 | The poems of Richard Henry Stoddard |  |
THE FILLET.
Love has a fillet on his eyes,
He sees not with the common ken;
Whom his fine issues touch despise
The censures of indifferent men.
There is in love an inward sight,
That not in wit nor wisdom lies;
He walks in everlasting light,
Despite the fillet on his eyes.
He sees not with the common ken;
Whom his fine issues touch despise
The censures of indifferent men.
There is in love an inward sight,
That not in wit nor wisdom lies;
He walks in everlasting light,
Despite the fillet on his eyes.
If I love you, and you love me,
It is for solid reasons, Sweet,
For something other than we see,
That satisfies, though incomplete;
Or, if not satisfies, is yet
Not mutable, where so much dies.
Who love, as we, do not regret
There is a fillet on love's eyes.
It is for solid reasons, Sweet,
For something other than we see,
That satisfies, though incomplete;
Or, if not satisfies, is yet
Not mutable, where so much dies.
Who love, as we, do not regret
There is a fillet on love's eyes.
| The poems of Richard Henry Stoddard | |