XXV.

"SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE."

(NO. XIV.)

Ir thou must love me let it be for nought

Except for love's sake only. Do not say

"I love her for her smile. . . her look . . . her way Of speaking gently, . . for a trick of thought That falls in well with mine, and certes brought A sense of pleasant ease on such a day;"— For these things in themselves, Beloved, may Be changed, or change for thee,—and love so wrought, May be unwrought so. Neither love me for Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,A creature might forget to weep who bore Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby ! But love me for love's sake, that evermore Thou mayest love on, through love's eternity.

XXVI.

"SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE."

(NO. XVII.)

My poet, thou canst touch on all the notes
God set between His After and Before,

And strike up and strike off the general roar
Of the rushing worlds a melody that floats
In a serene air purely. Antidotes

Of medicated music, answering for

Mankind's forlornest uses, thou canst pour From thence into their ears. God's will devotes Thine to such ends, and mine to wait on thine. How, Dearest, wilt thou have me for most use? A hope, to sing by gladly or a fine

Sad memory, with thy songs to interfuse ! A shade, in which to sing—of palm or pine! A grave, on which to rest from singing! Choose.

XXVII.

"SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE."

(NO. XXII.)

WHEN our two souls stand up erect and strong,
Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher,
Until the lengthening wings break into fire
At either curved point,-what bitter wrong
Can the earth do to us, that we should not long
Be here contented? Think. In mounting higher,
The angels would press on us and aspire
To drop some golden orb of perfect song
Into our deep, dear silence. Let us stay
Rather on earth, Beloved,-where the unfit
Contrarious moods of men recoil away
And isolate pure spirits, and permit

A place to stand and love in for a day,

With darkness and the death-hour rounding it.

XXVIII.

"SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE."

(NO. XLIII.)

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
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,

F

XXIX.

HELEN'S TOWER.*

WHO hears of Helen's Tower, may dream perchance
How the Greek Beauty from the Scean Gate
Gazed on old friends unanimous in hate,
Death-doom'd because of her fair countenance.

Hearts would leap otherwise, at thy advance,
Lady, to whom this Tower is consecrate !
Like hers, thy face once made all eyes elate,
Yet, unlike hers, was bless'd by every glance.

The Tower of Hate is outworn, far and strange :
A transitory shame of long ago,

It dies into the sand from which it sprang; But thine, Love's rock-built Tower, shall fear no change:

God's self laid stable earth's foundations so,

When all the morning-stars together sang.

* A Tower erected by the present Earl of Dufferin and Clandeboye, on a rock on his estate at Clandeboye, Ireland, in memory of his mother, Helen, Countess of Gifford,