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The Poetry of Real Life

A New Edition, Much Enlarged and Improved. By Henry Ellison
 

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ON LOVE.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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125

ON LOVE.

The pomps and splendors of the world, I ween,
Have naught to do with Love—nay, they destroy,
And, when most deep, disfashion and alloy—
They thrust their cold and stately arms, with mien
Formal and ceremonious, between
Hearts that would meet and mingle in their joy;
And, for Love's sweet interpreters, employ
(Lest Nature, fine in Love, break down the screen
Of hollow forms which hides her holy face)
The master of the ceremonies, so
To train the heart, poor hack in Fashion's race!
While, in some cot, two hearts together grow,
With naught, save God, between them to displace,
God who is Love, the channel where they meet and flow!
 
“Blessed be those,
How mean soe'er, who have their honest wills,
Which seasons comfort.”

—Imogen, in Cymbeline.