But if thou wilt prove faithful, then, And glorious by my sword. I'll crown and deck thee all with bays, James, Marquis of Montrose. CXCII. AGAINST LOVE'S PRIDE. SWEET, be not proud of those two eyes When all your world of beauty's gone. Robert Herrick. CXCIII. IN LOVE WITH SORROW. DRY those fair, those crystal eyes, Thy lovely face was never meant To be the shore of discontent. Then clear those waterish stars again, Henry King. CXCIV. THE LITTLE RIFT IN LOVE. IN Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours, It is the little rift within the lute, That by and by will make the music mute, The little rift within the lover's lute, Alfred Tennyson. CXCV. LOVE AND LIFE. ALL my past life is mine no more; The time that is to come is not; How can it then be mine? Then talk not of inconstancy, False hearts, and broken vows ; If I, by miracle, can be This live-long minute true to thee, 'Tis all that Heaven allows. John, Earl of Rochester. CXCVI. LOVE'S MISGIVINGS. FAIR was the morn to-day, the blossoms' scent Peace and content within us, love within That hour there was; now thunder and wild rain Have wrapped the lowering world, and foolish sin And nameless pride have made us wise in vain ; Ah, Love! although the morn shall come again, And on new rosebuds the new sun shall smile, Can we regain what we have lost meanwhile? E'en now the west grows clear of storm and threat, But 'midst the lightning did the fair sun die,— Ah! he shall rise again for ages yet, He cannot waste his life ;-but thou and I— Who knows if next morn this felicity My lips may feel, or if thou still shalt live This seal of love renewed once more to give? William Morris. A LITTLE while a little love The hour yet bears for thee and me, Hast felt thy soul prolong the tone; The scattering Autumn hoards for us We hear the flood-tides seek the sea, A little while a little love May yet be ours who have not said Dante Gabriel Rossetti. CXCVIII. LOVE THE ROVER. "A WEARY lot is thine, fair maid, To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, A doublet of the Lincoln green-. No more of me you knew, My Love! No more of me you knew. "The morn is merry June, I trow, But she shall bloom in winter snow He turned his charger as he spake He gave the bridle-reins a shake, My Love! And adieu for evermore." Sir Walter Scott. CXCIX. FREE LOVe, free field. FREE love-free field-we love but while we may : The woods are hushed, their music is no more : The leaf is dead, the yearning past away : New leaf-new life-the days of frost are o'er : New life, new love, to suit the newer day : New loves are sweet as those that went before : Free love--free field-we love but while we may. Alfred Tennyson. CC. THE GENERAL LOVER. AMARYLLIS I did woo, |