All other love is like the mone
That wext and wanet as flowre in plein,
As flowre that fairet and fawet sone,
As day that scowret and endet in rein.

All other love bigint by blisse,
In wep and wo mak his ending;
No love ther nis that our alle lisse,
Bot what areste in hevene king,

Whos love is … and ever grene,
And ever full withoute waning;
His love sweteth withoute tene,
His love is endless and aring.

All other love I flo for thee;
Tell me, tell me, where thou list?
“In Marye milde and free
I schal be founde, ak mor in Crist.”

Why dost thou sing the threadbare songs of others?
Make thine own classics, of whatever tune.
Write future lullabies that happy mothers
Above abundant breasts may fondly croon.

Love through the ages found its richest vintage
In verse that voiced the dumbness of the throng;
Add to that wealth thy coins of golden mintage.
All lovers that shall be await thy song.

Or, if too far thy loving to remember,
Thou mayst the Laureate of Friendship be,
Find in the ash of Age some welcome ember
And light a passion Love might envy thee.

Of old, or knight or king,
Each feared that Time would bring
Unto the block his head.
Rest peacefully, ye dead:
Yours was a gentle crime.
Now to the block by Time
(Praise the collector's art!)
Is brought one's heart.

Think not, my love, when secret grief
Preys on my sadden'd heart,
Think not I wish a mean relief,
Or would from sorrow part.

Dearly I prize the sighs sincere,
That my true fondness prove,
Nor would I wish to check the tear,
That flows from hapless love!

Alas! tho' doom'd to hope in vain
The joys that love requite,
Yet will I cherish all its pain,
With sad, but dear delight.

This treasur'd grief, this lov'd despair,
My lot for ever be;
But, dearest, may the pangs I bear
Be never known to thee!

Here lies who lov'd his glass, and sung, and play'd:
The Muse with Love and Fancy he caress'd;
Was in the lap of Joy and Beauty laid,
By Wit enliven'd, and with feelings blest:
Adversity, with cheerful spirit brav'd—
Nor felt a moment's pain unless to find,
That many an hour his arm no friend had sav'd,
His love no mistress in its chains could bind.

Marry thee! No; that wou'd not show my Love;
My Hatred to thee, rather, wou'd it prove:
I, but because I love and honour thee,
Wou'd not thy Lord, but Humble Servant be;
I'm now your Slave; Marriage wou'd make you mine,
If you to make me sure to you design,
All that we have, but our Hands, let us join;
My Mistress be, to keep still your Command;
Be loose with your Legs, fetter not my Hand;
Let our Love, to last more, be less restrain'd;
Be free still, and give Liberty to me,
To make me more thy Slave, chain'd Lover be;

When lingering Love belated came,
And found the willing spirit young,
Day's heaven was all an airy flame,
To skies of Night a sunshine clung,
O'er wild and waste a charm was flung.
Earth was not earth, or sea the same
When lingering Love belated came,
And found the willing spirit young.

And now, though fires of Love be tame,
And songs of Love no more be sung,
Be patient, heart, nor idly blame
The lip unkissed, the lyre unstrung.
Lingering he went who lingering came,
And left the soul for ever young.

O, the mind is a bird, with a choice of flight
It can fly to the top of the tree,
Singing “Love, Love, Love,” all day and all night,
Merrily, airily,
Faithfully, cheerily
Fly high, Mind!—Or wilt thou fly low?
Wilt thou go,
Draggingly, creepingly,
Slowly and feebly,
Through the mud and the mire,
Through the world's sharp desire,
And the passion of sense?
O Mind, get thee hence.
Having seen, leave the sight.
Get thee up! Get thee higher!
Rise, Mind! Try a flight!
Seek the sweet, green tops of the trees,
Where the breeze,
Gently playing,

If thou wouldst have thy charms enchant our eyes,
First win our hearts, for there thy empire lies:
Beauty in vain would mount a heartless throne,
Her Right Divine is given by Love alone.

What would the rose with all her pride be worth,
Were there no sun to call her brightness forth?
Maidens, unloved, like flowers in darkness thrown,
Wait but that light which comes from Love alone.

Fair as thy charms in yonder glass appear,
Trust not their bloom, they'll fade from year to year:
Wouldst thou they still should shine as first they shone,

Zion's the city where I dwell,
Surrounded by the hosts of hell;
But glory soon will be my home,
Where sin and hell can never come.

All then among the saints below,
Where Jesus deigns his face to show,
Let me be favour'd with a place,
Constant in all the means of grace.

Oh lovely place, where first my heart
Was taught for baneful sin to smart!
Where first my eyes were brought to see
That Jesus liv'd and dy'd for me!

Where would I dwell, and learn to sing
The grace and love of Zion's King,
Shall I ascend the heav'nly skies,