Lovely boy! thou art not dead,
But from earth to heaven fled;
For base earth was far unfit
For thy beauty, grace, and wit.

Love, the great master of true eloquence,
Disdain the tribute of a vulgar tongue:
Cold are the words, and vain the affected song
Of him whose boasted passion is pretense.
The favored few that to his court belong
With noblest gifts the mighty god presents;
Their vigorous accents chain the admiring sense,
And their warm words in torrents stream along.
Oft too — O wondrous excellence of Love! —
Unuttered vows and sighs and accents broken
With far more force the gentle bosom move
Than smoothest phrase with courtly action spoken.

Love that is alone with love
Makes solitudes of throngs;
Then why not songs of silences, —
Sweet silences of songs?

Parts need words: the perfect whole
Is silent as the dead;
When I offered you my soul
Heard you what I said ?

"Love me, for I love you"--and answer me,
"Love me, for I love you": so shall we stand
As happy equals in the flowering land
Of love, that knows not a dividing sea.
Love builds the house on rock and not on sand,
Love laughs what while the winds rave desperately;
And who hath found love's citadel unmanned?
And who hath held in bonds love's liberty?--
My heart's a coward though my words are brave--
We meet so seldom, yet we surely part
So often; there's a problem for your art!
Still I find comfort in his Book who saith,

Love is like the wild rose-briar,
Friendship like the holly tree--
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms
But which will bloom most constantly?

The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again
And who will call the wild-briar fair?

Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now
And deck thee with the holly's sheen,
That when December blights thy brow
He still may leave thy garland green.

Love is cruel, Love is sweet,
Cruel sweet!
Lovers sigh till lovers meet,
Sigh and meet.
Sigh and meet and sigh again,
Cruel sweet! O sweetest pain!

Love is blind, but Love is shy,
Blind and shy;
Thoughts are bold but words are shy,
Bold and shy.
Bold and shy and bold again,
Sweet is boldness, shyness, pain.

Love is begot by Fancy, bred
By Ignorance, by Expectation fed,
Destroy'd by Knowledge, and at best
Lost in the moment 't is possest.

VOL. 2, C ANTIQUE 135

Love ! if thy destin'd sacrifice am I,
Come, slay thy victim, and prepare thy fires;
Plung'd in thy depths of mercy, let me die
The death, which every soul that lives desires!

I watch my hours, and see them fleet away;
The time is long, that I have languish'd here;
Yet all my thoughts thy purposes obey,
With no reluctance, cheerful and sincere.

To me 'tis equal, whether Love ordain

A LOVE SECRET

Love has its secrets, joy has it revealings.
How shall I speak of that which love has hid?
If my beloved shall return to greet me,
Deeds shall be done for her none ever did.

My beloved loved me. How shall I reveal it?
We were alone that morning in the street.
She looked down at the ground, and blushed, and trembled.
She stopped me with her eyes when these did meet.

Love flies with bow unstrung when Time appears,
And trembles at the approach of heavy years.
A few bright feathers leaves he in his flight,
Quite beyond call, but not forgotten quite.