O is it Love or is it Fame,
This thing for which I sigh?
Or has it then no earthly name
For men to call it by?

I know not what can ease my pains,
Nor what it is I wish;
The passion at my heart-strings strains
Like a tiger in a leash.

'T IS not your beauty can engage
—My wary heart;
The sun, in all his pride and rage,
—Has not that art;
And yet he shines as bright as you,
If brightness could our souls subdue.

'Tis not the pretty things you say,
—Nor those you write,
Which can make Thyrsis' heart your prey:
—For that delight,
The graces of a well-taught mind,
In some of our own sex we find.

No, Flavia, 'tis your love I fear;
—Love's surest darts,
Those which so seldom fail him, are
—Headed with hearts:
Their very shadows make us yield;

Beneath love's heavy weight my falt'ring soul
Plods, like the packman, o'er life's dusty road.
Oh! that some friendly hand would find a pole
To ease my shoulders of their grievous load!

That eyes which pierced our inmost being through;
That lips which pressed into a single kiss,
It seemed, a whole eternity of bliss;
That cheeks which mantled with love's rosy hue;
That feet which wanted nothing else to do
But run upon love's errands, this and this;
That hands so fair they had not seemed amiss
Reached down by angels through the deeps of blue;—
That all of these so deep in earth should lie
While season after season passeth by;
That things which are so sacred and so sweet
The hungry roots of tree and plant should eat!

I saw a cloud at break of day
On the Wind's high shoulders borne;
It looked like a meteor's dazzling ray,
In the azure vault forlorn:
I marvelled how a cloud so strange,
Should on Aurora's summit range.

I gazed until it rose above
The light of my quivering eye;
It journeyed to those realms of love,
Where the sun rolls blazing by:
It moved not as clouds are wont to do,
But swift to those mansions of bliss it flew.

I knew not what it then conveyed,
As it sped on its arrow-wing;
But, ah! it bore my Mary's shade,

Oh, thou wilt never know how fond a love
This heart could have felt for thee;
Or ever dream how love and friendship strove,
Through long, long hours for mastery;
How passion often urged, but pride restrained,
Or how thy coldness grieved, but kindness pained.

How hours have soothed the feelings, then that were
The torture of my lonely life—
But ever yet will often fall a tear,
O'er wildest hopes and thoughts then rife;
Where'er recalled by passing word or tone,
Fond memory mirrors all those visions flown.

I have tried to keep a little of myself for other uses,
But love denies my reserve: I must have all, says love.
I bargained sharply with love and love kept away,
I wondered this of love and that of love and love was still alienated.
I looked for love in the open day and in dark places and love baffled my desire,
But when I stopped looking and simply loved love came hurrying—
Came to me from hell hot with fire,
Came to me from heaven calm with justice.

I could not cheat love:
When I reminded love of my sins love smiled and loved on,

Turne all thy thoughts to eyes,
Turne all thy haires to eares,
Change all thy friends to spies,
And all thy joyes to feares:
True Love will yet be free,
In spite of Jealousie.

Turne darknesse into day,
Conjectures into truth,
Beleeve what th' envious say,
Let age interpret youth:
True love will yet be free,
In spite of Jealousie.

Wrest every word and looke,
Racke ev'ry hidden thought,
Or fish with golden hooke,
True love cannot be caught:
For that will still be free,
In spite of Jealousie.

Youth gone, and beauty gone if ever there
Dwelt beauty in so poor a face as this;
Youth gone and beauty, what remains of bliss?
I will not bind fresh roses in my hair,
To shame a cheek at best but little fair,--
Leave youth his roses, who can bear a thorn,--
I will not seek for blossoms anywhere,
Except such common flowers as blow with corn.
Youth gone and beauty gone, what doth remain?
The longing of a heart pent up forlorn,
A silent heart whose silence loves and longs;
The silence of a heart which sang its songs

Many in aftertimes will say of you
"He loved her'--while of me what will they say?
Not that I loved you more than just in play,
For fashion's sake as idle women do.
Even let them prate; who know not what we knew
Of love and parting in exceeding pain,
Of parting hopeless here to meet again,
Hopeless on earth, and heaven is out of view.
But by my heart of love laid bare to you,
My love that you can make not void nor vain,
Love that foregoes you but to claim anew
Beyond this passage of the gate of death,
I charge you at the Judgment make it plain