IN THEE MY ART
In thee is all my art; from thee I draw
The substance of my dreams, the waking plan
Of practised thought; I can no measure scan,
But thou work'st in me like eternal law.
If I were rich in goodly title deeds
Of broad estate, won from posterity;
If from decaying Time I snatched a see
Richer than prelates pray for with their beads;
If some should bring before me frankincense,
And make a pleasant fire to greet mine eyes;
If there were given me for recompense
Gifts fairer than a seraph could devise:
I would, my sovereign, kneel to thee and say,
"It all is thine; thou showedst me the way."
DENIAL
But is it so that I must never kiss
Thee on the brow, or smooth thy silken hair?
Never close down thine eyelids with Love's prayer,
Or fold my arms about my new-found bliss?
Must I unto the courses of my age
Worship afar, lest haply I profane
The temple that is now my holy fane,
For which my song is given as a gage?
Shall I who cry to all, "Come not within
The bounds where I my lady have enshrined;
I am her cavalier"; shall I not win
One dear caress, the rich exchequer find
Of thy soft cheek? If thou command, my lips
Shall find surcease but at thy fingertips.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25