Though to the South thou takest flight
To farthest shores of Meroë,
Winged Love will come with wingèd might
And bear me on to thee;

And if to Eastern lands thou sail,
Thy cheeks more red than Eastern skies,
I'll follow still nor ever fail
Until I reach my prize.

Lord, hast Thou so loved us, and will not we
Love Thee with heart and mind and strength and soul,
Desiring Thee beyond our glorious goal,
Beyond the heaven of heavens desiring Thee?
Each saint, all saints cry out: Yea me, yea me,
Thou hast desired beyond an aureole,
Beyond Thy many Crowns, beyond the whole
Ninety and nine unwandering family.
Souls in green pastures of the watered land,
Faint pilgrim souls wayfaring thro' the sand,
Abide with Thee and in Thee are at rest:
Yet evermore, kind Lord, renew Thy quest

The mighty many-sounding English sea
Forgets to love its moon and worships thee;
The English meadows, by thy beauty won,
Dream in thy glances and forget the sun;
The English dales, and dells of deep-green gloom,
Beneath thy footing tremble into bloom;
The morning follows thee; the wondering night
Forgets its stars—for are not thine eyes bright?
The English summer wind must tune its lute,
Love, at thy voice,—or be for ever mute;—
The laughter in the branches of the pine
Was never lovely till it copied thine;

I went to learned men and asked the way.
The learned men were lost among their books;
They bade me stand aside, for such as they
For such as me had neither words nor looks.

I went to churches, where beyond my sight
Priests and their servants served great mystery;
Their waves of incense filled the arches' height,
Their waves of music swelled in harmony.
But I stood all alone: and he and he
Who led the great procession had no care for me.

I left their church, and sought the street instead,
To find a cripple crouched upon the ground.

Love who will, for I 'll love none,
—There 's fools enough besides me:
Yet if each woman have not one,
—Come to me where I hide me,
And if she can the place attain,
For once I 'll be her fool again.

It is an easy place to find,
—And women sure should know it;
Yet thither serves not every wind,
—Nor many men can show it:
It is the storehouse, where doth lie
All women's truth and constancy.

If the journey be so long,
—No woman will adventer;
But dreading her weak vessel's wrong,
—The voyage will not enter:

Blanch swears her Husband's lovely; when a scald
Has blear'd his eyes: Besides, his head is bald.
Next, his wilde eares, like Lethern wings full spread,
Flutter to flie, and beare away his head.

My dear and only Love, I pray
—This noble world of thee
Be governed by no other sway
—But purest monarchy;
For if confusion have a part,
—Which virtuous souls abhor,
And hold a synod in thy heart,
—I 'll never love thee more.

Like Alexander I will reign,
—And I will reign alone:
My thoughts shall evermore disdain
—A rival on my throne.
He either fears his fate too much,
—Or his deserts are small,
That puts it not unto the touch
—To win or lose it all.

But I must rule and govern still,
—And always give the law,

So feckless a hope—
that the moon
crossing the sky
would be enough
to keep us
in the same world—
held together

Our pledge
of love—
is as the dew
of evening
hanging on grasses
withered
by the winds
blowing
at the far edge
of autumn fields.

Love for ever dwells in Heaven,
Hope entereth not there.
To despairing man Love's given,
Hope dwells not with despair.
Love reigneth high, and reigneth low, and reigneth everywhere.

In the inmost heart Love dwelleth,
It may not quenchèd be;
E'en when the life-blood welleth
Its fond effects we see.
In the name that leaves the lips the last, fades last from memory.

And when we shall awaken
Ascending to the sky,
Tho' Hope shall have forsaken,
Sweet Love shall never die.