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119

ALL FOR LOVE.

The village-church among the trees,

Where first our marriage-vows were given, With merry peals shall swell the breeze And point with taper spire to Heaven. S. ROGERS.

ALL FOR LOVE.

O talk not to me of a name great in story; The days of our youth are the days of our glory:

And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.

What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled?

"Tis but a dead flower with May-dew besprinkled; Then away with all such from the head that is hoary

What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory?

O Fame!-if I e'er took delight in thy praises, "Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases,

Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one dis

cover.

She thought that I was not unworthy to love her.

There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee;

Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee,

When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my story

I knew it was love, and I felt it was glory.

LORD BYRON.

SHE IS NOT FAIR TO OUTWARD VIEW.

She is not fair to outward view
As many maidens be;

Her loveliness I never knew
Until she smiled on me.
O then I saw her eye was bright,
A well of love, a spring of light.

But now her looks are coy and cold,
To mine they ne'er reply,
And yet I cease not to behold

The love-light in her eye:
Her very frowns are fairer far
Than smiles of other maidens are.

H. COLERIDGE.

SHE WAS A PHANTOM of DELIGHT. 121

SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT.

She was a phantom of delight,
When first she gleamed upon my sight;

A lovely apparition, sent

To be a moment's ornament;
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
Like Twilight's too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful dawn;
A dancing shape, an image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

I saw her upon nearer view.

A spirit, yet a woman too.
Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin-liberty;

A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food,
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine,
A being breathing thoughtful breath,
A traveler between life and death;

The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength and skill;
A perfect woman, nobly planned
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright,
With something of an angel light.

WORDSWORTH.

I FEAR THY KISSES.

I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden,
Thou need'st not fear mine;
My spirit is too deeply laden
Ever to burthen thine.

I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion,
Thou need'st not fear mine;
Innocent is the heart's devotion
With which I worship thine.

P. B. SHELLEY.

SONNET.

First time he kissed me, he but only kissed
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;
And ever since, it grew more clean and white,
Slow to world-greetings, quick with its "Oh
list,"

When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst

THE UNREALIZED IDEAL.

I could not wear here, plainer to my sight,
Than that first kiss. The second pass'd in height
The first, and sought the forehead, and half
miss'd,

Half falling on the hair. Oh, beyond meed! That was the chrism of love, which love's own crown,

With sanctifying sweetness, did precede.
The third upon my lips was folded down

In perfect, purple state; since when, indeed,
I have been proud, and said, "My love, my own!"
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

THE UNREALIZED IDEAL.

My only love is always near,—
In country or in town.
I see her twinkling feet, I hear
The whisper of her gown.

123

She foots it ever fair and young.
Her locks are tied in haste,
And one is o'er her shoulder flung,
And hangs below her waist.

She ran before me in the meads;

And down this world-worn track
She leads me on; but while she leads
She never gazes back.

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