How do I scorn thy paltry ware!
A lock she gave me of the hair
That wantons o'er her beauteous face.
If, loved one, we must severed be,
Wouldst thou not wholly fly from me,
I still possess this legacy.
To look at, and to kiss in play,—
My fate is to the hair's allied,
We used to woo her with like pride,
And now we both are far away.
Her charms with equal joy we pressed,
Her smiling cheeks anon caressed,
Lured onward by a yearning blest,
Upon her heaving bosom fell.
Oh, rival, free from envy's sway,
Thou precious gift, thou beauteous prey,
Remain my joy and bliss to tell!
THE BLISS OF ABSENCE.
'Tis sweet for him, the livelong day that lies,
Wrapt in the heaven of his dear lady's eyes,
Whose dreams her image blesseth evermore,
Love knoweth not a sharper joy than this,
Yet greater, purer, nobler is the bliss,
To be afar from her whom we adore!
Distance and Time, eternal powers, that be
Still, like the stars, o'erruling secretly,
Cradle this tempest of the blood to' peace.
Calm grows my soul, and calmer every hour,
Yet daily feels my heart a springing power,
And daily finds my happiness increase.
