love poem

I do not love, nor can it be
Love will in vain spend shafts on me:
I did this God-head once defie;
Since which I freeze, but cannot frie.
Yet out alas! the deaths the same,
Kil'd by a frost or by a flame.

When ere my heart, Love's warmth, but entertaines,
O Frost! O Snow! O Haile forbid the Banes.
One drop now deads a spark; but if the same
Once gets a force, Floods cannot quench the flame.
Rather then love, let me be ever lost;
Or let me 'gender with eternall frost.

How Love came in, I do not know,
Whether by th'eye, or eare, or no:
Or whether with the soule it came
(At first) infused with the same:
Whether in part 'tis here or there,
Or, like the soule, whole every where:
This troubles me: but I as well
As any other, this can tell;
That when from hence she does depart,
The out-let then is from the heart.

137

With Cords of love God often strove
your stubborn hearts to tame:
Nevertheless your wickedness,
did still resist the same.
If now at last Mercy be past
from you for evermore,
And Justice come in Mercies room,
yet grudge you not therefore.

138

If into wrath God turned hath
his long long suffering,
And now for love you vengeance prove,

She was lovely and fair to see
And the elfin's heart beat fitfully;
But lovelier far, and still more fair,
The earthly form imprinted there;
Nought he saw in the heavens above
Was half so dear as his mortal love,
For he thought upon her looks so meek,
And he thought of the light flush on her cheek;
Never again might he bask and lie
On that sweet cheek and moonlight eye,
But in his dreams her form to see,
To clasp her in his reverie,
To think upon his virgin bride,
Was worth all heaven and earth beside.

But Thee, but Thee, O sovereign Seer of time,
But Thee, O poets' Poet, Wisdom's Tongue,
But Thee, O man's best Man, O love's best Love,
O perfect life in perfect labor writ,
O all men's Comrade, Servant, King, or Priest,--
What if or yet, what mole, what flaw, what lapse,
What least defect or shadow of defect,
What rumor, tattled by an enemy,
Of inference loose, what lack of grace
Even in torture's grasp, or sleep's, or death's,--
Oh, what amiss may I forgive in Thee,
Jesus, good Paragon, thou Crystal Christ?

96 Saturday, 16 February 1751

Quod si Platonis musa personat verum,
Quod quisque discit, immemor recordatur.
Boethius [III xi 15]

Truth in platonic ornaments bedeck'd,
Inforc'd we love, unheeding recollect.

Long as thine art shall love true love,
Long as thy science truth shall know,
Long as thine eagle harms no dove,
Long as thy law by law shall grow,
Long as thy God is God above,
Thy brother every man below,
So long, dear land of all my love,
Thy name shall shine, thy fame shall glow.

SHALL I tell you whom I love?
— Hearken then awhile to me;
And if such a woman move
— As I now shall versify,
Be assured 'tis she or none,
That I love, and love alone.

Nature did her so much right
— As she scorns the help of art;
In as many virtues dight
— As e'er yet embraced a heart:
So much good so truly tried,
Some for less were deified.

Wit she hath, without desire
— To make known how much she hath;
And her anger flames no higher
— Than may fitly sweeten wrath.

The song of songs, which is Solomons.
Let him kisse mee with the kisses of his mouth: for thy Love is better then wine.
Because of the savour of thy good ointments, thy name is as ointment powred forth, therefore doe the virgins love thee.
Draw me, we will runne after thee: the king hath brought me into his chambers: we will be glad and rejoyce in thee, we wil remember thy love more then wine: the upright love thee.
I am blacke, but comely, (O ye daughters of Jerusalem) as the tents of Kedar, as the curtaines of Solomon.