NOW love returneth with new grace to me;
For why not so, since thou dost come again,
And bring fresh flowers of thought upon thy train,
That cause my spirit thus in heaven to be?
Ah! Couldst thou then but understand and see
What holier joys the heart, the soul contain,
Than thy poor sense of fleeting flesh could fain,
Thou mightest know love to eternity.
For as I would endeavor to possess
The fulness of love’s wonderful attire,
The knowledge of thy spirit is more sweet,
For me to hold as mine, than that light dress
Encircling it, though filled with beauty’s fire:
Thy lovely form, with every charm replete.
LXXX
THOUGH summer showers drown the seeds of love,
And flood the garden where its blossoms bloom;
Though fiery suns do dry the yellow broom
Upon the bank, and parch the field above;
Though autumn’s frost shall nip the flowery grove,
And winter’s snow kill life in nature’s womb;
Though men grow gray, and, tottering, reach the tomb,
And all else die, and life no longer have:
Yet will I guard thee in my bosom, dear,
And seek to gain thy spirit for my own.
For no such prize hath nature to bestow
That could so well disperse the shadow drear,
Or offer to this heart, that ne’er hath grown
Accustomed life without some love to know.
LXXXI
LIKE columbine in May, or rose in June,
Like meadow flower, or clover in the morn,
All moist with early dew, that laughs to scorn
The sunbeam that destroyeth it at noon;
Like scented lavender or rue, that soon
Doth usher in the flow’ring ears of corn,
To wave in glory, ere the wind hath torn
Their emerald leaves, beneath the harvest moon:
Like this whole pageant of the season’s time,
With all its glories rollèd into one,
Art thou: the fairest treasure nature bringeth,
Through every year and every age sublime:
For in thine eyes the radiance of the sun
Could warm each flower and every bird that wingeth.
LXXXII
COLD heart, that hath not felt some passing pain;
Some aching or desire to be together;
To wander hand in hand through heath or heather;
Or something that doth move the simple swain!
Were there not some possession thus to gain
Of love, or lover’s wint’ry gale to weather,
As we do follow life, I know not whether
’Twould be not best from living to abstain.
Then dead is he who hath not felt this joy,
This joy and sorrow mingled in his soul;
To seek for love, and feel its kindling flame,
That doth old age and youth at once annoy,
Yet holy treasures toward their threshold roll;
For lovers’ tears and smiles are oft the same.
LXXXIII
WHEN thou, dear one, hast lived as long as I,
And seen the world give treasures unto youth
(Like some swift river, rushing to its mouth),
And drunk the cup of worldly pleasure dry,
And felt enjoyment passing with a sigh,
And in the night seen goblins all uncouth
Dance round the corse of pleasure, dead in truth,
And in thine heart is echoed sorrow’s cry:
Then mayst thou come, with me, Love, to believe
That better than all else, is to obtain
The heart’s affection of one single being,
That unto thee like adamant may cleave;
And lighten on its way life’s palsied pain;
So that love’s heaven thou art alway seeing.