love poem

'T IS not your beauty can engage
—My wary heart;
The sun, in all his pride and rage,
—Has not that art;
And yet he shines as bright as you,
If brightness could our souls subdue.

'Tis not the pretty things you say,
—Nor those you write,
Which can make Thyrsis' heart your prey:
—For that delight,
The graces of a well-taught mind,
In some of our own sex we find.

No, Flavia, 'tis your love I fear;
—Love's surest darts,
Those which so seldom fail him, are
—Headed with hearts:

Beneath love's heavy weight my falt'ring soul
Plods, like the packman, o'er life's dusty road.
Oh! that some friendly hand would find a pole
To ease my shoulders of their grievous load!

That eyes which pierced our inmost being through;
That lips which pressed into a single kiss,
It seemed, a whole eternity of bliss;
That cheeks which mantled with love's rosy hue;
That feet which wanted nothing else to do
But run upon love's errands, this and this;
That hands so fair they had not seemed amiss
Reached down by angels through the deeps of blue;—
That all of these so deep in earth should lie
While season after season passeth by;
That things which are so sacred and so sweet

I saw a cloud at break of day
On the Wind's high shoulders borne;
It looked like a meteor's dazzling ray,
In the azure vault forlorn:
I marvelled how a cloud so strange,
Should on Aurora's summit range.

I gazed until it rose above
The light of my quivering eye;
It journeyed to those realms of love,
Where the sun rolls blazing by:
It moved not as clouds are wont to do,
But swift to those mansions of bliss it flew.

I knew not what it then conveyed,
As it sped on its arrow-wing;

Oh, thou wilt never know how fond a love
This heart could have felt for thee;
Or ever dream how love and friendship strove,
Through long, long hours for mastery;
How passion often urged, but pride restrained,
Or how thy coldness grieved, but kindness pained.

How hours have soothed the feelings, then that were
The torture of my lonely life—
But ever yet will often fall a tear,
O'er wildest hopes and thoughts then rife;
Where'er recalled by passing word or tone,
Fond memory mirrors all those visions flown.

I have tried to keep a little of myself for other uses,
But love denies my reserve: I must have all, says love.
I bargained sharply with love and love kept away,
I wondered this of love and that of love and love was still alienated.
I looked for love in the open day and in dark places and love baffled my desire,
But when I stopped looking and simply loved love came hurrying—
Came to me from hell hot with fire,
Came to me from heaven calm with justice.

I could not cheat love:
When I reminded love of my sins love smiled and loved on,

Turne all thy thoughts to eyes,
Turne all thy haires to eares,
Change all thy friends to spies,
And all thy joyes to feares:
True Love will yet be free,
In spite of Jealousie.

Turne darknesse into day,
Conjectures into truth,
Beleeve what th' envious say,
Let age interpret youth:
True love will yet be free,
In spite of Jealousie.

Wrest every word and looke,
Racke ev'ry hidden thought,
Or fish with golden hooke,
True love cannot be caught:
For that will still be free,
In spite of Jealousie.

But if my lines may not be held excused,
Nor yet my love find favour in your eyes;
But that your eyes as judges shall be used,
Even of the fault which from themselves doth rise,
Yet this my humble suit do not despise;
Let me be judged as I stand accused:
If but my fault my doom do equalize,
Whate'er it be, it shall not be refused.
And since my love already is expressed,
And that I cannot stand upon denial,
I freely put myself upon my trial;
Let justice judge me as I have confessed:

There never yet was honest man
That ever drove the trade of love;
It is impossible, nor can
Integrity our ends promove:
For Kings and Lovers are alike in this
That their chief art in reigne dissembling is.

Here we are lov'd, and there we love,
Good nature now and passion strive
Which of the two should be above,
And laws unto the other give.
So we false fire with art sometime discover,
And the true fire with the same art do cover.

What Rack can Fancy find so high?
Here we must Court, and here ingage,

Sought by the world, and hath the world disdained,
Is she, my heart, for whom thou dost endure;
Unto whose grace sith kings have not obtained,
Sweet is thy choice, though loss of life be sour;
Yet to the man, whose youth such pains must prove,
No better end than that which comes by love.

Steer then thy course unto the port of death,
(Sith thy hard hap no better hap may find,)
Where, when thou shalt unlade thy latest breath,
Envy herself shall swim, to save thy mind;
Whose body sunk in search to gain that shore