CCXXIX

I am ready and ever will be
To do you service with honesty.
There is nothing that lacks in me
But that I have not.

My poor heart always and my mind
Fixed in yours you shall still find.
To love you best reason doth bind
Although I have not.

And for your sake I would be glad
To have much more than I have had,
The lack whereof doth make me sad
Because I have not.

For I do love ye faithfully
And ye me again right secretly.
Of let there is no cause why
But that I have not.

'T IS joy to feel the spirit leap
Angelic from its childhood sleep,
Pure as a star, fair as a flower,
Eager with youth's unblasted power;
Where every sense gives soft consent,
To burst into love's element;
To be all touch, all eye, all ear,
And pass into love's burning sphere.

“Oh, have you not a message, you who come over the sea?
Have you not a message or word at all for me?”

“I have sailed, sailed, sailed where the seas are green and blue,
I've silver, gold and merchandise—but never a word for you.”

“But did you see my love by any way you came?
For if you saw my love, he must have spoke my name.”

“Oh, yes, I saw your love—oh, yes, and he was gay
Riding in his coach-and-six all on his birthday.”

“But when you spoke of me, of me—oh! what was it he said?”
“Oh, he never said a word at all, but turned away his head.”

When merry autumn in her prime,
Fruitful mother of swift time,
Had filled Ceres' lap with store
Of vines and corn, and mickle more
Such needful fruits as do grow
From Terra's bosom, here below;
Tityrus did sigh, and see
With heart's grief and eyes' gree,
Eyes and heart both full of woes,
Where Galate his lover goes.
Her mantle was vermillion red;
A gaudy chaplet on her head,
A chaplet that did shroud the beams
That Phoebus on her beauty streams,
For sun itself desir'd to see
So fair a nymph as was she,
For, viewing from the east to west,

Ah! what is love? It is a pretty thing,
As sweet unto a shepherd as a king,
And sweeter too;
For kings have cares that wait upon a crown,
And cares can make the sweetest love to frown.
Ah then, ah then,
If country loves such sweet desires gain,
What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

His flocks are folded, he comes home a night,
As merry as a king in his delight,
And merrier too;
For kings bethink them what the state require,
Where shepherds careless carol by the fire.
Ah then, ah then,
If country loves such sweet desires gain,

Oft have I heard my lief Corydon report on a love-day,
When bonny maids do meet with the swains in the valley by Tempe,
How bright eyed his Phyllis was, how lovely they glanced,
When fro th'arches ebon black, flew looks as a lightning,
That set afire with piercing flames even hearts adamantine:
Face rose hued, cherry red, with a silver taint like a lily.
Venus' pride might abate, might abash with a blush to behold her.
Phoebus' wires compar'd to her hairs unworthy the praising.
Juno's state, and Pallas' wit disgrac'd with the Graces,

Love is the key of life and death,
Of hidden heavenly mystery:
Of all Christ is, of all He saith,
Love is the key.

As three times to His Saint He saith,
He saith to me, He saith to thee,
Breathing His Grace-conferring Breath:
“Lovest thou Me?”

Ah, Lord, I have such feeble faith,
Such feeble hope to comfort me:
But love it is, is strong as death,
And I love Thee.

Love is alone the worthy law of love:
All other laws have presupposed a taint:
Love is the law from kindled saint to saint,
From lamb to lamb, from dove to answering dove.
Love is the motive of all things that move
Harmonious by free will without constraint:
Love learns and teaches: love shall man acquaint
With all he lacks, which all his lack is love.
Because Love is the fountain, I discern
The stream as love: for what but love should flow
From fountain Love? not bitter from the sweet!
I ignorant, have I laid claim to know?

How love whom we see not, and cannot see
With mortal sight, the Invisible, Unknown?
To highest angel still a mystery,
Who nearest stands before his awful throne.
Yet by the worlds we see is God revealed,
On earth below and in the starry sky;
The Invisible Spirit, else from man concealed,
Reveals his goodness, power, to every eye.
And by his son, who did his image bear,
The image of his mercy and his grace,
He doth his love, a Father's love declare,
That we, though sinful, yet might see his face.
Yea, our own hearts do tell us of his love,

When first thou camest, gentle, shy, and fond,
My eldest-born, first hope, and dearest treasure,
My heart received thee with a joy beyond
All that it yet had felt of earthly pleasure—
Nor thought that any love again might be
So deep and strong as that I felt for thee.