My Three Loves
My Boyhood's Love! Oh, not more sweet
Are the first wood-bird's notes in Spring,
Than the sweet thoughts that in my heart
Make music wild, beyond the art
Of even love-taught lips to sing!
No laughing, romping hoyden she,
With rosy cheeks and eyes of jet,
But still and mild, and in her cheek
(Its only rose) the white rose meek,
In scarcely fairer lilies set.
Her forehead parted locks of gold,
And though 'tis long, long since we met,
From heaven's softest, clearest blue,
As when they look'd their last adieu,
Her eyes seem looking on me yet.
I feared no rivals in her love,
And, save the angels, had not one:
Not hers the glance which young eyes seek,
Not hers the laughter-dimpled cheek
That young eyes love to look upon.
Nor as I loved, could angels love;
Young hearts — their love is worship sure!
And she was as a saint to me —
Both saint and lady-love was she,
That pensive little maid demure.
O sweet, unconscious innocence,
That feels , but sees not, beauty's lure;
As buds before the flowrets birth —
As snow-flakes ere they touch the earth —
As she herself — that love was pure.
Well I remember in the play,
When mimic wedlock's knot was tied,
And I, O bliss! stood hand in hand,
With her sought out from all the band,
And heard them shout, " Salute the bride. "
How I, who ravished kisses those,
For every forfeit kiss I won,
(The rudest boy, they said, alive!)
Now shame-faced stood, and could not give
The little blushing trembler one.
And when, long passing round and round,
Her hand touched mine with gentle thrill,
And I, with sudden leap, should spring,
And catch and kiss her in the ring,
Ah me! my very heart stood still.
And though since childhood's heaven we left,
I and my dream have never met,
Or met in life's dark ways unknown,
Sweet as the breath of roses blown,
Her memory lingers with me yet.
Like morn upon the morning star —
Like day-light on the peep of morn,
Rose a New Love upon my First —
It must be so — at morn's full burst
The brightest star grows dim and lorn.
Fancy and Love! gay bridemaids, these,
To deck the heart's elected bride;
All that seemed bright to me before,
She like a sparkling Cestus wore,
And her own matchless charms beside.
Who looks at drifted snow may see
Her neck and dawning shoulder fair;
Who, watching stars, hath stood and dream'd,
Hath seen the eyes that, star-like, beam'd
In the night of her raven hair.
I shame to speak — what dreams, what dreams
Passed through my brain! what fantasies!
How oft I saved from fire and flood
My pale fray'd love — how oft my blood
Pour'd forth to save from enemies.
And these wild feats of daring done —
I sheathed my sword — my harp I strung
And gave her name — back mantling shame!
I gave it to immortal fame!
With names by deathless Poets sung.
I woke at last — she lov'd me not;
But 'twas not that — the love unprized
Is no less love, but (strange that eyes
Like hers could glass deformities)
My angel loved where I despised.
Like noon upon the dreamy morn —
Like the full breathing of the day,
Or Memnon's sigh — like music heard,
Rose, on my Second Love, a Third —
But not like that to pass away.
I loved thee, Kate — I know not why;
'Tis death of love to question why;
I know but this — thou didst impress
Upon my soul the loveliness
Before but mirrored in my eye.
Few think thee fair — I little care,
Nor well can judge — for when I saw,
First saw, those tranquil eyes divine,
They triumph'd, and thenceforth in mine,
Thy looks, sweet Kate, gave beauty law!
And when to add another grace,
And beauty's self to beautify,
As through the frozen marble broke
Warm, blushing life, beneath the look
Of that old Sculptor's frenzied eye,
I saw a fond, warm heart rush up
Into those pallid cheeks of thine,
To hear a tale of love and pain —
I falter'd in the plaintive strain,
And felt the blood deserting mine.
O, fickle heart, I hear them say —
Hush, maidens! simple that ye are; —
The needle, touched, turns east and west,
Before the charmed wire doth rest,
Due pointing to its own bright star.
'Tis fabled that at Love's light step
Spring roses, blushing into sight;
Not so springs Love itself to birth,
Nor at one day-burst, on the earth,
Breaks the unclouded soul of light.
Love hath, like light, its silver dawn —
Like light, it hath its golden morn —
Then comes the full, clear flood of day,
Which drinks up in its glowing way
The clouds, of its own brightness born.
Dear Kate! and should thy closing eyes
Bring on my soul the shades of even,
Nor long nor starless is the night,
And thou, a day for ever bright,
Wilt rise upon my soul in heaven!
Are the first wood-bird's notes in Spring,
Than the sweet thoughts that in my heart
Make music wild, beyond the art
Of even love-taught lips to sing!
No laughing, romping hoyden she,
With rosy cheeks and eyes of jet,
But still and mild, and in her cheek
(Its only rose) the white rose meek,
In scarcely fairer lilies set.
Her forehead parted locks of gold,
And though 'tis long, long since we met,
From heaven's softest, clearest blue,
As when they look'd their last adieu,
Her eyes seem looking on me yet.
I feared no rivals in her love,
And, save the angels, had not one:
Not hers the glance which young eyes seek,
Not hers the laughter-dimpled cheek
That young eyes love to look upon.
Nor as I loved, could angels love;
Young hearts — their love is worship sure!
And she was as a saint to me —
Both saint and lady-love was she,
That pensive little maid demure.
O sweet, unconscious innocence,
That feels , but sees not, beauty's lure;
As buds before the flowrets birth —
As snow-flakes ere they touch the earth —
As she herself — that love was pure.
Well I remember in the play,
When mimic wedlock's knot was tied,
And I, O bliss! stood hand in hand,
With her sought out from all the band,
And heard them shout, " Salute the bride. "
How I, who ravished kisses those,
For every forfeit kiss I won,
(The rudest boy, they said, alive!)
Now shame-faced stood, and could not give
The little blushing trembler one.
And when, long passing round and round,
Her hand touched mine with gentle thrill,
And I, with sudden leap, should spring,
And catch and kiss her in the ring,
Ah me! my very heart stood still.
And though since childhood's heaven we left,
I and my dream have never met,
Or met in life's dark ways unknown,
Sweet as the breath of roses blown,
Her memory lingers with me yet.
Like morn upon the morning star —
Like day-light on the peep of morn,
Rose a New Love upon my First —
It must be so — at morn's full burst
The brightest star grows dim and lorn.
Fancy and Love! gay bridemaids, these,
To deck the heart's elected bride;
All that seemed bright to me before,
She like a sparkling Cestus wore,
And her own matchless charms beside.
Who looks at drifted snow may see
Her neck and dawning shoulder fair;
Who, watching stars, hath stood and dream'd,
Hath seen the eyes that, star-like, beam'd
In the night of her raven hair.
I shame to speak — what dreams, what dreams
Passed through my brain! what fantasies!
How oft I saved from fire and flood
My pale fray'd love — how oft my blood
Pour'd forth to save from enemies.
And these wild feats of daring done —
I sheathed my sword — my harp I strung
And gave her name — back mantling shame!
I gave it to immortal fame!
With names by deathless Poets sung.
I woke at last — she lov'd me not;
But 'twas not that — the love unprized
Is no less love, but (strange that eyes
Like hers could glass deformities)
My angel loved where I despised.
Like noon upon the dreamy morn —
Like the full breathing of the day,
Or Memnon's sigh — like music heard,
Rose, on my Second Love, a Third —
But not like that to pass away.
I loved thee, Kate — I know not why;
'Tis death of love to question why;
I know but this — thou didst impress
Upon my soul the loveliness
Before but mirrored in my eye.
Few think thee fair — I little care,
Nor well can judge — for when I saw,
First saw, those tranquil eyes divine,
They triumph'd, and thenceforth in mine,
Thy looks, sweet Kate, gave beauty law!
And when to add another grace,
And beauty's self to beautify,
As through the frozen marble broke
Warm, blushing life, beneath the look
Of that old Sculptor's frenzied eye,
I saw a fond, warm heart rush up
Into those pallid cheeks of thine,
To hear a tale of love and pain —
I falter'd in the plaintive strain,
And felt the blood deserting mine.
O, fickle heart, I hear them say —
Hush, maidens! simple that ye are; —
The needle, touched, turns east and west,
Before the charmed wire doth rest,
Due pointing to its own bright star.
'Tis fabled that at Love's light step
Spring roses, blushing into sight;
Not so springs Love itself to birth,
Nor at one day-burst, on the earth,
Breaks the unclouded soul of light.
Love hath, like light, its silver dawn —
Like light, it hath its golden morn —
Then comes the full, clear flood of day,
Which drinks up in its glowing way
The clouds, of its own brightness born.
Dear Kate! and should thy closing eyes
Bring on my soul the shades of even,
Nor long nor starless is the night,
And thou, a day for ever bright,
Wilt rise upon my soul in heaven!
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