call
One thing to be blown up, or fall ;
Or to our end like way may have
By flash of lightning, or a wave:
So love's inflamed shaft or brand
May kill as soon as Death's cold hand,
Except Love's fires the virtue have
To fright the frost out of the grave.
ONE year ago my path was green,
My footstep light, my brow serene ;
Alas! and could it have been so
One year ago?
There is a love that is to last
When the hot days of youth are past :
Such love did a sweet maid bestow
I took a leaflet from her braid
And gave it to another maid.
Love! broken should have been thy bow
On the way to Kew,
By the river old and gray,
Where in the Long Ago
We laughed and loitered so,
I met a ghost to-day,
A ghost that told of you,
A ghost of low replies
And sweet inscrutable eyes,
Coming up from Richmond,
As you used to do.
By the river old and gray,
The enchanted Long Ago
Murmured and smiled anew.
On the way to Kew,
March had the laugh of May,
The bare boughs looked aglow,
And old immortal words
Sang in my breast like birds,
Coming up from Richmond,
As I used with you.
With the life of Long Ago
Lived my thought of you.
By the river old and gray
Flowing his appointed way,
As I watched, I knew
What is so good to know:
Not in vain, not in vain,
I shall look for you again,
Coming up from Richmond,
On the way to Kew.
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