t well my soul to seek
And shun my body? Is't throughout ordain'd
That thou shouldst spurn a love so tender-meek?

ii.

It is my joy to serve thee, 'tis my pride
To own my follies, though anew denied
The chance of wisdom, and for this, who knows?
I shall be counted, ere the season's close,
A time-perverter. Yes! I shall be shamed,
And frown'd upon, and day by day proclaim'd
A foe to virtue, though, in seeking thee
I seek the goal that Virtue's self hath named.

iii.

O Lily mine! O Lily tipp'd with gold
And welkin-eyed for angels to behold
When down on earth! Is't well to stand apart
And gaze at me and gently break my heart
Without one word? Is't well to seem alway
So grieved to see me, when, at fall of day,
Thou dost accept the reverence of mine eyes,
But not the homage that my lips would pay?

iv.

Oh, give me back again, at midnight hour,
As in the circuit of that starlit bower,
The right to talk with thee, and be thy friend,--
The right, in some wild way, to make an end
Of my submission, or to re-bestow
My troth on thee,--despite the overthrow
Of all my dreams, that were my constant care,
Though less to thee than flakes of alien snow.

v.

I will unveil my meanings one by one,
And tell thee why the bird that loves the sun
Loves not the moon, though conscious of her fame.
For he's the soul of truth, in his acclaim,
And knows not treason! And of like intent
Are all my yearnings, too, when I lament.
And, though I say it, there's no troubadour
Has lov'd as I, since Cupid's bow was bent.

vi.

I have been wed in sleep, and thou hast been
Mine own true bride,--the swooning summer-queen
Of my heart-throbs. I have been wed in jest!
I have been taken wildly to thy breast,
And then repell'd, and made to feel the ire
Of eager eyes that have the strange desire
To rack my soul, a-tremble in the dark,
But not the will to aid me to aspire.

vii.

I should have died the instant that I heard
Thy whisper'd vow in slumber,--when a word
Made me thy master, for I did receive
Thy full surrender, and I'll not believe
That all was false; or that my dreaming-power
Was given for nought. The Future may devour
The facts of earth, but not its phantasies,
And not the dreams we dream from hour to hour.

viii.

Oh, thou'lt confess that love from man to maid
Is more than kingdoms,--more than light and shade
In sky-built gardens where the minstrels dwell,
And more than r