romantic poems

No, no, fair heretic, it needs must be
But an ill love in me,
And worse for thee.

For were it in my power
To love thee now this hour
More than I did the last,
'Twould then so fall
I might not love at all.
Love that can flow, and can admit increase,
Admits as well an ebb, and may grow less.

True love is still the same; the torrid zones
And those more frigid ones,
It must not know;
For love, grown cold or hot,
Is lust or frienship, not
The thing we have;
For that's a flame would die,

ACT II.

Enter Shepherds .

CHORUS.


CHORUS.
Wretched Lovers, Fate has past
This sad Decree, no Joy shall last,
Wretched Lovers, quit your Dream,
Behold the Monster , Polypheme.
See what ample Strides he takes,
The Mountain nods, the Forest shakes,
The Waves run frighted to the Shores.
Hark! how the thund'ring Giant roars.


POLYPHEMUS.


RECITATIVO.

Thou angel face! — like a small exquisite cage,
Such as some old Chinese
Once spent his love and skill on — youth to age,
In hope its destined prisoner to please;
And then had empty left; since he had heard
What death would do in setting free the bird.

O Time — the heedless child you are!
A daisy, the most distant star
Fall to your toying scimitar.

And I? And this loved face? We too
Are things but of a moment. True:
But then, poor youngling, so are you!

Dream on! In your small company
We are contented merely to be —
Yes, even to Eternity.

Hearken! Tiny, clear, discrete:
The listener within deems solely his,
A music so remote and sweet
It all but lovely as silence is.

Angel of Words, in vain I have striven with thee,
Nor plead a lifetime's love and loyalty;
Only, with envy, bid thee watch this face,
That says so much, so flawlessly,
And in how small a space!

Why, then, if love is all there is need to give,
All love be thine.
Thine the bright wonder of this life I live,
Its doubt's dark broodings mine.

Serene that marvellous waste of crystal sky,
And that gaunt crook-backed tree!
Hush! breathes the wind invisibly rippling by,
Hush! to the wild bird's cry ...

Yet even as mind vowed no more to grieve,
Heart answered with a sigh.

Not any flower that blows
But shining watch doth keep;
Every swift changing chequered hour it knows
Now to break forth in beauty; now to sleep.

This for the roving bee
Keeps open house, and this
Stainless and clear is, that in darkness she
May lure the moth to where her nectar is.

Lovely beyond the rest
Are these of all delight: —
The tiny pimpernel that noon loves best,
The primrose palely burning through the night.

One 'neath day's burning sky
With ruby decks her place,

As from the fall of candlelight
On eyelids of a dreamer, sight
Arises out of deeps to see
God, the one Reality.
Him the long Visioned; half the human aim;
Of whom in creeds we spell'd the name;
By whom were driven to do our cleansing task;
We read through Nature's callous mask,
And dreaded more than dog the whip:
More seeking to be loved of him
Than love to give, except by lip
Propitiating wrath & whim.

VOL. 3, C ANTIQUE 48

Sun ! stay thy course, this moment stay —
Suspend th' o'erflowing tide of day,
Divulge not such a Love as mine,
Ah! hide the mystery divine,
Lest man, who deems my glory shame,
Should learn the secret of my flame.

Oh night! propitious to my views,
Thy sable awning wide diffuse:
Conceal alike my joy and pain,
Nor draw thy curtain back again,
Though morning, by the tears she shows,
Seems to participate my woes.

Ye stars! whose faint and feeble fires