My heart is not mine any longer,
I confess it to you, dearest friends;
I love, and no love could be stronger,
For my loved One the whole world transcends—
My heart is not mine any longer.

'Tis useless to dwell on her beauty,
She has utterly conquered my heart;
To praise her I feel is my duty,
But her fairness excels all my art—
'Tis useless to dwell on her beauty.

I cannot endure life without her,
Nor the length of the night and the day;
'Tis life to be thinking about her,
So I love her, and live in that way—

By all my chains, my burdens and my fetters,
I plead with you to ease their galling weight,
And with the soothing solace of your letters,
To teach me resignation to my fate.
Since you no more may breathe love's fervent story,
I would be bride of heaven. Oh, tell me how!
Awake in me an ardor for that glory,
The love divine, so lacking in me now!
As once your songs related all love's pleasures,
Relate to me the rapture of your faith.
Unlock the storehouse of your new-found treasures,
And lend a radiance to my living death.

A MUSTERED host of glances bright,
A sweet bouquet of smiles,
A crucible of melting words
Bewitched me with their wiles!

I wished to live retired, to love
The flowers and bosky glades,
The blue sky's lights, the dew of morn,
The evening's mists and shades;

To scan my destiny's dark page,
In thought my hours employ,
And dwell in meditation deep
And visionary joy.

Then near me stirred a breath that seemed
A waft of Eden's air,
The rustle of a maiden's robe,
A tress of shining hair.

I sought to make a comrade dear

The look of love alarms
Because tis filld with fire
But the look of soft deceit
Shall win the lovers hire

O cool in the summer is salad,
?And warm in the winter is love;
And a poet shall sing you a ballad
?Delicious thereon and thereof.
A singer am I, if no sinner,
?My muse has a marvellous wing,
And I willingly worship at dinner
The Sirens of Spring.
Take endive—like love it is bitter,
?Take beet—for like love it is red;
Crisp leaf of the lettuce shall glitter,
?And cress from the rivulet's bed;
Anchovies, foam-born, like the lady
?Whose beauty has maddened this bard;
And olives, from groves that are shady;
And eggs—boil 'em hard.

Dear child, thou know'st, I blame not thee;
Thou too, I know, hast shared the smart.
Neither did wrong; 'twas only she,
Nature, that moulded us apart.

But not to have sinned, in Nature's eyes
I find a brittle plea to trust:
She punishes the just unwise
More hardly than the wise unjust.

She placed our souls, like Heaven's lone spheres,
In separate paths, no power can move:
O truth too heart-breaking for tears!
Not even Love, not even Love!

You and I have found the secret way,
None can bar our love or say us nay:
All the world may stare and never know
You and I are twined together so.

You and I for all his vaunted width
Know the giant Space is but a myth;
Over miles and miles of pure deceit
You and I have found our lips can meet.

You and I have laughed the leagues apart
In the soft delight of heart to heart.
If there's a gulf to meet or limit set,
You and I have never found it yet.

You and I have trod the backward way
To the happy heart of yesterday,

By our first strange and fatal interview,
By all desires which thereof did ensue,
By our long starving hopes, by that remorse
Which my words' masculine persuasive force
Begot in thee, and by the memory
Of hurts, which spies and rivals threatened me,
I calmly beg: but by thy father's wrath,
By all pains, which want and divorcement hath,

I conjure thee, and all the oaths which I
And thou have sworn to seal joint constancy,
Here I unswear, and overswear them thus,
Thou shalt not love by ways so dangerous.
Temper, O fair Love, love's impetuous rage,

Nature's lay idiot, I taught thee to love,
And in that sophistry, oh, thou dost prove
Too subtle: Fool, thou didst not understand
The mystic language of the eye nor hand:
Nor couldst thou judge the difference of the air
Of sighs, and say, this lies, this sounds despair:
Nor by the' eye's water call a malady
Desperately hot, or changing feverously.
I had not taught thee then, the alphabet
Of flowers, how they devicefully being set
And bound up, might with speechless secrecy
Deliver errands mutely, and mutually.
Remember since all thy words used to be

Whoever loves, if he do not propose
The right true end of love, he's one that goes
To sea for nothing but to make him sick.
Love is a bear-whelp born, if we o'er-lick
Our love, and force it new strange shapes to take,
We err, and of a lump a monster make.
Were not a calf a monster that were grown
Faced like a man, though better than his own?
Perfection is in unity; prefer
One woman first, and then one thing in her.
I, when I value gold, may think upon
The ductileness, the application,
The wholesomeness, the ingenuity,