love poem

1. THE FEAR OF LOVE

O could my love devise
A shield for you from envious lips and eyes
That desecrate the sweetness of your days
With tumults of their praise!

O could my love design
A secret, sealed, invulnerable shrine
To hide you, happy and inviolate,
From covetous Time and Fate.

Love, I am drenched with fear
Lest the uncounted avarice of the year
Add to the triumph of all garnered grace
The rapture of your face!

I tremble with despair

1. THE OFFERING

Were beauty mine, beloved, I would bring it
Like a rare blossom to Love's glowing shrine;
Were dear youth mine, beloved, I would fling it
Like a rich pearl into Love's lustrous wine:

Were greatness mine, Beloved, I would offer
Such radiant gifts of glory and of fame,
Like camphor and like curds to pour and proffer
Before Love's bright and sacrificial flame.

But I have naught save my heart's deathless passion
That craves no recompense divinely sweet,

8

" The little hand of Telmarine
Presses thy bosom, Etheline!
The soft warm cheek of Telmarine
Rests on thy cold face, Etheline.
Konig's blue eyes, in Telmarine
Smile on the softer blue of thine
Is it not well? " said Adwick, sighing;
" Art thou not happy? " " Yes, and dying,
My Adwick! " pressing with her own
His hand, she said, in sweetest tone, Her eyes on his o'erflowing eyes
Fix'd, " I am dying. Be not thou
(My Friend! my Love!) offended now,
That my soul yearns again to see

10.

" Not lonely here? " confus'd, he said;
And from his lip its colour fled,
When, at her feet, he saw a child,
The little foundling, Telmarine.
With Telma's smile, on him it smil'd,
With Telma's locks of raven hue,
And upturn'd eyes of darkest blue.
Confus'd, he nam'd its mother's name!
While pale, as death's cold brow, became
The cheek of Etheline.

11.

" Telma! " he said; nor waited long
Ere seem'd at once to come and go
The shadow of a shape of woe,

Passion, love, adoration! Fine the links
That in progressive process join these three,
Cursed is that soul, which gifted, basely sinks
From last of these to that first named! So he,
Who is so wise, if he defeated be
In passion, and in love, to raise his thought
In adoration, from th' idolatry
Of passion, and of love, will soon be taught
That superhuman bliss is by the latter brought.

As to Religion's cause, one well might hope,
Rather to gain th' idolater, than one
Who loves in atheistic gloom to mope: —
So may we rather hope he may be won
To love his God, him whom the fervid sun
Of love hath fevered, whose still earnest eye
Some outward idol still is fixed upon,
Than him in self-involved captivity,
Who thinks he's free since self doth doom his slavery.

The principle of love must be implanted,
Or e'en divine love ne'er will take its root:
Small hope for those who're of this instinct scanted:
Small hope for those involved in low pursuit
Of interest or ambition! Who with brute,
And earthward gaze see nought beyond themselves:
But hope, ye mourners, who with anguish mute,
See each foundation, like a train of elves,
Vanish, which human skill unprofitably delves.

So far with tolerance th' instinct do I see
Which leads the spirit with devotion fond,
To seek in youth for perfect sympathy
In other human hearts, that few this bond
Who have not sought, few who have never conued
With weak idolatry, a human face,
And found how vain were human loves; beyond
Were ever led to go: triumphs of grace
Are oftenest gained by souls driven from love's earthly race.

SECTION I .

The most excellent Gifts nothing without Love.

Could I with men and angels vie
In language, without love,
Nought, but a sounding brass would I,
Or tinkling cymbal, prove.

Could I both preach and prophecy,
All myst'ries understand;
Have knowledge all ingross'd in me,
All gifts at my command:

Yea, had I faith that could remove

My love and I a bargain made,
It is well worth a-telling;
When one was weary we agreed
To part both should be willing.

And thus our loves will longer last
Than fools that still are pining;
We'll spend our time in joy and mirth,
Whilst doaters do in whining.