CXCI

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 candlelight.
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.

CXCII

THREE KISSES OF FAREWELL

THREE, only three, my darling,

Separate, solemn, slow;

Not like the swift and joyous ones

We used to know,

When we kissed because we loved each other,

Simply to taste love's sweet,

And lavished our kisses as the summer

Lavishes heat;

But as they kiss whose hearts are wrung,

When hope and fear are spent,

And nothing is left to give, except
A sacrament!

First of the three, my darling,

Is sacred unto pain;

We have hurt each other often,

We shall again,

When we pine because we miss each other,

And do not understand

How the written words are so much colder

Than eye and hand.

I kiss thee, dear, for all such pain
Which we may give or take;
Buried, forgiven before it comes,
For our love's sake.

The second kiss, my darling,
Is full of joy's sweet thrill;

We have blessed each other always,

We always will.

We shall reach until we feel each other

Beyond all time and space;

We shall listen till we hear each other

In every place;

The earth is full of messengers,

Which love sends to and fro ;

I kiss thee, darling, for all joy
Which we shall know !

The last kiss, oh! my darling—
My love-I cannot see,
Through my tears, as I remember

What it may be.

We may die and never see each other,

Die with no time to give

Any signs that our hearts are faithful
To die, as live.

Token of what they will not see
Who see our parting breath,
This one last kiss, my darling,
The seal of death!

AGNES E. GLASE.

CXCIII

AWAY, delights; go seek some other dwelling,
For I must die.

Farewell, false love; thy tongue is ever telling
Lie after lie:

For ever let me rest now from thy smarts;
Alas, for pity, go

And fire their hearts

That have been hard to thee! Mine was not so.

Never again deluding love shall know me,
For I will die ;

And all those griefs that think to over-grow me
Shall be as I:

For ever will I sleep, while poor maids cry, "Alas, for pity, stay,

And let us die

With thee! Men cannot mock us in the clay."

JOHN FLETCHER.

CXCIV

I NEVER gave a lock of hair away
To a man, Dearest, except this to thee,
Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully
I ring out to the full brown length, and say,
"Take it." My day of youth went yesterday;
My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee,
Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle-tree

P

As girls do, any more; it only may

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 funeral-shears
Would take this first, but love is justified,—
Take it thou,-finding pure, from all those years,
The kiss my mother left here when she died.

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

CXCV

THOU didst delight my eyes:

Yet who am I? nor first

Nor last nor best, that durst
Once dream of thee for prize;
Nor this the only time

Thou shalt set love to rhyme.

Thou didst delight my ear:
Ah! little praise; thy voice
Makes other hearts rejoice,
Makes all ears glad that hear;
And short my joy; but yet,
O song, do not forget.

For what wert thou to me?
How shall I say? the moon,
That poured her midnight noon
Upon his wrecking sea ;—
A sail, that for a day
Has cheered the castaway.

ROBERT Bridges.

CXCVI

GENIUS IN BEAUTY

BEAUTY like hers is genius. Not the call

Of Homer's or of Dante's heart sublime,-
Not Michael's hand furrowing the zones of time,—
Is more with compassed mysteries musical;
Nay, not in Spring's or Summer's sweet footfall

More gathered gifts exuberant Life bequeaths

Than doth this sovereign face, whose love-spell breathes

Even from its shadowed contour on the wall.

As many men are poets in their youth,

But for one sweet-strung soul the wires prolong Even through all change the indomitable song; So in likewise the envenomed years, whose tooth Rends shallower grace with ruin void of ruth,

Upon this beauty's power shall wreck no wrong. DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI.

CXCVII

FAUSTUS TO THE APPARITION OF HELEN

WAS this the face that launched a thousand ships
And burnt the topless towers of Ilium ?

Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss.
Her lips suck forth my soul; see where it flies !-
Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again.
Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips,
And all is dross that is not Helena.

I will be Paris, and for love of thee,

Instead of Troy, shall Wertenberg be sacked: