I am my Love's laboratory,
For truly he shall find
The proof of his high quality
Within my heart and mind.
Look down, my Love, my Dear,
At the sure change wrought here!

If there be error,
In gentle intimacy
Of love to counsel,
The heart of loyal friendship
Grows ever nearer, dearer.

Lawyers themselves uphold the commonweal.
They punish those that do offend and steal.
They free with cunning art the innocent
From danger, loss and causeless punishment.
They can but will not keep the world in awe
With misexpounded and distended law.
They always have great store of charity
And love they want not, keeping amity.

Penning his comedy called “Man,” the Master
Who shapes his word in symbol and in trope
Made love a gay enigma of disaster,
And life an epigram on the tomb of hope.

Spring breezes waft along the avenue
touching willow branches of bright gold.
Beside the road, a well-appointed horseman,
his knightly aura rivaling the spring!
Amidst bamboo, a delicate flower, a peach,
as ravishing as Lovely Lady Tung!
The knight dismounts, and whispers through the leaves,
suspecting she's a flower-spirit there.

Whither Lord, hast Thou withdrawn, after waking love in me?
Faith, my companion, left me, after kindling the wick of Devotion.

In the sea of separation she felt me, after launching the boat of love.
Mira cries, Lord when wilt Thou greet me? Without Thee I can not live.

Lord, of thy favour, cause That my Loved One safe and hale
Return and deliver me From the clutches of blame and bale.

Bring, bring of the dust of the way Of the Friend departed hence,
So heal that I may withal My world-wearied eye of its ail.

That mole and that down and that tress, That cheek and that face and that shape,
From all the six quarters at once, The path of my heart assail.

To day, whilst I'm yet in thy hand, Some little compassion display!
To morrow, when I shall be dust, Will tears or repentance avail?

Lute! breathe thy lowest in my Lady's ear,
Sing while she sleeps, “Ah! belle dame, aimez-vous?”
Till, dreaming still, she dream that I am here,
And wake to find it, as my love is, true;
Then, while she listens in her warm white nest,
Say in slow music,—softer, tenderer yet,
That lute-strings quiver when their tone 's at rest,
And my heart trembles when my lips are set.

Stars! if my sweet love still a-dreaming lies,
Shine through the roses for a lover's sake;
And send your silver to her lidded eyes,
Kissing them very gently till she wake;

Though I die
for love
I will not
bewail my fate—
if only in turn
she will think fondly
of me
as one gone to smoke

Make channels for the streams of love,
Where they may broadly run,
And love has overflowing streams
To fill them every one.

But if at any time we cease
Such channels to provide,
The very founts of love for us
Will soon be parched and dried.

For we must share, if we would keep,
That blessing from above;
Ceasing to give, we cease to have,—
Such is the law of love.