Queen Berengaria's Courtesy, and Other Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Have I not loved thee?—Speak—Oh! speak!
Thou hast seen the heart-hues in my cheek
Paint more love than the heart can feel,
And to itself the Truth reveal!

So occupied I still have been
With only thee through Life's mixed Scene,
Oh! I have had no skill—no art—
To examine mine own secret heart,

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No leisure time to study there,
And, Oh! no Consciousness to spare;
My Life knows one dear thought alone,
How can my heart e'er sound that one?

Like walls of blazing adamant
Thy bright looks gird me—till I pant
To be one little moment free—
To frame one thought that is not thee.

I am encompassed by thy smiles,
Fettered within their golden toils—
Oh! I would be one moment free,
To dream one dream that is not thee.

Have I not loved thee?—tell me, thou,
Do I not wildly love thee now?—
Is not my true Heart all thine own?
Methinks to thee the truth is known.

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To me then that deep truth reveal,
Paint to me, dearest, all I feel;
Be thou my voice—thus let me hear
The truth I love so much—yet fear!

But be thou very eloquent!—
Sweet sorcery to thy tongue be lent!—
While thou unfold'st my state to me,
Oh! may it touch and soften thee!

Enlarge on all my passionate woes,
The emotions of my Soul disclose—
With just emphatic words express
My feeling's fervours of excess!

No anxious trembling thought withhold,
All secrets of my Soul unfold—
Tell me the history of my Heart,
E'en pulse by pulse—and part by part.

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For thou canst teach me this and tell—
Thou know'st that Heart's wild history well,
My thoughts and dreams to thee are known,
And unto thee revealed alone.

My fervent zeal—my fond, fond care,
To me disclose—to me declare—
To me confirm—to me confess—
My heart-devotion's rich distress.

Sound every spring—strike every chord
Of feeling, by some well weighed word—
Be every mood of passion shown
By some attuned accordant tone!

To thee be Inspiration lent—
Oh! be thou very eloquent!—
Quick Feeling's deepest Soul respire,
And be thy words as words of fire.

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Speak as the impassioned Sappho sung!
Enchantment hang upon thy tongue!
Tell me, and tell me o'er and o'er,
Of Love that ne'er was felt before!

Fair fall thine accents, breathing nought
But the high wrought exstacy of thought—
Oh! mighty may they be to move,
And melt thine own charmed mind to love!

Aye! deeply unto me reveal
All I have felt and all I feel—
And, Oh! sweet hope—all hopes above—
Learn—learn at last thyself to love!

Let thine own eloquence subdue,
Let the soft tale be doubly true,
Breathe mine in such a feeling tone
That it may thus become thine own!

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Be witchery poured on every word,
The sweetest sounds ear ever heard—
So that thine heart they thus may move,
And teach thee tenderness and love!

Have I not loved thee?—Answer then,
Oh! tell me o'er and o'er again!
Have I not loved thee?—Answer thou—
Do I not love thee wildly now?

Thou one dear Being of my choice,
I have no words—no witching voice
Wherewith to make my passion known,
But I will win thee with thine own.

The love which thou shalt paint so well,
On which thou shalt so deeply dwell,
Shall wake an answering Love in thee,
So shalt thou win thyself for me!

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Have I not loved thee?—Tell me then,
And tell me o'er and o'er again,
Do I not love thee fondly now,
And wilt thou love me?—Answer thou!