And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour,
Than languish in his slow-chapped power. 40
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life ;
Thus, though we cannot make our sun 45
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
A. Marvell.
THE ADVICE
Phylus, for shame, let us improve
A thousand several ways,
These few short minutes stolen by love
From many tedious days.
O.G.— LOVB -p
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82 ROSSETTI
Whilst you want courage to despise 5
The censure of the grave,
For all the tyrants in your eyes,
Your heart is but a slave*
My love is full of noble pride,
And never will submit 10
To let that fop, Discretion, ride
In triumph over wit.
False friends I have, as well as you,
That daily counsel me
Vain frivolous trifles to pursue, 15
And leave oft loving thee*
When I the least belief bestow
On what such fools advise,
May I be dull enough to grow
Most miserably wise, 20
C. Sackville, Earl of Dorset.
THE CHOICE
Eat thou and drink ; to-morrow thou shalt die.
Surely the earth, that 's wise being very old,
Needs not our help. Then loose me, love, and hold
Thy sultry hair up from my face ; that I
May pour for thee this golden wine, brim-high, 5
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DOLBEN 88
Till round the glass thy fingers glow like gold.
We'll drown all hours : thy song, while hours are
tolled,
Shall leap, as fountains veil the changing sky.
Now kiss, and think that there are really those,
My own high-bosomed beauty, who increase 10
Vain gold, vain lore, and yet might choose our
way 1
Through many days they toil ; then comes a day
They die not, — never having lived, — but cease ;
And round their narrow lips the mould falls close.
D. 6. Rossetti.
A SONG
The world is young to-day :
Forget the gods are old,
Forget the years of gold
When all the months were May.
A little flower of Love
Is ours, without a root,
Without the end of fruit,
Yet — take the scent thereof.
There may be hope above,
There may be rest beneath ;
We see them not, but Death
Is palpable and Love.
D. M. Dolben.
F2
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84 DAVENANT
THE SOLDIER GOING TO THE FIELD
Preserve thy sighs, unthrifty girl,
To purify the air !
Thy tears to thread, instead of pearl,
On bracelets of thy hair.
The trumpet makes the echo hoarse, 5
And wakes the louder drum.
Expense of grief gains no remorse,
When sorrow should be dumb.
For I must go where lazy Peace
Will hide her drowsy head, 10
And, for the sport of kings, increase
The number of the dead.
But, first, I'll chide thy cruel theft :
Can I in war delight,
Who (being of my heart bereft) 15
Can have no heart to fight ?
Thou know'st, the sacred laws of old
Ordained a thief should pay,
To quit him of his theft, sevenfold
What he had stolen away, 20
Thy payment shall but double be,
Oh then with speed resign
My own seducM heart to me,
Accompanied with thine.
Sir W. Davenant.
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LOVELACE 85
TO LUCASTA, ON GOING BEYOND THE SEAS
If to be absent were to be
Away from thee ;
Or that when I am gone
You or I were alone ;
Then, my Lucasta, might I crave 5
Pity from blustering wind, or swallowing wave.
But I'll not sigh one blast or gale
To swell my sail,
Or pay a tear to 'suage
The foaming blue god's rage ; 10
For whether he will let me pass
Or no, I'm still as happy as I was.
Though seas and land betwixt us both,
Our faith and troth,
Like separated souls, 15
All time and space controls :
Above the highest sphere we meet
Unseen, unknown, and greet as Angels greet.
So then we do anticipate
Our after-fate, 20
And are alive i' the skies,
If thus our lips and eyes
Can speak like spirits unconfined
In Heaven, their earthy bodies left behind.
R. Lovelace.
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86 KEATS
TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS
Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind
That from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind,
To war and arms I fly.
True, a new mistress now I chase,
The first foe in the field ;
And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.
Yet this inconstancy is such
As you too shall adore ; i
I could not love thee, Dear, so much,
Loved I not Honour more.
R. Lovelace.
LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI
i
* O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering ?
The sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.
ii
4 O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
So haggard and so woe-begone ?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest *s done.
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KEATS 87
in
4 1 see a lily on thy brow
With anguish moist and fever dew ; 10
And on thy cheek a fading rose
Fast withereth too. 5
IV
4 1 met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful — a faery's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light, 15
And her eyes were wild.
4 1 made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone ;
She looked at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan. 20
VI
4 1 set her on my pacing steed
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sideways would she lean, and sing
A faery's song.
