LET not the measure of my love make thine
Aught else but as it should be, true and sweet,
Fair youth, who first thy sweetheart’s eye shall meet,
Though thou mayst read the tragedy of mine.
Oh, in thy heart make ready Cupid’s shrine.
Prepare thy lips, that shall thy mistress greet,
For kisses that denial may defeat,
And on Love’s altar pour Love’s sacred wine.
Let myrtle crown thy brow, lest, like my fate,
Thou mayst find poison mingled in thy veins.
Make lasting thine embrace, ere ’tis too late,
And worms creep in, and mould leave deathly stains.
Then may youth’s sunshine warm thy chosen mate;
For nought so sweet as love through life remains.
XC
ALL else may die: the leaves that Nature bore
In springtime soon may hear the autumn’s knell,
And men likewise feel death’s o’erpowering spell;
Ripe youth may fall, and age in time grow hoar;
The moon doth wane, the sun sink from the shore;
Fresh flowers fade, and lose their sweetest smell;
Birds and their songs may vanish in the dell,
And crumbling stones of cities be no more.
Still shall my love, like love eternal, be
Untouched by time; yet chastened by despair,
And treasured in my heart, as all may see,
Who would likewise their own true love declare.
Thus in my soul, dear heart, would I hold thee
Till God love’s injury at last repair.
XCI
O THOU, fair youth, to whom the gods have given
The gift of beauty and the power of love,
Forget not that which cometh from above,
And that affection is the child of Heaven.
Remember in these lines, that I have striven
To make thee honest, when, through Cupid’s grove
Thou dost with some fair maiden lightly rove,
Not caring by what passion she be driven.
For what thou hast thou holdest but in trust,
Account of which thou must give when thou diest:
To honor those, though thou mayst love them not,
Who love thy soul, when flesh may turn to dust.
For if to honor love thou rightly triest,
Thy name shall live on earth without a blot.
XCII
BELIEVE not, gentle maid, that all is won
When first thou dost behold thy lover dear;
Nor yet that all thy path lies fair and clear
From love’s first charm until its work be done.
A fickle child thou comest thereupon,
Whom thou mayst learn in time to view with fear.
Cupid, though young, may cast a shadow drear,
Whose chilling gloom shall hide thee from the sun.
A lovely valley may thy footsteps lure,
All filled with flowers that for the fair are grown,
Yet ’neath its depth lie pitfalls for the pure,
And deep contagions that are oft unknown.
Then happy art thou if thou holdst love sure,
Thus to escape the menace of his frown.
XCIII
LOVE heeds not time, nor space, nor form, nor woe,
The seasons, slain by Cupid’s arrows, fade
Like misty spectres; and the night, remade,
Gives place once more to day’s unceasing show.
The past gave joy; the future pain must know.
Reflection of itself makes love, ’tis said,
Mirror the beauty of its thought, repaid
A thousand times to lovers when they go.
For which is most, experience or thought?
Anticipation or sweet memory?
The preparation for what love once brought;
Or last, the dwelling on delight passed by?
All these love still commands, through battles fought
With passion, lust, desire, and life’s stern cry.