Shall I trace out a map of all thy worth,
Parcel thy virtues, say, "For this and this
I learned to love her; here new charms had birth;
I in this territory caught a bliss"?
Shall I make inventory of thy grace,
And crowd the total into common space?
CAPTIVITY
Nay, lady, though I love thee, I make pause
Before thy question, and know naught to say;
Art cannot teach me to define the way,
Love led me, nor e'en register Love's cause.
It can but blazon in this verse of mine
What love does for me; what from Love it gains;
What is its quickening; but it refrains
From divination where thy merits shine.
Canst thou, indeed, not tell what wrought in thee
To bring me as a captive to thy feet?
Canst thou not say, "'Twas this that made decree
Of conquest; here thy soul with mine did meet?"
Or is it that both stand amazed before
The shrine where thou hast blessed and I adore?
O MYSTIC WINGS
O mystic wings, upbear me lightly now,
Beyond life's faithful labour to a seat
Where I can feel the end of things complete,
Where no hot breath of ill can scorch the brow.
O mystic wings of Art, about thee Truth
Makes atmosphere of purity and power;
'Tis man's breath kills the spring's soft-petaled flower—