LI

LOVE'S BLINDNESS

I HAVE heard of reasons manifold

Why Love must needs be blind, But this the best of all I hold,His eyes are in his mind.

What outward form and feature are
He guesseth but in part;
But what within is good and fair

He seeth with the heart.

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERidge.

LII

AMATURUS

SOMEWHERE beneath the sun,

These quivering heart-strings prove it, Somewhere there must be one

Made for this soul, to move it; Some one that hides her sweetness From neighbours whom she slights,

Nor can attain completeness,

Nor give her heart to rights; Some one whom I could court

With no great change of manner,

Still holding reason's fort,

Though waving fancy's banner;

A lady, not so queenly

As to disdain my hand,

Yet born to smile serenely

Like those that rule the land; Noble, but not too proud;

With soft hair simply folded, And bright face crescent-browed, And throat by Muses moulded; And eyelids lightly falling

On little glistening seas,

Deep-calm, when gales are brawling,
Though stirred by every breeze;
Swift voice, like flight of dove
Through minster-arches floating,
With sudden turns, when love
Gets overnear to doting;
Keen lips, that shape soft sayings
Like crystals of the snow,
With pretty half-betrayings

Of things one may not know;
Fair hand, whose touches thrill,
Like golden rod of wonder,
Which Hermes wields at will
Spirit and flesh to sunder;
Light foot, to press the stirrup
In fearlessness and glee,
Or dance, till finches chirrup,
And sink into the sea.

Forth, Love, and find this maid,
Wherever she be hidden :

Speak, Love, be not afraid,

But plead as thou art bidden;
And say, that he who taught thee
His yearning want and pain,
Too dearly, dearly bought thee
To part with thee in vain.

WILLIAM CORY.

LIII

ROUSSEAU'S LOVE

His love was passion's essence—as a tree
On fire by lightning; with ethereal flame
Kindled he was, and blasted; for to be
Thus, and enamour'd, were in him the same.
But his was not the love of living dame,
Nor of the dead who rise upon our dreams,
But of ideal beauty, which became

In him existence, and o'erflowing teems

Along his burning page, distemper'd though it seems.

This breathed itself to life in Julie, this
Invested her with all that's wild and sweet;
This hallow'd, too, the memorable kiss
Which every morn his fever'd lip would greet,

From hers, who but with friendship his would meet ;
But to that gentle touch, through brain and breast
Flash'd the thrill'd spirit's love-devouring heat;
In that absorbing sigh perchance more blest
Than vulgar minds may be with all they seek possest.
GEORGE, LORD BYRON.

LIV

A MEDITATION FOR HIS MISTRESSE

You are a tulip seen to-day,

But, dearest, of so short a stay

That where you grew, scarce man can say.

You are a lovely July-flower,

Yet one rude wind or ruffling shower

Will force you hence, and in an hour.

You are a sparkling rose i' th' bud,

Yet lost, ere that chaste flesh and blood
Can show where you or grew or stood.

You are a dainty violet,

Yet withered, ere you can be set
Within the virgin's coronet.

You are the queen all flowers among,
But die you must, fair maid, ere long,
As he, the maker of this song.

ROBERT HERRICK.

LV

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 winged 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.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

LVI

LOVE'S IMMORTALITY

THEY sin who tell us Love can die.
With life all other passions fly,
All others are but vanity.

In Heaven Ambition cannot dwell,

Nor Avarice in the vaults of hell;
Earthly these passions of the earth,
They perish where they have their birth,
But Love is indestructible.

Its holy flame for ever burneth,

From Heaven it came, to Heaven returneth;
Too oft on earth a troubled guest,

At times deceived, at times opprest,
It here is tried and purified,

Then hath in Heaven its perfect rest:

It soweth here with toil and care,

But the harvest-time of love is there.

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

LVII

FIE, foolish Earth, think you the heaven wants glory,
Because your shadows do yourself benight?

All's dark unto the blind, let them be sorry;
The heavens in themselves are ever bright.

Fie, fond desire, think you that Love wants glory,
Because your shadows do yourself benight?
The hopes and fears of lust may make men sorry,
But love still in herself finds her delight.

Then Earth stand fast, the sky that you benight
Will turn again, and so restore your glory;
Desire be steady, hope is your delight,
An orb wherein no creature can be sorry;
Love being placed above these middle regions,
Where every passion wars itself with legions.

FULKE GREVILLE, Lord Brooke.