Love flows not from my liver but her living,
From whence all stings to perfect love are darted
All power, and thought of prideful lust depriving
Her life so pure and she so spotless hearted.
In whom sits beauty with so firm a brow,
That age, nor care, nor torment can contract it;
Heaven's glories shinning there, do stuff allow,
And virtue's constant graces do compact it.
Her mind--the beam of God--draws in the fires
Of her chaste eyes, from all earth's tempting fuel;
Which upward lifts the looks of her desires,

But dwell in darkness, for your god is blind,
Humour pours down such torrents on his eyes;
Which, as from mountains, fall on his base kind,
And eat your entrails out with ecstasies.
Color, whose hands for faintness are not felt,
Can bind your waxen thoughts in adamant;
And with her painted fires your heart doth melt,
Which beat your souls in pieces with a pant.
But my love is the cordial of souls,
Teaching by passion what perfection is,
In whose fixed beauties shine the sacred scroll,
And long-lost records of your human bliss,

I know that you whom I love today
Will sometime pass out of my life,
And all this joy and laughter,
This love that lights my heart
Will be no more,
And I will be left lonely,
As all women.

I know that the glory of this dream
That came like the breath of spring,
All this bloom and beauty,
As of a thousand dawns,
This gladness of meeting lips,
And this great calm of the spirit,
Cannot last forever.

I know that some day I shall walk alone,
Looking with eyes that cannot weep
Upon the future desolate.

Love, the most gen'rous passion of the mind,
The softest refuge innocence can find,
The safe director of unguided youth,
Fraught with kind wishes, and secured by truth,
That cordial drop heav'n in our cup hath thrown
To make the nauseous draught of life go down;
On which one only blessing God might raise
In lands of atheists subsidies of praise;
For none did e'er so dull and stupid prove,
But felt a God, and blessed his pow'r in love.

My soul, they say, is hard and cold,
And nought can move me
Perchance 'tis so 'midst life's wild whirl,
But, oh! on Beauty's lips, my girl,
'Twill melt like Cleopatra's pearl;
Then love me, love me.
I would not climb th' ambitious heights
That soar above me;
I do not ask thee to bestow
Or wealth or honours on me now,
Or wreathe with laurel leaves my brow;
But love me, love me.

Oh! I'll gaze on thee till my fond
Fix'd glances move thee;
Love's glance sometimes the coldest warms:
Pygmalion on a statue's charms

My love gave me a passion-flower.
I nursed it well—so brief its hour!
My eyelids ache, my throat is dry:
He told me that it would not die.

My love and I are one, and yet
Full oft my cheeks with tears are wet—
So sweet the night is and the bower!
My love gave me a passion-flower.

So sweet! Hold fast my hands. Can God
Make all this joy revert to sod,
And leave to me but this for dower—
My love gave me a passion-flower.

Gazing on my idol-treasure,
All my soul is lost in joy;
She affords eternal pleasure,
And can never, never cloy.

Ev'ry motion, ev'ry feature
Shines with such peculiar grace;
Never, sure, was human creature
Blest with such an angel's face.

I.

O'er the graveyard burning noonday poured its flood of stainless golden light;
In that hour the sun seemed victor over all the doubts and dreams of night.
II.

From the heavens of boundless azure, from the air superb with summer's breath,
Came, it seemed, a thrill of triumph, wide-winged triumph over wingless death
III.

Though the dead around lay silent, though a thousand souls had watched in vain,
Summer's heart of endless sweetness seemed to soothe man's heart of endless pain.
IV.

TO HENRY .

?A ND has that heart, unmoved so long
?By beauty, softness, wit, and song,
At length been taught love's pleasing pains to feel?
Ah! no;....I fear, not e'en Amanda's charms
Have in thy breast waked passion's fond alarms:
But let my verse love's genuine signs reveal,....
And if your blushes answering symptoms prove,
Then will I own that you have learnt to love.
?If with confusion's deepening red
?Your manly cheek be not o'erspread
Whene'er by chance you hear Amanda's name,....
Or if, when unexpected she's in sight,

1. Oh, Mexico, my Mexico, Heave away, Santy
Anno! Oh, Mexico, my Mexico, All along
the plains of Mexico.
2 The ladies there, oh, I do adore,
3 Where I began my lifelong store.
4 Now, the girls are pretty with their long black hair.
5 Oh, in Mexico where I do belong,
6 I've found my señora right there!
7 Now, Mexico, you know what you are.
Oh, Mexico, well you know what you are.
8 You've loved me dear and you've taught me well!
9 Now, I'd love to be in Sannajooves tonight.
10 Now, really it seems only to be, etc.