Maidenhood in Love

"The name of country—heaven—is changed awayFor where thou art or shall be there or here."

"The widest landDoom takes to part us, leaves thy hand in mineWith pulses that beat double. What I doAnd what I dream include thee, as the wineMust taste of its own grapes. And when I sueGod for myself, he hears that name of thineAnd sees within mine eyes the tears of two."

"If thou must love me, let it be for naughtExcept for love's sake only. Do not sayI love her for her smile—her look—her way.Of speaking gently—for a trick of thoughtWhich falls in well with mine, and certes broughtA sense of pleasant ease on such a day—For these things in themselves, beloved, mayBe changed, or change for thee—and love so wrought,May be unwrought so. Neither love me forThine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry—Since one might well forget to weep who boreThy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby.But love me for love's sake, that evermoreThou mayest love on through love's eternity."

"Say over again, and yet once over againThat thou dost love me!"

"Who can fearToo many stars, though each in heaven should roll?Too many flowers, though each should crown the year?Say thou dost love me—love me—love me—tollThe silver iterance—only minding, dear,To love me also in silence, with thy soul."

"If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchangeAnd be all to me? Shall I never missHome-talk and blessing, and the common kissThat comes to each in turn, nor count it strangeWhen I look up, to drop on a new rangeOf walls and floors—another home than this?Nay, wilt thou fill that place by me which isFilled by dead eyes too tender to know change?"

"First time he kissed me, he but only kissedThe fingers of this hand wherewith I write,And evermore it grew more clean and white,Slow to world greetings—quick with its 'oh, list!'When the angels speak. A ring of amethystI could not wear here plainer to my sight,Than that first kiss. The second passed in heightThe first, and sought the forehead, and half missed,Half falling on the hair. O, beyond meed!That was the chrism of love, which love's own crown,With sanctifying sweetness did precede.The third upon my lips was folded downIn perfect, purple state! Since when, indeed,I have been proud, and said—'My love, my own!'"

"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 sightFor the ends of being and ideal grace—I love thee to the level of every day'sMost quiet need, by sun and candle-light.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 useIn my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith;I love thee with a love I seemed to loseWith 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!"