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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 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.
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.
And this new loving sets the groove Too much the way of loathing.
IX. “Unless he gives me all in change,
I forfeit all things by him : The risk is terrible and strange
I tremble, doubt, ... deny him.
“He's sweetest friend, or hardest foe,
Best angel, or worst devil ;
Her blossoms thick as summer's ? You think she dreams what love is worth,
Who casts it to new-comers ?
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 ?
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!
“Such love's a cowslip-ball to fling,
A moment's pretty pastime; I give ... all me, if anything,
The first time and the last time.
XIII. “ Dear neighbor of the trellised house,
A man should murmur never, Thongh treated worse than dog and mouse, Till doted on forever!”
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.
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 ycs or fit for no.
A WOMAN'S QUESTION. BEFORE I trust my fate to thee,
Or place my hand in thine,
Color and form to mine,
A shadow of regret :
That holds thy spirit yet?
A possible future shine,
Untouched, unshared by mine ? If so, at any pain or cost, 0, tell me before all is lost !
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, ns 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 ; BECAUSE I breathe not love to everie one,
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.”
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, —
him: That his right badge is but worne in the hearte. I
carte. He'll make a proper man: The best thing in him
'll 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. They love indeed who quake to say they love.
He is not very tall ; yet for his years he's tall;
His leg is but so so; and yet 't is well :
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,
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.
THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION.
Charms you call your dearest blessing,
Soon you 'll make them grow
SHALL I, wasting in despair,
Be she fairer than the day,
If she be not so to me,
Why then ask of silly man,
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,
LOVE in my bosom like a bee,
Doth suck his sweet;
Now with his feet;
Ah ! wanton, will you ?
With pretty slight,
The livelong night;
Ah! wanton, will you ?
Will whip you hence,
For your offence;
If he gainsay me!
Great, or good, or kind, or fair,
For if she be not for me,
What if I beat the wanton boy
With many a rod,
Because a god;
Spare not, but play thee.
LET NOT WOMAN E'ER COMPLAIN.
LET not woman e'er complain
Of inconstancy in love ; Let not woman e'er complain
Fickle man is apt to rove ; Look abroad through Nature's range, Nature's mighty law is change; Ladies, would it not be strange
Man should then a monster prove ?
CUPID AND CAMPASPE.
Mark the winds, and mark the skies ;
Ocean's ebb and ocean's flow; Sun and moon but set to rise,
Round and round the seasons go.
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 !
CUPID SWALLOWED. T OTHER day, as I was twining Roses for a crown to dine in, What, of all things, midst the heap, Should I light on, fast asleep, But the little desperate elf, The tiny traitor, — Love himself! By the wings I pinched him up Like a bee, and in a cup Of my wine I plunged and sank him ; And what d' ye think I did ?- I drank him ! Faith, I thought him dead. Not he! There he lives with tenfold glee; And now this moment, with his wings I feel him tickling my heart-strings.
“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.
“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.
LOVE AND TIME. 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. A smile o'er any brow would pass
To see him frolic in the sun, To see him shake the crystal glass,
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 ; But take this gift, and night and day
Look well upon its truthful glass.
“How quick or slow the bright sands fall
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.".