 | Poems |  |
132
LOVE'S QUERY.
Why do I love thee, maiden dear?
Say, thou who smilest, thou who weepest,
Do hearts love those who wound them deepest?
Why do I love thee, maiden dear?
Say, thou who smilest, thou who weepest,
Do hearts love those who wound them deepest?
Why do I love thee, maiden dear?
My heart was wholesome, blooming and gay
All of a Summer's morn:
My heart was wholesome, blooming and gay
And fresh as a budding rose of the May,
All of a Summer's morn.
The Sun looked down through the clouds apart,
And many a wingéd insect fair
Came sailing down on the summer air
And settled upon my heart.
They passed away in their onward chase
(My heart but trembled as they took flight!)
They passed away and they left not a trace,
And my heart was wholesome, blooming, and bright
All of a Summer's morn!
At length a glittering, gorgeous bee
Lit on my lonely heart:
Humming and buzzing in cruel glee
It thrust the virgin leaves apart,
And bathed itself in the scented dew
And, threading the leafy labyrinth through,
Came to the core of my heart!
And pierced it there with a wound so sore,
That my poor heart knew not for smart
Whether t'were bee or wasp that stung,
Whether t'were wasp or bee that wrung
The sweetness out of its core!
But anon it languished and pined away,
And the Passions came down, like a deadly blight,
And blackened the leaves once beauteous and bright,
Now shrivelled and dark with decay:
The dews still fall on my heart as before,
But the balmy breath of its rare perfume,
And the happy blush of its ancient bloom
Shall never return to it more!
All of a Summer's morn:
My heart was wholesome, blooming and gay
And fresh as a budding rose of the May,
All of a Summer's morn.
The Sun looked down through the clouds apart,
And many a wingéd insect fair
Came sailing down on the summer air
And settled upon my heart.
They passed away in their onward chase
(My heart but trembled as they took flight!)
They passed away and they left not a trace,
And my heart was wholesome, blooming, and bright
All of a Summer's morn!
At length a glittering, gorgeous bee
Lit on my lonely heart:
133
It thrust the virgin leaves apart,
And bathed itself in the scented dew
And, threading the leafy labyrinth through,
Came to the core of my heart!
And pierced it there with a wound so sore,
That my poor heart knew not for smart
Whether t'were bee or wasp that stung,
Whether t'were wasp or bee that wrung
The sweetness out of its core!
But anon it languished and pined away,
And the Passions came down, like a deadly blight,
And blackened the leaves once beauteous and bright,
Now shrivelled and dark with decay:
The dews still fall on my heart as before,
But the balmy breath of its rare perfume,
And the happy blush of its ancient bloom
Shall never return to it more!
Thou, who knowest the history
Of that glittering, gorgeous Bee,
Thou who, packed with every sweet,
Humming in thy cruel glee,
Foundest my poor heart's retreat
And fed'st on it cruelly!
Rifler of my ancient cheer
Say, thou who smilest, thou who weepest,
Do hearts love those who wound them deepest?
Why do I love thee, maiden dear?
Of that glittering, gorgeous Bee,
Thou who, packed with every sweet,
Humming in thy cruel glee,
Foundest my poor heart's retreat
And fed'st on it cruelly!
134
Say, thou who smilest, thou who weepest,
Do hearts love those who wound them deepest?
Why do I love thee, maiden dear?
I love Pleasure more than Pain
And thou dost dispense the twain:
All the pangs thy frowns award me,
All the smart thy tears afford me
With a smile thou heal'st again;
So my love for thee, my Pleasure,
Doth exceed, by fullest measure,
All my hate for thee, my Pain.
Thou the source of all my sadness,
Giver thou of all my gladness,
Minister of joy and woe,
Teachest me Love's happy madness,
Therefore 'tis I love thee so.
And thou dost dispense the twain:
All the pangs thy frowns award me,
All the smart thy tears afford me
With a smile thou heal'st again;
So my love for thee, my Pleasure,
Doth exceed, by fullest measure,
All my hate for thee, my Pain.
Thou the source of all my sadness,
Giver thou of all my gladness,
Minister of joy and woe,
Teachest me Love's happy madness,
Therefore 'tis I love thee so.
| Poems | |