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50

INSUFFICIENCY.

INSUFFICIENCY.

THERE is no one beside thee and no one above thee,
Thou standest alone, as the nightingale sings!

And my words that would praise thee are impotent things. For none can express thee though all should approve thee. I love thee so, Dear, that I only can love thee.

Say what can I do for thee? weary thee, grieve thee?
Lean on thy shoulder, new burdens to add?
Weep my tears over thee, making thee sad?
Oh, hold me not-love me not! let me retrieve thee.
I love thee so, Dear, that I only can leave thee.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

INCLUSIONS.

51

INCLUSIONS.

OH! wilt thou have my hand, Dear, to lie along in thine?
As a little stone in a running stream, it seems to lie and

pine.

Now drop the poor pale hand, Dear, . . unfit to plight with thine.

Oh! wilt thou have my cheek, Dear, drawn closer to thine

own?

My cheek is white, my cheek is worn, by many a tear run

down.

Now leave a little space, Dear,.. lest it should wet thine

own.

Oh! must thou have my soul, Dear, commingled with thy soul?

Red grows the cheek, and warm the hand,.. the part is in the whole!

Nor hands nor cheeks keep separate, when soul is joined to

soul.

E. B. Browning.

[blocks in formation]

HOPELESS AND ALONE.

53

HOPELESS AND ALONE.

THE stately ships are passing free,

Where scant light strikes along the flood;
Gaunt winter scowls o'er field and wood:

O who will bring my love to me?

White gulls fly screaming to the sea;

The bitter east wind sweeps the sky;

Faint snow-streaks on the hill-side lie

O who will bring my love to me?

The hawthorn bough is bare and dree;
The spiky holly keeps him warm;

Brown brake shrills shivering in the storm

O who will bring my love to me?

The bright blue sky is cold to see;

The frosty ground lies hard and bare:
So cold is hope, so hard is care—

O who will bring my love to me?

John Addington Symonds.

54

PROTESTATION.

PROTESTATION.

How many times do I love thee, dear?
Tell me how many thoughts there be
In the atmosphere

Of a new-fall'n year,

Whose white and sable hours appear
The latest flake of Eternity:—
So many times do I love thee, dear.

How many times do I love again?

Tell me how many beads there are
In a silver chain

Of evening rain,

Unravelled from the tumbling main

And threading the eye of a yellow star:—

So many times do I love again.

Thomas Lovell Beddoes.

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