Why is it thus with me, false Love,
Why is it thus with me?
Mine enemies might so have dealt;
I fear'd it not of thee!

Thou wast the thought of all my thoughts,
Nor other hope had I:
My life was laid upon thy love;
Then how could'st let me die?

The flower is loyal to the bud,
The greenwood to the spring,
The soldier to his banner bright,
The noble to his king:

The bee is constant to the hive,
The ringdove to the tree,
The martin to the cottage-eaves:
Thou only not to me.

Ah! hapless fate of maiden hearts

'Tis said that Love when all is done
Is but “Two Hearts That Beat As One,”—
Which I deny, for I have found
When Love to visit me comes round
The moment he comes through the door
He makes my heart beat like ten score,
And even more!

If I were teaching Love at school,
And to define it I were tasked,
I'd say
That 'tis an element, by no means cool,
That comes our way,
Both night and day,
Unsought, unasked,
And as a rule
Makes Man a Hero or a Fool,
And best of all it is so rich
He cares not which!

“Love me, sweet girl! thy love is all I ask!”
“Love thee?” she laughing cries; “I love thee not!”
“Why, then, I'll cease to love thee on the spot,
Since loving thee is such a thankless task!”

Here we meet i' the moon light hour
Here we stand by the sleeping flower
Where dew drops hang as silent shower
On each grass blade a pearl
The moon tells endymions tale
O'er the wild rose hedge i' the grassy vale
While fondly I stand by the mossy rail
And clasp my lovely girl.

In ivy tree sung the dove
O'er the old pond gleams the calm o' love
From the cloudless moon above
Where I clasp my bonny girl
Her heart pants like a new taen bird
This white doe singled from the herd
I kiss and not a thorn leaf's stirred
Each beaded with a pearl.

The gift is small,
The love is all.

It was a gallant troubadour,
A child of sword and song,
That loved a gentle paramour,
And loved her leal and long;
He woo'd her as a knight should woo,
And laying lance in rest,
In listed fields, her colours flew
O'er many a haughty crest.
He loved her as a bard should do,
And taking harp in hand,
In sweetest lays, that lady's praise
He poured o'er many a land:
But all in vain,
His noblest strain
Awoke no kind return;
That lady proud
Smiled on the crowd,
But his true love did spurn.

It was a tristful troubadour,

Love on my heart from heaven fell,
Soft as the dew on flowers of spring,
Sweet as the hidden drops that swell
Their honey-throated chalicing.

Now never from him do I part,
Hosanna evermore I cry:
I taste his savour in my heart,
And bid all praise him as do I.

Without him noughtsoever is,
Nor was afore, nor e'er shall be:
Nor any other joy than his
Wish I for mine to comfort me.

Behold a wonder here,
Love hath received his sight,
Which many hundred year
Hath not beheld the light.

Such beams infused be
By Cynthia in his eyes,
As first have made him see
And then have made him wise.

Love now no more will weep
For them that laugh the while;
Nor wake for them that sleep,
Nor sigh for them that smile.

So powerful is the beauty
That Love doth now behold,
As Love is turned to duty
That 's neither blind nor bold.

This Beauty shows her might
To be of double kind,
In giving Love his sight

How do I love to sit and dream
Of that sweet passion, when I meet
The lady I must love for life!
The very thought makes my Soul beat
Its wings, as though it saw that light
Silver the rims of my black night.

I see her bring a crimson mouth
To open at a kiss, and close;
I see her bring her two fair cheeks,
That I may paint on each a rose;
I see her two hands, like doves white,
Fly into mine and hide from sight.

In fancy hear her soft, sweet voice;
My eager Soul, to catch her words,
Waits at the ear, with Noah's haste

I dreamed my love had set thy spirit free,
Enfranchised thee from Fate's o'ermastering power,
And girt thy being with a scatheless dower
Of rich and joyous immortality;
Of Love, I dreamed my soul had ransomed thee,
In thy lone, dread, incalculable hour
From those pale hands at which all mortals cower,
And conquered Death by Love, like Savitri.
When I awoke, alas, my love was vain
E'en to annul one throe of destined pain,
Or by one heart-beat to prolong thy breath;
O Love, alas, that love could not assuage
The burden of thy human heritage,