They say no Love's so deep—so pure,
As that where Death has set his seal
It is not so!—at least I'm sure
Death could not add to what I feel!

No! no!—descended from the skies
And breathing Heaven upon the heart
Love—real—true Love, never dies
The immortal soul's least mortal part!

All other passions bear a stain
Which shews they are not from above:
Of Earth—to Earth they turn again—
From Heaven—to Heaven returns true Love!

There may be times when his bright face
With thoughts pale cast is sicklied o'er

You squeeze me in your arms the while your eyes
Hungrily seek, fierce woman, on my face
Close-hid deceits, brief mocking smiles, to trace:
For you have guessed that you have lost your prize.

But I care not, for all my enterprise
Is sending such thoughts through your brain achase;
For thereby do I gain the crowning grace
Of all your splendid savage witcheries.

Seize me and keep me ever for your own,
So that my love flames in you like a star:
But if you dim its ray, be sure some one
Shall lure me from your side, and out afar:

A Gentle eye with a spell of its own,
A meaning glance and a sudden thrill;
A voice—sweet music in every tone;
A steadfast heart and a resolute will;

A graceful form and a cheering smile,
Ever the same, and always true.
I have heard of this for a long, long while—
I have seen it, known it, loved it too.

Why did I wrong my judgment so,
As to affect, where I did know
There was no hold for to be taken,
That which her heart thirsts after most?
If once of it her hope can boast,
Straight by her folly is forsaken.

Thus while I still pursue in vain,
Methinks I turn a child again;
And of my shadow am a-chasing,
For all her favours are to me,
Like apparitions which I see—
Yet ne'er come near th' embracing.

Oft have I wish'd that there had been
Some Almanac whereby to 've seen,
When love with her had been in season;

Thou hast pearls and diamonds in plenty,
All things on which hearts set store,
And thine eyes are the very brightest—
What wouldst thou, my love, have more?

In praise of those brightest eyes, love,
I have written sonnets galore,
A host of immortal verses—
What wouldst thou, my love, have more?

With those brightest eyes thou hast brought me
An endless heartache sore,
Thou hast ruined me, soul and body—
What wouldst thou, my love, have more?

Blue sapphires are those eyes of thine,
So innocent, my sweeting;
And ah! thrice happy is the man
To whom they give Love's greeting.

Thy heart it is a diamond
That fires divine hath captured;
And ah! thrice happy is the man
For whom it glows enraptured.

Red rubies are those lips of thine,
Lovely beyond expression;
And ah! thrice happy he to whom
They make Love's sweet confession.

Oh that I knew the happy man!
That I might find him wending
His lonely way thro' the green wood—
His bliss would have an ending!

In my life's deep gloom and darkness
Once a lovely form shed light;
Now that lovely form has vanished,
I am all enwrapped in night.

Just as children's spirits falter
If they're kept in darkness long;
And to drive away their terror
They set up some noisy song.

I, an untrained child, am singing
Loudly in the darkness here;
If the song be not melodious,
It has freed me from my fear.

What is it to educate a human soul?
Is it to teach it how to read, and write,
Grammar, Arithmetic; is this the whole?
Can these alone teach it to live aright?
Such knowledge is but means unto an end,
Too oft to earth's brief, narrow sphere confined;
But higher thoughts there are, that these transcend,
Motives enduring as the human mind;
The love of knowledge, human and divine,
The love of goodness, purity, and truth;
Happy the teacher, who can souls incline
To virtuous ends, in early days of youth;
And, while he useful knowledge doth impart,

Alas! what Pains, what racking Thoughts he proves,
Who lives remov'd from her he dearest loves!
In cruel Absence doom'd past Joys to mourn,
And think on Hours that will no more return!
Oh! let me ne'er the Pangs of Absence try,
Save me from Absence, Love, or let me die.

Speak not of passion, for my heart is tired,
I should but grieve thee with unheeding ears;
Speak not of hope, nor flash thy soul inspired
In haggard eyes, that do but shine with tears.
Think not I weep because my task is o'er;
This is but weakness—I must rest to-day:
Nay, let me bid farewell and go my way,
Then shall I soon be patient as before.
Yes, thou art grateful, that I nursed thee well;
This is not love, for love comes swift and free:
Yet might I long with one so kind to dwell,
Cared for as in thy need I cared for thee: