I'll tell no more, and yet I love,
And he loves me; yet no
One unbecoming thought doth move
From either heart I know;

And so exempt from blame

As it would be to each a flame If love or fear would let me tell his name.

BEN JONSON

TO ALTHEA, FROM PRISON.

WHEN Love with unconfined wings,

Hovers within my gates; And my divine Althea brings

To whisper at the grates; When I lie tangled in her hair,

And fetter'd to her eye;

The birds, that wanton in the air,

Know no such liberty.

When flowing cups run swiftly round,

With no allaying Thames,

Our careless heads with roses bound,
Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty grief in wine we steep,
When healths and draughts go free,
Fishes, that tipple in the deep,
Know no such liberty.

When (like committed linnets) I
With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty,
And glories of my king;
When I shall voice aloud how good
He is, how great should be;
Enlarged winds, that curl the flood,
Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make,

Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take

That for an hermitage.

If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soul am free;
Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such liberty.

LOVELACE.

MADELINE.

A casement high and triple-arch'd there

was,

All garlanded with carven imageries

Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass,

And diamonded with panes of quaint

device,

Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes, As are the tiger-moth's deep-damask wings;

And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries,

And twilight saints, and dim emblazon

ings,

A shielded scutcheon blushed with blood of queens and kings.

Full on this casement shone the wintry

moon,

And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast,

As down she knelt for beaven's grace and

boon:

Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together

prest,

And on her silver cross soft amethyst,
And on her hair a glory, like a saint:
She seemed a splendid angel, newly drest,
Save wings for heaven Porphyro grew

faint:

She knelt so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint.

Anon his heart revives: her vespers done, Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees;

Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one; Loosens her fragrant boddice; by degrees

Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees:

Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-
weed,

Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees,
In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed,

But dares not look behind, or all the charm

is fled.

Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest,
In sort of wakeful swoon perplex'd she lay,

Until the poppied warmth of sleep op-
pressed

Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away;

Flown; like a thought, until the morrow

day;

Blissfully haven'd both from joy and pain; Clasp'd like a missal where swart Paynims pray,

Blended alike from sunshine and from

rain,

As though a rose should shut and be a bud

again.

KEATS.

LOVE'S GROWTH.

No telling how love thrives! to what it comes!

Whence grows! 'tis e'en of as mysterious root,

As the pine that makes its lodging of the rock, Yet there it lives a huge tree, flourishing, Where you would think a blade of grass would die!

J. S. KNOWLES.