If there be any one can take my place And make you happy whom I grieve to grieve, Think not that I can grudge it, but believe I do commend you to that nobler grace, That readier wit than mine, that sweeter face; Yea, since your riches make me rich, conceive I too am crowned, while bridal crowns I weave, And thread the bridal dance with jocund pace. For if I did not love you, it might be That I should grudge you some one dear delight; But since the heart is yours that was mine own, Your pleasure is my pleasure, right my right, Your honorable freedom makes me free, And you companioned I am not alone. 13. "E drizzeremo gli occhi al Primo Amore."--Dante. "Ma trovo peso non da le mie braccia."--Petrarca. If I could trust mine own self with your fate, Shall I not rather trust it in God's hand? Without Whose Will one lily doth not stand, Nor sparrow fall at his appointed date; Who numbereth the innumerable sand, Who weighs the wind and water with a weight, To Whom the world is neither small nor great, Whose knowledge foreknew every plan we planned. Searching my heart for all that touches you, I find there only love and love's goodwill Helpless to help and impotent to do, Of understanding dull, of sight most dim; And therefore I commend you back to Him Whose love your love's capacity can fill. 14. "E la Sua Volontade è nostra pace."--Dante. "Sol con questi pensier, con altre chiome."--Petrarca. Youth gone, and beauty gone if ever there Dwelt beauty in so poor a face as this; Youth gone and beauty, what remains of bliss? I will not bind fresh roses in my hair, To shame a cheek at best but little fair,-- Leave youth his roses, who can bear a thorn,-- I will not seek for blossoms anywhere, Except such common flowers as blow with corn. Youth gone and beauty gone, what doth remain? The longing of a heart pent up forlorn, A silent heart whose silence loves and longs; The silence of a heart which sang its songs While youth and beauty made a summer morn, Silence of love that cannot sing again. "LUSCIOUS AND SORROWFUL." Beautiful, tender, wasting away for sorrow; Thus to-day; and how shall it be with thee to-morrow? Beautiful, tender--what else? A hope tells. Beautiful, tender, keeping the jubilee In the land of home together, past death and sea; No more change or death, no more Salt sea-shore. DE PROFUNDIS. Oh why is heaven built so far, Oh why is earth set so remote? I cannot reach the nearest star That hangs afloat. I would not care to reach the moon, One round monotonous of change; Yet even she repeats her tune Beyond my range.