TO A HAPPY LOVER.
Flaunt not before the world thy happy love,
Like the poor fatuous one whose pleasure lies
Not in Love’s glance, but in the envious eyes
Of other fools; deep in the myrtle grove
Seek some untrodden way, shadowed above;
There, if Love will, his unknown harmonies,
His inmost heart and core, his tears and sighs,
And unimagined mysteries thou mayest prove.
But if thou find his choicest fruits and flowers,
Guard them from eyes profane with jealous care;
Love, proud but tender, brooks no sign-board there,
Pointing the pathway to his sacred bowers;
Himself the entrance, hidden and o’ergrown,
Unto his chosen favorites will make known.