LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY.
THE fountains mingle with the river,
And the rivers with the ocean;
The winds of heaven mix forever,
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In one another's being mingle: -
Why not I with thine?
See the mountains kiss high heaven,
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea :
What are all these kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me?
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.
FROM "IN A GONDOLA."
THE Moth's kiss, first!
Kiss me as if you made believe
You were not sure, this eve,
How my face, your flower, had pursed
Its petals up; so, here and there
You brush it, till I grow aware
Who wants me, and wide open burst.
The Bee's kiss, now!
Kiss me as if you entered gay
My heart at some noonday,
A bud that dared not disallow
The claim, so all is rendered up,
And passively its shattered cup
Over your head to sleep I bow.
ROBERT BROWNING
I ARISE from dreams of thee
In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright. I arise from dreams of thee,
And a spirit in my feet Has led me who knows how? To thy chamber-window, sweet!
The wandering airs they faint
On the dark, the silent stream, The champak odors fail
Like sweet thoughts in a dream ;
The nightingale's complaint,
It dies upon her heart,
As I must die on thine,
O, beloved as thou art !
O, lift me from the grass!
I die, I faint, I fail!
Let thy love in kisses rain
On my lips and eyelids pale.
My cheek is cold and white, alas!
My heart beats loud and fast:
O, press it close to thine again,
Where it will break at last!
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.
SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE.
Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore
Alone upon the threshold of my door
Of individual life, I shall command
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forbore, ...
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land
Now shade on two pale cheeks, the mark of tears,
Taught drooping from the head that hangs aside
Through sorrow's trick. I thought the tuneral-
shears
Would take this first, but Love is justified,
Take it thou,... finding pure, from all those
years,
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine The kiss my mother left here when she died.
With pulses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
God for myself, he hears that name of thine,
And sees within my eyes the tears of two.
INDEED this very love which is my boast,
And which, when rising up from breast to brow,
Doth crown me with a ruby large enow
To draw men's eyes and prove the inner cost, . . .
This love even, all my worth, to the uttermost,
I should not love withal, unless that thou
Hadst set me an example, shown me how,
SAY over again, and yet once over again,
That thou dost love me. Though the word re-
peated
Should seem 66
a cuckoo-song," as thou dost treat
When first thine earnest eyes with mine were Too many stars, though each in heaven shall crossed,
And love called love. And thus, I cannot speak Too many flowers, though each shall crown the
Of love even, as a good thing of my own.
Thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and Say thou dost love
weak,
And placed it by thee on a golden throne,
And that I love (O soul, we must be meek!)
Is by thee only, whom I love alone.
IF thou must love me, let it be for naught
Except for love's sake only. Do not say
"I love her for her smile... her look... her way
Of speaking gently, - for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day.”
me, love love
me,
The silver iterance! - only minding, dear,
To love me also in silence, with thy soul.
My letters! all dead paper, .
,... mute and white!-
And yet they seem alive and quivering
Against my tremulous hands which loose the
string
And let them drop down on my knee to-night.
This said,... he wished to have me in his sight
| Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring
To come and touch my hand . . . a simple thing,
Yet I wept for it! this, . . . the paper's light. . .
Said, Dear, I love thee; and I sank and quailed THAT I love thee, charming maid, I a thousand
As if God's future thundered on my past.
This said, I am thine, and so its ink has paled
With lying at my heart that beat too fast.
And a thousand times more I have sworn it,
And this... O Love, thy words have ill availed, But 't is easy to be seen in the coldness of your If what this said, I dared repeat at last!
FIRST time he kissed me, he but only kissed
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write ;
And, ever since, it grew more clean and white,
Slow to world-greetings, quick with its “O list!"
When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst
I could not wear here, plainer to my sight
Than that first kiss. The second passed in height
mien That you doubt my affection or scorn it. Ah me!
The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed, But when time has swelled the grapes to a richer
Half falling on the hair. O, beyond meed! That was the chrism of love, which love's own
With sanctifying sweetness, did precede.
The third upon my lips was folded down
In perfect, purple state; since when, indeed,
And the sun has lent warmth to their blushes, Then to cheer us and to gladden, to enchant us and to madden,
Is the ripe ruddy glory that rushes.
I have been proud, and said, “My love, my own!" O, 't is then that mortals pant while they gaze
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,-I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! — and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING
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