« 이전계속 »
WOMAN'S LOVE-ITS JOY, ITS PAIN.
Nor let its after coldness chill thine own;
Borne with him, and for him through every ill;
To smile on him, nor weep, save when, apart,
If he inconstant doth a new one prove,
Oh! this is woman's love-its joy-its pain;
"Yet once more would I blow, and the music divine
Would bring me, the third time, an exquisite bliss
You would lay your fair cheek to this brown one of mine,
And your lips, stealing past it, would give me a kiss."
ALL NATURE SPEAKS OF LOVE.
See the mountains kiss high heaven,
BLINDNESS OF LOVE.
Should steal upon the heart, like summer dawn
The loftiest aspirations of the soul;
Then, slowly spreading downward o'er the slopes
Of intellectual intercourse, to flood
At length the very plains and vales of sense
My own heart fell below the standard raised
Can bide the beating of so strong a passion As love doth give my heart: no woman's heart
So big, to hold so much; they lack retention.
Violante. Ay, but I know
Duke. What dost thou know?
Violante. Too well what love women to
men may owe;
In faith, they are as true of heart as we.
Duke. And what's her history?
Violante. A blank, my lord: she never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i' th' bud, Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought;
And, with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat, like Patience on a monument, Smiling at grief. Shakespeare.
Love is the rose of flowers, the diamond of gems, the honey of sweets, the sun of light, the melody of sound, the bliss of feeling, and the life of life. Anon.
MUTE COMMUNION WONDROUS SWEET.
There is a language by the virgin made,
'Tis written on her cheeks and meaning brows;
In one short glance whole volumes it avows;
A WRINKLED HEART REDEEMED BY LOVE.
Not far from Margaret's cottage dwelt a knight
Of the proud Templars, a sworn celibate, Whose heart in secret fed upon the light
And dew of her ripe beauty, thro' the grate Of his close vow catching what gleams he might
Of the free heaven, and cursing, all too late,
The cruel faith whose black walls hemm'd him in
And turn'd life's crowning bliss to deadly sin.
For he had met her in the wood by chance, And having drunk her beauty's wondering spell,
His heart shook like the pennon of a lance That quivers in a breeze's sudden swell, And thenceforth, in a close-enfolded trance,
From misty golden deep to deep he fell; Till earth did waver and fade far away Beneath the hope in whose warm arms he lay.
A dark proud man he was, whose half-blown
Had shed its blossoms even in opening, Leaving a few that with more winning ruth Trembling around grave manhood's stem
More sad than cheery, making, in good sooth, Like the fringèd gentian, a late autumn spring:
A twilight nature, braided light and gloom, A youth half-smiling by an open tomb.
With sweetness more ethereal than aught Save silver-dropping snatches, that whilere Rain'd down from some sad angel's faithful harp
To cool her fallen lover's anguish sharell.
THE END OF LOVE.
The end of love is to have two made one In will and in affection.