A Maid's Defence

'TWERE little to renounce what now I hold:A treasure that makes poor, a pomp that tires,A vernal glow that kindles autumn fires,A youth that, wasteful in its haste, grows old;'T were little to relinquish pleasure doledIn meagre measure to my swift desires,To give what nor delights me nor inspires,In free exchange for Love's all-prizèd gold;

Yet there is something it were pain to yield,Which I should part with, Love, in welcoming thee:A shy uncertainty that dearer seemsThan e'en thy gifts, my firm defence and shield:The dim ideal of my waking dreams,The Love unknown, that distant, beckons me!