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Without his plumage,
When past the Spring.

Like Chiefs of Faction,

His life is action

A formal paction

That curbs his reign, Obscures his glory, Despot no more, he Such territory

Quits with disdain. Still, still advancing, With banners glancing, His power enhancing,

He must move on→ Repose but cloys him, Retreat destroys him, Love brooks not a

Degraded throne.

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THEY speak o' wiles in woman's smiles,

An' ruin in her ee;"

I ken they bring a pang at whiles

That's unco' sair to dree;'

But mind ye this, the half-ta'en kiss,
The first fond fa'in' tear,

Is, heaven kens, fu' sweet amends,
An' tints o' heaven here.

When two leal hearts in fondness meet,

Life's tempests howl in vain;
The very tears o' love are sweet
When paid with tears again.

Shall hapless prudence shake its pow?
Shall cauldrife caution fear?

Oh, dinna, dinna droun the lowe

That lights a heaven here!

William Thom [1798?-1848]

"LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY”

OVER the mountains

And over the waves,

Under the fountains

And under the graves,
Under floods that are deepest,
Which Neptune obey,
Over rocks that are steepest,
Love will find out the way.

Where there is no place

For the glow-worm to lie,
Where there is no space

For receipt of a fly,

Where the midge dares not venture,
Lest herself fast she lay,
If Love come, he will enter,
And find out the way.

You may esteem him

A child for his might,

Or you may deem him
A coward from his flight:

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A WOMAN'S SHORTCOMINGS :/

SHE has laughed as softly as if she sighed,
She has counted six, and over,

Of a purse well filled, and a heart well tried-
Oh, each a worthy lover!

They "give her time"; for her soul must slip
Where the world has set the grooving;
She will lie to none with her fair red lip:
But love seeks truer loving.

She trembles her fan in a sweetness dumb,
As her thoughts were beyond recalling;
With a glance for one, and a glance for some,
From her eyelids rising and falling;

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Speaks common words with a blushful air,

Hears bold words, unreproving;

But her silence says--what she never will swearAnd love seeks better loving.

Go, lady! lean to the night-guitar,
And drop a smile to the bringer;
Then smile as sweetly, when he is far,
At the voice of an in-door singer.
Bask tenderly beneath tender eyes;

Glance lightly, on their removing;
And join new vows to old perjuries-

But dare not call it loving!

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Unless you can think, when the song is done,
No other is soft in the rhythm;

Unless you can feel, when left by One,

That all men else go with him;

Unless you can know, when upraised by his breath,

That your beauty itself wants proving;

Unless you can swear "For life, for death!"—
Oh, fear to call it loving!

Unless you can muse in a crowd all day
On the absent face that fixed you;
Unless you can love, as the angels may,

With the breadth of heaven betwixt you;
Unless you can dream that his faith is fast,
Through behoving and unbehoving;
Unless you can die when the dream is past
Oh, never call it loving!

Elizabeth Barrell Browning [1806-1861]

"LOVE HATH A LANGUAGE”

From "To My Son "

'LOVE hath a language for all years-2
Fond hieroglyphs, obscure and old-
Wherein the heart reads, writ in tears,//
The tale which never yet was told:

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