When I look up, to drop on a new range

Of walls and floors,-another home than this?
Nay, wilt thou fill that place by me which is
Filled by dead eyes too tender to know change?
That's hardest. If to conquer love has tried,
To conquer grief tries more, as all things prove;
For grief, indeed, is love and grief beside.

Alas! I have grieved so, I am hard to love.
Yet love me, wilt thou?

Open thine heart wide,

And fold within the wet wings of thy dove.

HOW

WOW do I love thee?

Let me count the ways.

depth and breadth and height

love thee to the

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints,-I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

BELOVED, thou hast brought me many flowers

Plucked in the garden, all the summer through

And winter, and it seemed as if they grew
In this close room, nor missed the sun and showers.
So, in the like name of that love of ours,

Take back these thoughts which here unfolded too,
And which on warm and cold days I withdrew

From my heart's ground. Indeed, those beds and bowe:

Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue,
And wait thy weeding; yet here's eglantine,
Here's ivy!-take them, as I used to do

Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine.
Instruct thine eyes to keep their colors true,

And tell thy soul their roots are left in mine.

36

YE

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

EPITHALAMION1

E learned sisters, which have oftentimes
Beene to me ayding, others to adorne,

Whom ye thought worthy of your graceful rymes,
That even the greatest did not greatly scorne
To heare theyr names sung in your simple layes,
But joyed in theyr praise;

And when ye list your owne mishaps to mourne,
Which death, or love, or fortunes wreck did rayse,

Your string could soone to sadder tenor turne,
And teach the woods and waters to lament

Your dolefull dreriment:

Now lay those sorrow full complaints aside;

And, having all your heads with girlands crownd,
Helpe me mine owne loves prayses to resound;

Ne let the same of any be envide:

So Orpheus did for his owne bride!

So I unto myselfe alone will sing;

The woods shall to me answer, and my Eccho ring.

Early, before the worlds light-giving lampe

His golden beame upon the hils doth spred,

1In this ode the poet celebrates his marriage to Elizabeth Boyle.

Dreriment: grief

Ne: nor

Having disperst the nights unchearefull dampe,
Doe ye awake; and, with fresh lusty-hed,

Go to the bowre of my beloved love,

My truest turtle-dove;

Bid her awake; for Hymen is awake,

And long since ready forth his maske to move,

With his bright Tead that flames with many a flake.

And many a bachelor to waite on him,

In theyr fresh garments trim.

Bid her awake therefore, and soone her dight,

For lo the wished day is come at last,

That shall, for all the paynes and sorrowes past,

Pay to her usury of long delight:
And, whylest she doth her dight,

Doe ye to her of joy and solace sing,

That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring.

Bring with you all the Nymphes that you can heare,
Both of the rivers and the forrests greene,
And of the sea that neighbors to her neare:
Al with gay girlands goodly wel beseene.
And let them also with them bring in hand
Another gay girland,

For my fayre love, of lillyes and of roses,
Bound truelovewize, with a blew silke riband.
And let them make great store of bridale poses,
And let them eeke bring store of other flowers,
To deck the bridale bowers.

And let the ground whereas her foot shall tread,
For feare the stones her tender foot should wrong,
Be strewed with fragrant flowers all along,

And diapered lyke the discolored mead.

Which done, doe at her chamber dore awayt,

For she will waken strayt;

The whiles doe ye this song unto her sing,

The woods shall to you answer, and your Eccho ring.

Ye Nymphes of Mulla, which with careful heed
The silver scaly trouts doe tend full well,

And greedy pikes which use therein to feed;
(Those trouts and pikes all others doo excell;)
And ye likewise, which keepe the rushy lake,
Where none doo fishes take;

Bynd up the locks the which hang scatterd light,
And in his waters, which your mirror make,
Behold your faces as the christall bright,

That when you come whereas my love doth lie,
No blemish she may spie.

And eke, ye lightfoot mayds, which keepe the dore,
That on the hoary mountayne used to towre;
And the wylde wolves, which seeks them to devoure,
With your steele darts doo chace from comming neer;
Be also present heere,

To helpe to decke her, and to help to sing,

That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring.

Wake now, my love, awake! for it is time;

The Rosy Morne long since left Tithones bed,

All ready to her silver coche to clyme;

And Phoebus gins to shew his glorious hed.

Hark! how the cheerfull birds do chaunt theyr laies
And carroll of Loves praise.

The merry Larke hir mattins sings aloft;

The Thrush replyes; the Mavis descant playes:

The Ouzell shrills; the Ruddock warbles soft;

Dore: animals

Towre: climb

So goodly all agree, with sweet consent,
To this dayes merriment.

Ah! my deere love, why doe ye sleepe thus long,
When meeter were that ye should now awake,
T' awayt the comming of your joyous make,
And hearken to the birds love-learned song,
The deawy leaves among!

Nor they of joy and pleasance to you sing,
That all the woods them answer, and theyr eccho ring.

My love is now awake out of her dreames,

And her fayre eyes, like stars that dimmed were

With darksome cloud, now shew theyr goodly beams
More bright then Hesperus his head doth rere.
Come now, ye damzels, daughters of delight,

Helpe quickly her to dight:

But first come ye fayre houres, which were begot,
In Joves sweet paradice of Day and Night;
Which doe the seasons of the yeare allot,

And al, that ever in this world is fayre,
Doe make and still repayre:

And ye three handmayds of the Cyprian Queene,
The which doe still adorne her beauties pride,
Helpe to addorne my beautifullest bride:
And, as ye her array, still throw betweene

Some graces to be seene;

And, as ye use to Venus, to her sing,

The whiles the woods shal answer, and your eccho ring

Now is my love all ready forth to come:

Let all the virgins therefore well awayt:

And ye fresh boyes, that tend upon her groome,
Prepare your selves; for he is comming strayt.

Make: mate