I HAVE known various loves of women. One Gave all her soul (she said), but kept intact Her marble lips, and ever seemed to shun Love's blandishments, as if his lightest act Were fatal to his life. Another gave All luxury of love that woman's art Could lend in aid of Beauty's kisses -- save What she, alas! had not -- a loving heart. Poor, dear, dead flowers! One with no root in earth; And one no breath of Heaven's sustaining air; No marvel briefly they survived their birth; And then my true-love came (O wondrous fair Beyond the twain!) whose soul and sense unite In perfect bloom for Love's supreme delight. |