LII

I cannot love thee as I ought,
For love reflects the thing beloved;
My words are only words, and moved
Upon the topmost froth of thought.

" Yet blame not thou thy plaintive song,"
The Spirit of true love replied;
" Thou canst not move me from thy side,
Nor human frailty do me wrong.

" What keeps a spirit wholly true
To that ideal which he bears?

XXXV

Yet if some voice that man could trust
Should murmur from the narrow house,
" The cheeks drop in; the body bows;
Man dies: nor is there hope in dust:"

Might I not say? " Yet even here,
But for one hour, O Love, I strive
To keep so sweet a thing alive:"
But I should turn mine ears and hear

The moanings of the homeless sea,
The sound of streams that swift or slow

XXXII

Her eyes are homes of silent prayer,
Nor other thought her mind admits
But, he was dead, and there he sits,
And he that brought him back is there.

Then one deep love doth supersede
All other, when her ardent gaze
Roves from the living brother's face,
And rests upon the Life indeed.

All subtle thought, all curious fears,
Borne down by gladness so complete,

XXV

I know that this was Life, — the track
Whereon with equal feet we fared;
And then, as now, the day prepared
The daily burden for the back.

But this it was that made me move
As light as carrier-birds in air;
I loved the weight I had to bear,
Because it needed help of Love:

Nor could I weary, heart or limb,
When mighty Love would cleave in twain

IX

Fair ship, that from the Italian shore
Sailest the placid ocean-plains
With my lost Arthur's loved remains,
Spread thy full wings, and waft him o'er.

So draw him home to those that mourn
In vain; a favourable speed
Ruffle thy mirrored mast, and lead
Through prosperous floods his holy urn.

All night no ruder air perplex
Thy sliding keel, till Phosphor, bright

I

I held it truth, with him who sings
To one clear harp in divers tones,
That men may rise on stepping-stones
Of their dead selves to higher things.

But who shall so forecast the years
And find in loss a gain to match?
Or reach a hand through time to catch
The far-off interest of tears?

Let Love clasp Grief lest both be drowned,
Let darkness keep her raven gloss:

Narcissus and chrysanthemum —
lovely shapes together;
she places them in a porcelain vase,
two or three of each.
Bending low beside the little window
in flickering lamplight shadows,
my jade one has risen from her sick bed,
braving the cold air.

Our beauty is to us that which to men
Wit is, or strength unto the lion. Then
Let us use it whilst wee may;
Snatch those joyes that haste away.
Earth her winter-coat may cast,
And renew her beauty past;
But, our winter come, in vain
We sollicite spring again:
And when our furrows snow shall cover,
Love may return, but never Lover.

Let us use it while we may;
Snatch those joys that haste away.
Earth her winter-coat may cast,
And renew here beauty past;
But, our winter come, in vain
We solicit spring again:
And when our furrows snow shall cover,
Love may return, but never lover.

Learn women all from this housewifery,
Make you conserve of Lovers to keep by.
Had I no Sweet-heart but this sullen Boy,
Were I not well provided of a joy?
To extreme want how likely to be hurl'd
Is that ill houswife, who in all the world
But one Love onely, but one Servant hath?
Corsica will be no such fool. What's faith?
What's constancy? Tales which the jealous feign
To awe fond girls: names as absurd as vain.
Faith in a woman (if at least there be
Faith in a woman unreveal'd to me)
Is not a vertue, nor a heavenly grace,