JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER
Oh, proud and calm' she cannot know Where'er she goes with her I go; Oh, cold and fair' she cannot guess I kneel to share her hound's caress'
The hound and I are on her trail, The wind and I uplift her veil; As if the calm, cold moon she were, And I the tide, I follow her.
As unrebuked as they, I share The licence of the sun and air, And in a common homage hide My worship from her scorn and pride.
No lance have I, in joust or fight, To splinter in my lady's sight; But, at her feet, how blest were I For any need of hers to die'
��CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH NORTON 600 I do not love Thee
DO not love thee' no' I do not love thee! And yet when thou art absent I am sad; And envy even the bright blue sky above thee, Whose quiet stars may see thee and be glad.
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��I do not love thee ' yet, I know not why, Whate'er thou dost seems still well done, to me:
And often in my solitude I sigh That those I do love are not more like thee!
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