He loves not well whose love is bold! I would not have thee come too nigh: The sun’s gold would not seem pure gold Unless the sun were in the sky; To take him thence and chain him near Would make his beauty disappear. He keeps his state,—keep thou in thine, And shine upon me from afar! So shall I bask in light divine, That falls from love’s own guiding star; So shall thy eminence be high, And so my passion shall not die. But all my life shall reach its hands Of lofty longing toward thy face, And be as one who speechless stands In rapture at some perfect grace! My love, my hope, my all shall be To look to heaven and look to thee! Thy eyes shall be the heavenly lights; Thy voice the gentle summer breeze, What time it sways, on moonlit nights, The murmuring tops of leafy trees; And I shall touch thy beauteous form In June’s red roses, rich and warm. But thou thyself shalt come not down From that pure region far above; But keep thy throne and wear thy crown, Queen of my heart and queen of love! A monarch in thy realm complete, And I a monarch—at thy feet!
My Queen
More from Poet
|
Fairy spirits of the breeze— Frailer nothing is than these. Fancies born we know not where— In the heart or in the air; Wandering echoes blown unsought From far crystal peaks of thought; Shadows, fading at the dawn, Ghosts of feeling dead and gone: Alas! Are all fair things that live Still... |
Sweet bell of Stratford, tolling slow, In summer gloaming’s golden glow, I hear and feel thy voice divine, And all my soul responds to thine. As now I hear thee, even so, My Shakespeare heard thee long ago, When lone by Avon’s pensive stream He wandered, in his haunted dream: Heard thee—and far... |
I white sail upon the ocean verge, Just crimsoned by the setting sun, Thou hast thy port beyond the surge, Thy happy homeward course to run, And wingëd hope, with heart of fire, To gain the bliss of thy desire. I watch thee till the sombre sky Has darkly veiled the lucent plain; My... |
And oh, to think the sun can shine, The birds can sing, the flowers can bloom, And she, whose soul was all divine, Be darkly mouldering in the tomb: That o’er her head the night-wind sighs, And the sad cypress droops and moans; That night has veiled her glorious eyes, And silence hushed... |
|
Out in the dark it throbs and glows— The wide, wild sea, that no man knows! The wind is chill, the surge is white, And I must sail that sea to-night. You shall not sail! The breakers roar On many a mile of iron shore, The waves are livid in their wrath, And no man knows the ocean path. I must... |