VII
* She found me roots of relish sweet, 25
And honey wild and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said,
44 1 love thee true ! "
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38 KEATS
vin
4 She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept and sighed full sore
And there I shut her wild, wild eyes 31
With kisses four.
IX j
* And there she lull&d me asleep,
And there I dreamed — Ah 1 woe betide !
The latest dream I ever dreamed 35
On the cold hill's side. \
4 1 saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all ;
Who cried — " La belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall ! " 40
XI
4 1 saw their starved lips in the gloam
With horrid warning gap£d wide,
And I awoke and found me here
On the cold hill's side.
XII
4 And this is why I sojourn here 45
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.'
J. Keats.
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DE VERE 89
SONG
Seek not the tree of silkiest bark
And balmiest bud,
To carve her name, while yet 'tis dark,
Upon the wood !
The world is full of noble tasks, 5
And wreaths hard won :
Each work demands strong hearts, strong hands,
Till day is done.
Sing not that violet-veinfed skin ;
That cheek's pale roses ; — 10
The lily of that form wherein
Her soul reposes t
Forth to the fight, true man, true knight 1
The clash of arms
Shall more prevail than whispered tale 15
To win her charms.
The warrior for the True, the Right,
Fights in Love's name.
The love that lures thee from that fight
Lures thee to shame. 20
That love which lifts the heart, yet leaves
The spirit free —
That love, or none, is fit for one
Man-shaped like thee.
A. de Vere,
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90 SHAKESPEARE
ON A DAY
On a day, alack the day !
Love, whose month is ever May,
Spied a blossom passing fair
Playing in the wanton air ;
Through the velvet leaves the wind, 5
All unseen, 'gan passage find ;
That the lover, sick to death,
Wished himself the heaven's breath.
Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow ;
Air, would I might triumph so ! 10
But alack ! my hand is sworn
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn :
Vow, alack I for youth unmeet,
Youth so apt to pluck a sweet.
Do not call it sin in me, 15
That I am forsworn for thee ;
Thou for whom e'en Jove would swear
Juno but an Ethiop were ;
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love. 20
W. Shakespeare.
A SONG TO AMORET
If I were dead, and, in my place,
Some fresher youth designed
To warm thee with new fires, and grace
Those arms I left behind ;
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VAUGHAN 91
Were he as faithful as the sun, 5
That 's wedded to the sphere ;
His blood as chaste and temperate run,
As April's mildest tear ;
Or were he rich ; and, with his heap
And spacious share of earth, xo
Could make divine affection cheap,
And court his golden birth ;
For all these arts, I'd not believe
(No, though he should be thine !),
The mighty Amorist could give 15
So rich a heart as mine !
Fortune and beauty thou might'st find,
And greater men than I :
But my true resolv&L mind
They never shall come nigh. 20
For I not for an hour did love,
Or for a day desire,
But with my soul had from above
This endless holy fire,
EL Vaughan.
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92 DRAYTON
TO HIS COY LOVE
I pray thee leave, love me no more,
Call home the heart you gave me,
I but iu vain that saint adore,
That can, but will not save me :
These poor half -kisses kill me quite ; 5
Was ever man thus served ?
Amidst an ocean of delight,
For pleasure to be starved.
Show me no more those snowy breasts,
With azure riverets branched, 10
Where whilst my eye with plenty feasts,
Yet is my thirst not stanched.
O Tantalus, thy pains ne'er tell,
By me thou art prevented ;
'Tis nothing to be plagued in hell, 15
But thus in heaven tormented.
Clip me no more in those dear arms,
Nor thy life's comfort call me ;
Oh, these are but too powerful charms,
And do but more enthral me. 20
But see, how patient I am grown,
In all this coil about thee ;
Come, nice thing, let my heart alone,
I cannot live without thee.
M. Drayton.
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CAMPION 93
FOLLOW THY FAIR SUN
Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow,
Though thou be black as night,
And she made all of light ;
Yet follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow.
Follow her whose light thy light depriveth, 5
Though here thou livest disgraced,
And she in heaven is placed ;
Yet follow her whose light the world reviveth,
Follow those pure beams, whose beauty burneth, .
That so have scorched thee, 10
As thou still black must be,
Till her kind beams thy black to brightness turneth.
Follow her while yet her glory shineth :
There comes a luckless night
That will dim all her light ; 15
And this the black unhappy shade divineth.
