To Jeanette.
“I did hear you talkFar above singing; after you were gone,I grew acquainted with my heart, and searchedWhat stirred it so! Alas! I found it love.”II ’VE sung of flowers in loving way,And pluck’d them too for half a day,And into posies wrought them, tillOrion glared above the hill:But never, never saw I oneAs fair as thee beneath the sun,And never, never shall I knowA lovelier where’er I go.Yet ’tis not for thy beauty, dearJeanette, nor yet the sunny cheerAbout thy face, I love thee so!But something of thy soul doth flowInto my heart, and I am wildWith tender passion as a child.I write thy name, and kiss it, dearJeanette, in most impulsive fear!I whisper it into my heart,And then its music makes me startIn sudden gladness. I am fainTo let the echo die again!Thy image groweth out of airUntil, entranced, I pause and stareInto thy dear ideal eyes—The shadow of God’s paradise.I am in love with thee, thou dearJeanette, and keep my spirit clearFor thy embrace. It cannot beThat thou wilt keep aloof from meLike that immortal FlorentineWhom Tasso lov’d. O I would pineInto a pale accusing dreamTo haunt thy pillow, and would seemSo fond and sad, thy heart would fretFor its unkindness, good Jeanette!O many a long glad summer dayI laughed at love, and deemed his swayThe tinkle of an idle tongue,A fancy only to be sung.But thou all-beautiful! hast moreOf this, the thrilling passion—love—In one soft tress of plaited gold,Than blessed Petrarch could unfold.I love thee, dear Jeanette! I loveThee, O how dearly! Far aboveAll singing is my love for thee,Thou paradise of ecstasy!Make me immortal with a kissOf earnest pressure, and all blissIs mine for ever, ever! DearJeanette, beloved, adored in fear!
“I did hear you talkFar above singing; after you were gone,I grew acquainted with my heart, and searchedWhat stirred it so! Alas! I found it love.”II ’VE sung of flowers in loving way,And pluck’d them too for half a day,And into posies wrought them, tillOrion glared above the hill:But never, never saw I oneAs fair as thee beneath the sun,And never, never shall I knowA lovelier where’er I go.Yet ’tis not for thy beauty, dearJeanette, nor yet the sunny cheerAbout thy face, I love thee so!But something of thy soul doth flowInto my heart, and I am wildWith tender passion as a child.I write thy name, and kiss it, dearJeanette, in most impulsive fear!I whisper it into my heart,And then its music makes me startIn sudden gladness. I am fainTo let the echo die again!Thy image groweth out of airUntil, entranced, I pause and stareInto thy dear ideal eyes—The shadow of God’s paradise.I am in love with thee, thou dearJeanette, and keep my spirit clearFor thy embrace. It cannot beThat thou wilt keep aloof from meLike that immortal FlorentineWhom Tasso lov’d. O I would pineInto a pale accusing dreamTo haunt thy pillow, and would seemSo fond and sad, thy heart would fretFor its unkindness, good Jeanette!O many a long glad summer dayI laughed at love, and deemed his swayThe tinkle of an idle tongue,A fancy only to be sung.But thou all-beautiful! hast moreOf this, the thrilling passion—love—In one soft tress of plaited gold,Than blessed Petrarch could unfold.I love thee, dear Jeanette! I loveThee, O how dearly! Far aboveAll singing is my love for thee,Thou paradise of ecstasy!Make me immortal with a kissOf earnest pressure, and all blissIs mine for ever, ever! DearJeanette, beloved, adored in fear!
“I did hear you talkFar above singing; after you were gone,I grew acquainted with my heart, and searchedWhat stirred it so! Alas! I found it love.”
II ’VE sung of flowers in loving way,And pluck’d them too for half a day,And into posies wrought them, tillOrion glared above the hill:But never, never saw I oneAs fair as thee beneath the sun,And never, never shall I knowA lovelier where’er I go.Yet ’tis not for thy beauty, dearJeanette, nor yet the sunny cheerAbout thy face, I love thee so!But something of thy soul doth flowInto my heart, and I am wildWith tender passion as a child.
I
I write thy name, and kiss it, dearJeanette, in most impulsive fear!I whisper it into my heart,And then its music makes me startIn sudden gladness. I am fainTo let the echo die again!Thy image groweth out of airUntil, entranced, I pause and stareInto thy dear ideal eyes—The shadow of God’s paradise.
I am in love with thee, thou dearJeanette, and keep my spirit clearFor thy embrace. It cannot beThat thou wilt keep aloof from meLike that immortal FlorentineWhom Tasso lov’d. O I would pineInto a pale accusing dreamTo haunt thy pillow, and would seemSo fond and sad, thy heart would fretFor its unkindness, good Jeanette!
O many a long glad summer dayI laughed at love, and deemed his swayThe tinkle of an idle tongue,A fancy only to be sung.But thou all-beautiful! hast moreOf this, the thrilling passion—love—In one soft tress of plaited gold,Than blessed Petrarch could unfold.I love thee, dear Jeanette! I loveThee, O how dearly! Far aboveAll singing is my love for thee,Thou paradise of ecstasy!Make me immortal with a kissOf earnest pressure, and all blissIs mine for ever, ever! DearJeanette, beloved, adored in fear!