THOUGH my true love should be my own undoing,
In leading me where wisdom may disprove,
Yet would I choose, in spite of all, to love,
So I might have the triumph of thy wooing.
Then might I feel that youth I were renewing;
My heart’s sad livery for once remove;
And I might ride through avenues above
The common path that life hath been pursuing.
For nought could equal love, my love, with thee;
Nor could I ever tire of thy praise,
If thou all that I wish wouldst be to me,
And my soul unto Heaven wouldst upraise.
Since in love’s season lovers all agree,
Then give me back what I lose in thy gaze.
CV
THOUGH thou shouldst not perceive how love in me
Doth play such havoc with my interest,
That I am, as with penury, distrest;
All torn by tragic thought and agony;
Though thou mayst think it be no harm to see
Thy lover with love’s wound upon his breast,
Think not that by denying him ’tis best
To foster for thyself life’s harmony.
For though thou mayst deceive thy heart and mine,
Posterity, by me, thy soul laid bare,
Shall read the truth within this written line,
And judge if in thy love thou hast been fair.
All is, eternal honor may be thine,
So thou prove not my muse and my despair.
CVI
TO thee all life is but a passing pleasure,
No deeper than the thought within thy mind;
And thy short love is of a lighter kind
Than that which bringeth to my heart its measure.
How wanton is thy waste of so great treasure!
And oh, how little value dost thou find!
How vacant is thy vision, and how blind!
How empty is thy work, how vain thy leisure!
Let all thy faults foregather on that day,
When Love shall touch thee with his magic wand,
And thou at last unto thyself shall say
Thy breast is wounded, but thy heart is fond.
Yet shall I love thy spirit, come what may,
Though thou be old, and I be far beyond.
CVII
NOT clothed in transient beauty nor pale health,
Like the night-blooming flower, that displays
Its fullest glory when the violet rays
Of sunlight vanish, and, as if by stealth,
The sable realm of night, the commonwealth
Of all deceiving things, appears and stays,
Till day doth swift disperse its tricks and plays:
Not such art thou, endowed with nature’s wealth.
But on thy cheek the peach-blush of the sun
Blends with the russet touch of summer’s hand;
And in thine eye, fresh youth, that fades not soon,
Lives in perpetual triumph, that is won
From country joys, waving their magic wand
Beneath the sunlit skies or silvery moon.
CVIII
NO mind have I to tell thee all thou art,
Yet giving half, how can I keep the rest,
Since, knowing all, I see both worst and best,
And may not then in truth withhold a part?
Thy worst is like love’s dagger to my heart;
Like Satan, in angelic vestment drest,
That bringeth pain disguised into my breast.
Such is thy worst. Let me thy best impart.
Thy best is all thyself, thy beauty’s charm,
Thy glance, thy smile, thy youth’s fair consciousness,
Thy power to endear, to twine thine arm
With subtle grace about love’s deep distress.
Still, be it worst or best, thou dost me harm,
Though bringing pleasure with thy soft caress.