Follow still since so thy Fates ordained ;
The sun must have his shade,
Till both at once do fade,
The sun still proud, the shadow still disdained. 20
T. Campion.
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M CAMPION
FOLLOW YOUR SAINT
Follow your Saint, follow with accents sweet ;
Haste you, sad notes, fall at her flying feet :
There, wrapped in cloud of sorrow, pity move,
And tell the ravisher of my soul I perish for her love.
But if she scorns my never-ceasing pain, 5
Then burst with sighing in her sight, and ne'er return
again.
All that I sang still to her praise did tend,
Still she was first, still she my songs did end.
Yet she my love and music both doth fly,
The music that her echo is, and beauty's sympathy ;
Then let my notes pursue her scornful flight : n
It shall suffice that they were breathed and died for
her delight.
T. Campion.
THOU ART NOT FAIR
Thou art not fair, for all thy red and white,
For all those rosy ornaments in thee ;
Thou art not sweet, though made of mere delight,
Nor fair, nor sweet, unless thou pity me.
I will not soothe thy fancies : thou shalt prove 5
That beauty is no beauty without love.
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CAMPION 95
Yet love not me, nor seek thou to allure
My thoughts with beauty, were it more divine ;
Thy smiles and kisses I cannot endure,
I'll not be wrapped up in those arms of thine : 10
Now show it, if thou be a woman right, —
Embrace, and kiss, and love me, in despite.
T. Campion.
WERE MY HEART AS SOME MEN'S ARE
Were my heart as some men's are, thy errors would
not move me ;
But thy faults I curious find and speak because
I love thee :
Patience is a thing divine, and far, I grant, above me.
Foes sometimes befriend us more, our blacker deeds
objecting,
Than the obsequious bosom-guest with false respect
affecting, 5
Friendship is the glass of Truth, our hidden stains
detecting.
While I use of eyes enjoy, and inward light of reason,
Thy observer will I be and censor, but in season :
Hidden mischief to conceal in State and Love is
treason.
T. Campion.
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96 CAREW
JE NE SAIS QUOI
Yes, I'm in love, I feel it now,
And Celia has undone me 1
And yet I'll swear I can't tell how
The pleasing plague stole on me.
'Tis not her face that love creates, 5
For there no graces revel ;
"Ks not her shape, for there the Fates
Have rather been uncivil.
'Tis not her air, for, sure, in that
There 's nothing more than common ; 10
And all her sense is only chat,
Like any other woman.
Her voice, her touch, might give the alarm,
'Twas both, perhaps, or neither !
In short, 'twas that provoking charm 15
Of Celia all together.
W. Wsitehead.
UNGRATEFUL BEAUTY THREATENED
Know, Celia, since thou art so proud, *
5 Twas I that gave thee thy renown ;
Thou hadst in the forgotten crowd
Of common beauties lived unknown,
Had not my verse exhaled thy name,
And with it imped the wings of Fame.
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DONNE 97
That killing power is none of thine :
I gave it to thy voice and eyes ;
Thy sweets, thy graces, all are mine ;
Thou art my star, shin'st in my skies ; 10
Then dart not from thy borrowed sphere
Lightning on him that fixed thee there.
Tempt me with such affrights no more,
Lest what I made I uncreate ;
Let fools thy mystic forms adore, 15
I know thee in thy mortal state :
Wise poets, that wrapt Truth in tales,
Knew her themselves through all her veils.
T. Carew.
LOVE'S DEITY
I long to talk with some old lover's ghost,
Who died before the god of love was born :
I cannot think that he, who then loved most,
Sunk so low as to love one which did scorn.
But since this god produced a destiny, 5
And that vice-nature, custom, lets it be ;
I mffct love her, that loves hot me.
Sure, they which made him god, meant not so much,
Nor he in his young godhead practised it ;
But when an even flame two hearts did touch, 10
His office was indulgently to fit
O.O.— L07B Q
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98 CAMPION
Actives to passives. Correspondency
Only his subject was ; it cannot be
Love, till I love her, that loves me.
But every modern god will now extend 15
His vast prerogative, as far as Jove.
To rage, to lust, to write to, to commend,
All is the purlieu of the god of love.
Oh were we wakened by this tyranny
To ungod this child again, it could not be 20
I should love her, who loves not me.
Rebel and atheist too, why murmur I,
As though I felt the worst that love could do ?
Love might make me leave loving, or might try
A deeper plague, to make her love me too ; 25
Which, since she loves before, I'm loath to see ;
Falsehood is worse than hate ; and that must be,
If she whom I love, should love me.
