To my room

I went, and closed and lock'd the door, And cast myself down by my bed,

And there, with many a blissful tear,

I vow'd to love and pray'd to wed

The maiden who had grown so dear; Thank'd God who had set her in my path; And promised, as I hoped to win, That I would never sully faith

By the least selfishness or sin; Whatever in her sight I'd seem

I'd really be; I ne'er would blend With my delight in her a dream

'Twould change her cheek to comprehend; And, if she wish'd it, would prefer Another's to my own success; And always seek the best for her, With unofficious tenderness. Rising, I breathed a brighter clime, And found myself all self above,

And, with a charity sublime,
Contemn'd not those who did not love:
And I could not but feel that then
I shone with something of her grace,
And went forth to my fellow-men
My commendation in my face.

Coventry Patmore.

ALL NATURE SPEAKS OF Love.

The fountains mingle with the river,
And the rivers with the ocean;
The winds of heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things, by a law divine,
In one another's being mingle-
Why not I with thine?

See the mountains kiss high heaven,
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister flower would be forgiven
If it e'er disdain'd its brother:
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea;-
What are all these kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me?

BLINDNESS OF LOVE.

Shelley.

Things base and vile, holding no quantity,
Love can transpose to form and dignity:
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the
mind,

And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind;
Nor hath Love's mind of any judgment taste:
Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste :
And therefore is Love said to be a child,
Because in choice he is so oft beguiled:
As waggish boys in game themselves for-

swear,

So the boy Love is perjured everywhere.

Shakespeare.

LOVE STEALS UPON THE HEART LIKE SUMMER DAWN.

I dreamt that love

Should steal upon the heart, like summer dawn
On the awak'ning world, soft, gradual;
First hail'd and welcomed by the mountain-
peaks,

The loftiest aspirations of the soul;
Then, slowly spreading downward o'er the
slopes

Of intellectual intercourse, to flood

At length the very plains and vales of sense
With beauties of its sunshine; one by one
Kissing awake all spirit-buds and flowers,
To pour their fragrance forth in gratitude.
I had forgot that perfect love like this
Could be the portion but of perfect souls!
I had forgot to estimate how far

My own heart fell below the standard raised
By my presumption, when I deem'd its pulse

Duke. There is no woman's sides
Can bide the beating of so strong a passion
As love doth give my heart: no woman's
heart

So big, to hold so much; they lack retention.
Alas, their love may be call'd appetite-
No motion of the liver, but the palate,-
That suffers surfeit, cloyment, and revolt ;
But mine is all as hungry as the sea,
And can digest as much: make no compare
Between that love a woman can bear me
And that I owe Olivia.

Violante. Ay, but I know

Duke. What dost thou know?

Violante. Too well what love women to

men may owe;

In faith, they are as true of heart as we.
My father had a daughter loved a man,
As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman,
I should your lordship.

Duke. And what's her history?

Violante. A blank, my lord: she never told her love,

But let concealment, like a worm i' th' bud, Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought;

And, with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat, like Patience on a monument, Smiling at grief. Shakespeare.

LOVE'S PERFECTION.

Love is the rose of flowers, the diamond of gems, the honey of sweets, the sun of light, the melody of sound, the bliss of feeling, and the life of life. Anon.

MUTE COMMUNION WONDROUS SWEET.

There is a language by the virgin made,
Not read, but felt; not utter'd, but betray'd;
A mute communion, yet so wondrous sweet,
Eyes must impart what tongue can ne'er
repeat.

'Tis written on her cheeks and meaning brows;

In one short glance whole volumes it avows;

COULEUR-DE-ROSE.

Love is like the glass

That throws its own rich colours over all, And makes all beautiful. The morning looks Its very loveliest when the fresh air

Has tinged the cheek we love with its glad red;

And the hot noon flits by most rapidly
When dearest eyes gaze with us on the page
Bearing the poet's words of love and then
The twilight walk, when the link'd arms can
feel

The beating of the heart; upon the air
There is a music never heard but once,
A light the eyes can never see again;
Each star has its own prophecy of hope,
And every song and tale that breathe of love
Seem echoes of the heart.

THE TIMIDITY OF LOVE.

Love is timid, Love is shy;

Can you tell me, tell me why? Ah! tell me, why true love should be Afraid to meet the kindly smile Of him she loves, from him would flee, Yet thinks upon him all the while? Can you tell me, tell me why, Love is timid, Love is shy?

Love is timid, Love is shy;
Can you tell me, tell me why?
True love, they say, delights to dwell
In some sequester'd lonely bower
With him she loves, where none can tell
Her tender look in passion's hour.

Can you tell me, tell me why
Love is timid, Love is shy?

Love is timid, Love is shy;
Can you tell me, tell me why?
Love, like the lonely nightingale,
Will pour her heart when all is lone;
Nor will repeat, amidst the vale,
Her notes to any but to one.

Can you tell me, tell me why,
Love is timid, Love is shy?

Daniel Weir.

WHAT IS LOVE?

Melibaus.-Shepherd, what's love? I pray

thee tell.

Faustus. It is that fountain and that well Where pleasure and repentance dwell;

It is, perhaps, that sounding bell:
And this is love as I heard tell.

Melibaus.-Yet what is love? I prithee say.
Faustus. It is a work on holiday;

It is December match'd with May,
When lusty blood's in fresh array :
And this is love as I hear say.

Melibaus. Yet what is love? good shepherd, sain.

Faustus. It is sunshine mixt with rain;
It is a toothache or like pain;

It is a game where none doth gain ;
The lass saith no, and would full
fain:

And this is love as I hear sain.