If there be love within thy heart, proclaim it not abroad.
The searcher of all hearts will know thy heart's inmost feelings.

Hidden, revealed, whate'er I did, the defects of my mind,
O Rama, the searcher of all hearts, all lies plain before Thee.

Let thy prayer and praise be such that no other sees it.
Let none see thy moving lips: keep thy love a secret.

My hand counts no rosary's beads: my tongue names not Rama.
Hari performs all my devotions: and I am given rest.

Alack, for the Loved One left us In sorrow and pain and went;
Like smoke on the top of the furnace She caused us remain and went.

She gave not a cup to the cropsick Of Love's mirth-kindling wine,
But caused us to taste of the bitter Of sev'rance's bane and went.

When once I was fallen her booty, Me wounded and sick at heart
In the sea of chagrin she abandoned, Her steed gave the rein and went.

“By practice”, quoth I, “I may bring her In bonds.” But at me she took fright,
Affrighted the steed of my fortune And broke through the chain and went.

“And love will stay, a summer's day!”
A long wave rippled up the strand,
She flashed a white hand through the spray
And plucked a sea-shell from the sand;
And laughed—“O doubting heart, have peace!
When faith of mine shall fail to thee
This fond, remembering shell will cease
To sing its love, the sea.”

Ah well, sweet summer's past and gone—
And love, perchance, shuns wintry weather—
And so the pretty dears are flown
On lightsome, careless wings together.
I smile: this little pearly-lined,
Pink-veinëd shell she gave to me,

Woman! thoughtless, giddy creature,
Laughing, idle, flutt'ring thing:
Most uncertain work of nature,
Still, like fancy, on the wing.

Slave to ev'ry changing passion,
Loving, hating, in extreme:
Fond of ev'ry foolish fashion,
And, at best, a pleasing dream.

Lovely-trifle! dear-illusion!
Conquering-weakness! wished-for-pain!
Man's chief glory and confusion,
Of all vanity most vain!

Thus, deriding beauty's power,
Bevil called it all a cheat;
But in less than half an hour
Kneeled and whined at Celia's feet.

Still abide the heaven-born three,
Faith, and Hope, and Charity!
Faith—to point out our heavenly goal,
Hope—an anchor to the soul:
Faith and Hope must pass away;
Charity endure for aye!

Hope must in possession die;
Faith—in blissful certainty:
These to gladden each were given;
Love, or Charity—for heaven!
For, in brighter realms above,
Charity survives—as Love.

Love to Him, the great I AM!
Love to Him, the atoning Lamb!
Love unto the Holy Ghost!
Love to all the heavenly host!
Love to all the human race,
Sanctified by saving grace!

In the dim watches of the midmost night,
A ghost confronts him, standing by his bed,
A lonesome ghost who walks uncomforted,
Pale child of Memory and dead Delight,
No longer fair or pleasant in his sight.
With dusky hair upon her shoulders shed,
And cypress leaves for garland on her head,
As patient as the moonlight and as white,
She stands beside him, and puts forth her hand
To lead him backward into Love's lost Land—
Sad Land which shadows people, and where wait
Memory, her sire, and dead Delight, his mate—
And standing there among the shadowy band,

So Love, emergent out of chaos, brought
The world to light!
And gently moving on the waters, wrought
All form to sight!
Love's appetite
Did beauty first excite,
And left imprinted in the air
Those signatures of good and fair,
CHORUS

Which since have flowed, flowed forth upon the sense,
To wonder first, and then to excellence,
By virtue of divine intelligence!

The Ingemination
And Neptune too
Shows what his waves can do,
To call the muses all to play
And sing the birth of Venus' day,
CHORUS

Look at my heart: see how it bleeds with tears,
Love's wound still open all these weary years.
Help me, dear maid, for I am sore distrest;
No surgeon's hand can lull my pain to rest.
I am poor Telephus; you Achilles be
And heal the wound your beauty made in me.

I said, “If I come to thee, wilt thou greet me with a kiss?”
Said she, “Hast thou a thousand heads that thou askest this of me?”
I said, “Thy raven tresses are like so many black cobras.”
Said she, “Why trust thyself within the cobra's reach?”
I said, “In what fashion then shall I approach thee?”
Said she, “Without sword can head parted be from body?”
I said, “I ever wander in distraction in thy search!”
Said she, “Wise art thou, why then thus disgrace thyself?”
I said, “But for a moment let us two be happy together.”

Scarred with sensuality and pain
And weary labor in a mind not hard
Enough to think, a heart too always tender,
Sits the Christ of failure with his lovers.
They are wiser than his parables,
But he more potent, for he has the gift
Of hopelessness, and want of faith, and love.