J. Donne.
NEVER LOVE UNLESS—
Never love unless you can
Bear with all the faults of man :
Men sometimes will jealous be,
Though but little cause they see ;
And hang the head, as discontent,
And speak what straight they will repent.
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SIDNEY 99
Men that but one Saint adore,
Make a show of love to more :
Beauty must be scorned in none,
Though but truly served in one : 10
For what is courtship, but disguise ?
True hearts may have dissembling eyes.
Men when their affairs require,
Must awhile themselves retire :
Sometimes hunt, and sometimes hawk, 15
And not ever sit and talk.
If these, and such like you can bear,
Then like, and love, and never fear.
T. Campion.
WOOING STUFF
Faint Amorist I what, dost thou think
To taste Love's honey, and not drink
One dram of gall ? or to devour
A world of sweet, and taste no sour ?
Dost thou ever think to enter
The Elysian fields, that dar'st not venture
In Charon's barge ? A lover's mind
Must use to sail with every wind.
He that loves, and fears to try,
Learns his mistress to deny.
Doth she chide thee ? 'Tis to show it,
That thy coldness makes her do it.
G2
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100 WITHER
Is she silent ? Is she mute ?
Silence fully grants thy suit.
Doth she pout and leave the room ? 15
Then she goes, to bid thee come.
Is she sick ? Why then, be sure
She invites thee to the cure.
Doth she cross thy suit with 4 No ' ?
Tush ! She loves to hear thee woo. 20
Doth she call the faith of man
In question ? Nay, she loves thee then.
And if e'er she makes a blot,
She 's lost if that thou hitt'st her not.
He that after ten denials 25
Dares attempt no further trials,
Hath no warrant to acquire
The dainties of his chaste desire.
Sir P. Sidney.
SHALL I, WASTING IN DESPAIR
Shall 1, wasting in despair,
Die because a woman 's fair ?
Or make pale my cheeks with care
'Cause. another's rosy are ?
Be she fairer than the day,
Or the flowery meads in May—
If she think not well to me
What care I how fair she be ?
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WITHER 101
Shall my silly heart be pined
'Cause I see a woman kind ; 10
Or a well-disposed nature
Joined with a lovely feature ?
Be she meeker, kinder, than
Turtle-dove, or pelican,
If she be not so to me, 15
What care I how kind she be ?
Shall a woman's virtues move
Me to perish for her love ?
Or her well-deserving, known,
Make me quite forget mine own ?
Be she with that goodness blest
Which may merit name of Best,
If she be not such to me,
What care I how good she be ?
'Cause her fortune seems too high, 25
Shall I play the fool, and die ?
She that bears a noble mind,
If not outward helps she find,
Thinks what with them he would do
That without them dares her woo ; 30
And unless that mind I see,
What care I how great she be ?
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102 SUCKLING
Great or good, or kind or fair,
I will ne'er the more despair :
If she love me, this believe, 35
I will die ere she shall grieve :
If she slight me when I woo,
I ean scorn and let her go ;
For if she be not for me,
What care I for whom she be ? 40
G. Wither.
WHY SO PALE AND WAN, FOND LOVER
Why so pale and wan, fond lover ?
Prithee, why so pale ?
Will, when looking well can't move her,
Looking ill prevail ?
Prithee, why so pale ? 5
Why so dull and mute, young sinner ?
Prithee, why so mute ?
Will, When speaking well can't win her,
Saying nothing do 't ?
Prithee, why so mute ? 10
Quit, quit, for shame 1 this will not move,
This cannot take her ;
If of herself she will not love,
Nothing can make her :
The Devil take her ! 15
Sir J* Suckling.
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BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER 108
A HUE AND CRY AFTER FAIR AMORET
Fair Amoret is gone astray 1
Pursue and seek her, every lover !
I'll tell the signs by which you may
The wandering shepherdess discover.
Coquet and coy at once her air, 5
Both studied, though both seem neglected :
Careless she is, with artful care ;
Affecting to seem unaffected.
With skill, her eyes dart every glance ; 9
Yet change so soon, you'd ne'er suspect them :
For she'd persuade, they wound by chance ; .
Though certain aim and art direct them.
She likes herself, yet others hates
For that which in herself she prizes,
And, while she laughs at them, forgets 15
She is the thing that she despises.
W. Congbeve.
TAKE, OH 1 TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY
Take, oh 1 take those lips away,
That so sweetly were forsworn,
And those eyes like break of day,
Lights that do mislead the morn !
But my kisses bring again,
Seals of love, though sealed in vain.
