In commendation of this kind of love:-
Why there is first the God in heaven above,
Who wrote a book called Nature, 'tis to be
Reviewed, I hear, in the next Quarterly;
And Socrates, the Jesus Christ of Greece,
And Jesus Christ himself did never cease
To urge all living things to love each other,
And to forgive their mutual faults, and smother
The Devil of disunion in their souls.

I love you! - Listen, O embodied Ray Of the great Brightness; I must pass away While you remain, and these light words must

be

Tokens by which you may remember me.
Start not the thing you are is unbetrayed,
If
you are human, and if but the shade
Of some sublimer spirit.

And as to friend or mistress, 'tis a form;

Perhaps I wish you were one.
You a familiar spirit, as you are;

Some declare

Others with a

more inhuman

Hint that, though not my wife, you are a

woman,

What is the colour of your eyes and hair?
Why, if you were a lady, it were fair

The world should know

but, as I am afraid, The Quarterly would bait you if betrayed; And if, as it will be sport to see them stumble Over all sorts of scandals, hear them mumble Their litany of curses-some guess right, And others swear you're a Hermaphrodite ; Like that sweet marble monster of both sexes, With looks so sweet and gentle that it vexes The very soul that the soul is gone Which lifted from her limbs the veil of stone.

It is a sweet thing, friendship, a dear balm, A happy and auspicious bird of calm, Which rides o'er life's ever tumultuous Ocean; A God that broods o'er chaos in commotion; A flower which fresh as Lapland roses are, Lifts its bold head into the world's frore air,

And blooms most radiantly when others die,
Health, hope, and youth, and brief prosperity;
And with the light and odour of its bloom,
Shining within the dungeon and the tomb;
Whose coming is as light and music are
'Mid dissonance and gloom
Which moves not 'mid the moving heavens

a star

alone

A smile among dark frowns—a gentle tone
Among rude voices, a beloved light,
A solitude, a refuge, a delight.

If I had but a friend! Why, I have three
Even by my own confession; there may be
Some more, for what I know, for 'tis my mind
To call my
friends all who are wise and kind,—
And these, Heaven knows, at best are very
few;

But none can ever be more dear than you.
Why should they be? My muse has lost her
wings,

Or like a dying swan who soars and sings,
I should describe you in heroic style,
But as it is, are you not void of guile?

A lovely soul, formed to be blest and bless : A well of sealed and secret happiness;

A lute which those whom Love has taught to

play

Make music on to cheer the roughest day,
And enchant sadness till it sleeps?

To the oblivion whither I and thou,
All loving and all lovely, hasten now
With steps, ah, too unequal! may we meet
In one Elysium or one winding-sheet!

If any should be curious to discover Whether to you I am a friend or lover, Let them read Shakespeare's sonnets, taking

thence

A whetstone for their dull intelligence

That tears and will not cut, or let them guess How Diotima, the wise prophetess,

Instructed the instructor, and why he
Rebuked the infant spirit of melody
On Agathon's sweet lips, which as he spoke
Was as the lovely star when morn has broke

The roof of darkness, in the golden dawn,
Half-hidden, and yet beautiful.

I'll pawn

My hopes of Heaven — you know what they

are worth

That the presumptuous pedagogues of Earth,
If they could tell the riddle offered here,
Would scorn to be, or being to appear
What now they seem and are - but let them
chide,

They have few pleasures in the world beside;

Perhaps we should be dull were we not chidden, Paradise fruits are sweetest when forbidden. Folly can season Wisdom, Hatred, Love.

Farewell, if it can be to say farewell
To those who-

I will not, as most dedicators do, Assure myself and all the world and you,