CAMELOT FANTASIES

At Last



 Elizabeth Akers Allen




 At last, when all the summer shine
    That warmed life's early hours is past,
 Your loving fingers seek for mine
    And hold them close—at last—at last!
 Not oft the robin comes to build
    Its nest upon the leafless bough
 By autumn robbed, by winter chilled,—
   But you, dear heart, you love me now.

 Though there are shadows on my brow
    And furrows on my cheek, in truth,—
The marks where Time's remorseless plough
    Broke up the blooming sward of Youth,—
Though fled is every girlish grace
    Might win or hold a lover's vow,
 Despite my sad and faded face,
    And darkened heart, you love me now!

 I count no more my wasted tears;
    They left no echo of their fall;
 I mourn no more my lonesome years;
    This blessed hour atones for all.
 I fear not all that Time or Fate
    May bring to burden heart or brow,—
Strong in the love that came so late,
    Our souls shall keep it always now!
 

Lullaby


 by  W. H. Auden



 Lay Your Sleeping head, my love,
 Human on my faithless arm:
 Time and fevers burn away
 Individual beauty from
 Thoughtful children, and the grave
 Proves the child ephemeral:
 But in my arms till break of day
 Let the living creature lie,
 Mortal, guilty, but to me
 The entirely beautiful.

 Soul and body have no bounds:
 To lovers as they lie upon
 Her tolerant enchanted slope
 In their ordinary swoon,
 Grave the vision Venus sends
 Of supernatural sympathy,
 Universal love and hope;
 While an abstract insight wakes
 Among the glaciers and the rocks
 The hermit's carnal ecstasy,

 Certainty, fidelity
 On the stroke of midnight pass
 Like vibrations of a bell
 And fashionable madmen raise
 Their pedantic boring cry:
 Every farthing of the cost.
 All the dreaded cards foretell.
 Shall be paid, but from this night
 Not a whisper, not a thought.
 Not a kiss nor look be lost.

 Beauty, midnight, vision dies:
 Let the winds of dawn that blow
 Softly round your dreaming head
 Such a day of welcome show
 Eye and knocking heart may bless,
 Find our mortal world enough;
 Noons of dryness find you fed
 By the involuntary powers,
 Nights of insult let you pass
 Watched by every human love.

Love Arm'd



 by Aphra Behn




 Love in Fantastique Triumph sat,
 Whilst bleeding Hearts around him flow'd,
 For whom Fresh pains he did create,
 And strange Tryanic power he show'd;
 From thy Bright Eyes he took his fire,
 Which round about, in sport he hurl'd;
 But 'twas from mine he took desire,
 Enough to undo the Amorous World.
 From me he took his sighs and tears,
 From thee his Pride and Crueltie;
 From me his Languishments and Feares,
 And every Killing Dart from thee;
 Thus thou and I, the God have arm'd,
 And sett him up a Deity;
 But my poor Heart alone is harm'd,
 Whilst thine the Victor is, and free.
   

Sonnets from the Portuguese 43: How Do I Love Thee



 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 candlelight.
 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.
 

- Elizabeth Barrett Browning

First Love



 by John Clare



 I ne'er was struck before that hour
 With love so sudden and so sweet.
 Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower
 And stole my heart away complete.

 My face turned pale, a deadly pale.
 My legs refused to walk away,
 And when she looked what could I ail
 My life and all seemed turned to clay.

 And then my blood rushed to my face
 And took my eyesight quite away.
 The trees and bushes round the place
 Seemed midnight at noonday.

 I could not see a single thing,
 Words from my eyes did start.
 They spoke as chords do from the string,
 And blood burnt round my heart.

 Are flowers the winter's choice
 Is love's bed always snow
 She seemed to hear my silent voice
 Not love appeals to know.

 I never saw so sweet a face
 As that I stood before.
 My heart has left its dwelling place
 And can return no more.

To a Young Lady



by William Cowper



 Sweet stream that winds through yonder glade,
 Apt emblem of a virtuous maid
 Silent and chaste she steals along,
 Far from the world's gay busy throng:
 With gentle yet prevailing force,
 Intent upon her destined course;
 Graceful and useful all she does,
 Blessing and blest where'er she goes;
 Pure-bosom'd as that watery glass,
 And Heaven reflected in her face.

A Valediction Forbidden Mourning



by John Donne (1572-1631)



 As virtuous men pass mildly away,
 And whisper to their souls to go,
 Whilst some of their sad friends do say,
 "Now his breath goes," and some say, "No."

 So let us melt, and make no noise,
 No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;
 'Twere profanation of our joys
 To tell the laity our love.

 Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears;
 Men reckon what it did, and meant;
 But trepidation of the spheres,
 Though greater far, is innocent.

 Dull sublunary lovers' love
—Whose soul is sense—cannot admit
 Of absence, 'cause it doth remove
 The thing which elemented it.

 But we by a love so much refined,
 That ourselves know not what it is,
 Inter-assurèd of the mind,
 Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss.

 Our two souls therefore, which are one,
 Though I must go, endure not yet
 A breach, but an expansion,
 Like gold to aery thinness beat.

 If they be two, they are two so
 As stiff twin compasses are two;
 Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show
 To move, but doth, if th' other do.

 And though it in the centre sit,
 Yet, when the other far doth roam,
 It leans, and hearkens after it,
 And grows erect, as that comes home.

 Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
 Like th' other foot, obliquely run;
 Thy firmness makes my circle just,
 And makes me end where I begun.
     

Sonnets from the Portuguese XIV



 If 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 mayst love on, through love's eternity.

 -- Elizabeth Barrett Browning