As a white dove that, in a cage of gold,
Is prisoned from the air, and yet more bound
By love than bars, and will not wings unfold
To fly away, though every gate be found
Unlocked and open; so my heart was caught,
And linked to thine with triple links of love.
But soon, a dove grown wanton, false it sought
To break its chain, and faithless quite to rove
Where thou wouldst not; and with a painted bird
Fluttered far off. But when a moon was past,
Grown sick with longing for a voice unheard
And lips unkissed, spread wings and home flew fast.

To ganymede an eagle came,
A swan to Leda flew,
Zeus took his joy from both the same,
An equal pleasure knew.

Let some of women's beauty preach,
Of youths let others tell,
I love them both and find that each
Is incomparable.

O' ER the Mediterranean sea
Proudly hath the Orient sprung;
Who loves Hafis and knows him, he
Knows what Calderon hath sung.

HE that Love hath never try'd,
Nor had Cupid for his guide,
Cannot hit the passage right
To the palace of Delight.

What are honours, regal wealth,
Florid youth, and rosy health?
Without Love his tribute brings;—
Impotent, unmeaning things!

Gentle shepherds, persevere,
Still be tender, still sincere;
Love and Time, united, do
Wonders, if the heart be true.

When you were here, ah foolish then!
I scarcely knew I loved you, dear.
I know it now, I know it when
You are no longer here.

When you were here, I sometimes tired,
Ah me! that you so loved me, dear.
Now, in these weary days desired,
You are no longer here.

When you were here, did either know
That each so loved the other, dear?
But that was long and long ago:
You are no longer here.

It was the love of life, when I was young,
Which led me out in summer to explore
The daybreak world A bird's first notes were sung
For childhood standing at the garden door.
That loneliness it was which made me wise
When I looked out and saw
Dark trees against the strangely brightening skies
And learnt the love of earth that is my law.

The love of life is my religion still.
Steadfast through rigorous nights, companioned only
By what I am and what I strive to be,—
I seek no mystery now beyond the hill
And wait no change but to become more lonely,

Thou sayest that I am heartless and a coward,
That I with blandishments thy passion drew
Until thy will was weakened and o'erpowered,
Then back to thee that love again I threw.

Thou doest me wrong when thou dost call me coward.
To kill a passion one must needs be brave:
To tear a love out, strong and hope enflowered,
And cast it warm and pulsing in the grave.

I plucked my love while in its virgin beauty
And memorised it, for I was afraid
That it might warm to lust or chill to duty;
Or change to hate, or suffer blight or fade.

Methought I saw the lovers Time has known—
Not Helen with the earth-flame in her eyes,
Neither Francesca with her stifled moan,
Nor any like to these, but otherwise.

Quiet, unluted lovers all obscure,
Sweet as with garden fragrance and still dew,
Whose passions were both prosperous and pure,
Whose lives were all their loveliest dreams made true.

They crouched not low bewailing mournful chance,
But seemed strong souls beneath the day's white star,
Revealed a moment in my breathless trance,
Erect and fair as the immortals are.

Far more priceless than the diamonds rare from Golconda's rich mine;
Far more precious than the laurel wreaths that victor's brows entwine,
Is the garland that fond memory weaves, and twines about the heart—
For care nor time, nor war nor crime, can make its tints depart.

A mother's love! most sacred boon to mortals ever given;
'Tis not of earth; a mother's love was surely born in heaven!
See with what gentle, tender care her darling child she shields
From harms of life, from every strife this sphere terrestrial yields!

Coy , sweet maid, I love so well,
Fair Estelle.
How much I love thee tongue can't tell,
Sweet Estelle.
But I love thee—love thee true—
More than violets love the dew,
More than roses love the sun—
Do I love thee, dearest one,
Dear Estelle!

Ah! my heart love's passions swell
For Estelle!
How I love my actions tell
Thee, Estelle:
That I love thy smiling face,
And thy captivating grace—
Love thy dreamy 'witching eyes
More than planets love the skies,
Wee Estelle!

Now I smite my lyre to swell
For Estelle;