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104 SCOTT
Hide, oh ! hide those hills of snow,
Which thy frozen bosom bears,
On whose tops the pinks that grow
Are of those that April wears 1 10
But first set my poor heart free,
Bound in those icy chains by thee.
F. Beaumont and J. Fletcher.
A WEARY LOT IS THINE
4 A weary lot is thine, fair maid,
A weary lot is thine !
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid,
And press the rue for wine !
A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, 5
A feather of the blue,
A doublet of the Lincoln green —
No more of me you knew,
My love I
No more of me you knew. 10
4 This morn is merry June, I trow,
The rose is budding fain ;
But she shall bloom in winter snow
Ere we two meet again.'
He turned his charger as he spake, 15
Upon the river shore,
He gave his bridle-reins a shake,
Said, ft Adieu for evermore,
My love I
And adieu for evermore.' ao
Sir W. Scott.
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LANDOR 105
LOVE STILL HAS SOMETHING OF THE SEA
Love still has something of the sea
From whence his mother rose ;
No time his slaves from doubt can free,
Nor give their thoughts repose.
They are becalmed in clearest days, 5
And in rough weather tossed ;
They wither under cold delays,
Or are in tempests lost.
One while, they seem to touch the port :
Then straight into the main, 10
Some angry wind in cruel sport,
Their vessel drives again.
Sib C. Sedley.
ONE YEAR AGO
One year ago my path was green,
My footstep light, my brow serene ;
Alas ! and could it have been so
One year ago ?
There is a love that is to last
When the hot days of youth are past :
Such love did a sweet maid bestow
One year ago.
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106 LANDOR
I took a leaflet from her braid
And gave it to another maid. j
Love 1 broken should have been thy bow
One year ago.
W. S. Landor.
PROUD WORD YOU NEVER SPOKE
Proud word you never spoke, but you will speak
Four not exempt from pride some future day.
Resting on one white hand a warm wet cheek,
Over my open volume you will say
* This man loved me I * — then rise and trip away,
W. S. Landor,
THE MAID I LOVE
The maid I love ne'er thought of me
Amid the scenes of gaiety ;
But when her heart or mine sank low,
Ah, then it was no longer so !
From the slant palm she raised her head,
And kissed the cheek whence youth had fled.
Angels 1 some future day for this
Give her as sweet and pure a kiss.
W. S. Landor.
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BURNS 107
SINCE THERE 'S NO HELP
Since there 's no help, come let us kiss and part,
Nay, I have done : you get no more of me,
And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart,
That thus so cleanly, I myself can free ;
Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows, 5
And when we meet at any time again,
Be it not seen in either of our brows,
That we one jot of former love retain ;
Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath,
When his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies, 10
When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death,
And Innocence is closing up his eyes,
Now if thou woukTst, when all have given him
over,
From death to life thou might'st him yet recover.
M. Drayton.
BONNIE DOON
Ye banks and braes o* bonnie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair ?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae weary fu' o' care ?
Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird,
That wantons thro' the flowering thorn :
Thou minds me o' departed joys,
Departed never to return.
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108 BYRON
Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon,
To see the rose and woodbine twine ; 10
And ilka bird sang o' its love,
And fondly sae did I o' mine.
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree ;
And my fause lover stole my rose, 15
But ah 1 he left the thorn wi 9 me.
R. Burns.
WHEN WE TWO PARTED
When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold, 5
Colder thy kiss ;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow — 10
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame :
I hear thy name spoken, 15
And share in its shame.
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PEACOCK 109
They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear ;
A shudder comes o'er me —
Why wert thou so dear ? 20
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well : —
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.
In secret we met — 25
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years, 30
How should I greet thee ? —
With silence and tears.
Lord Byron.
THE GRAVE OF LOVE
I duo, beneath the cypress shade,
What well might seem an elfin's grave ;
And every pledge in earth I laid,
That erst thy false affection gave.
I pressed them down the sod beneath ;
I placed one mossy stone above ;
And twined the rose's fading wreath
Around the sepulchre of love.
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110 ROSSETTI
Frail as thy love, the flowers were dead,
Ere yet the evening sun was set :
But years shall see the cypress spread,
Immutable as my regret.
T. L. Peacock.
A SUPERSCRIPTION
Look in my face ; my name is Might-have-been ;
I am also called No-more, Too-late, Farewell ;
Unto thine ear I hold the dead-sea shell
Cast up thy Life's foam-fretted feet between ;