What lifts her in my thought so far Beyond all else? Let Love not err! ’Tis that which all right women are, But which I’ll know in none but her. She is to me the only Ark Of that high mystery which locks The lips of joy, or speaks in dark Enigmas and in paradox; That potent charm, which none can fly, Nor would, which makes me bond and free, Nor can I tell if first ’twas I Chose it, or it elected me; Which, when I look intentest, lo, Cheats most mine eyes, albeit my heart, Content to feel and not to know, Perceives it all in every part; I kiss its cheek; its life divine Exhales from its resplendent shroud; Ixion’s fate reversed is mine, Authentic Juno seems a cloud; I feel a blessed warmth, I see A bright circumference of rays, But darkness, where the sun should be, Fills admiration with amaze; And when, for joy’s relief, I think To fathom with the line of thought The well from which I, blissful, drink, The spring’s so deep I come to nought. III. _The Kiss_. ‘I saw you take his kiss!’ ‘’Tis true.’ ‘O, modesty!’ ‘’Twas strictly kept: He thought me asleep; at least, I knew He thought I thought he thought I slept.’ THE KOH-I-NOOR. 1 ‘Be man’s hard virtues highly wrought, But let my gentle Mistress be, In every look, word, deed, and thought, Nothing but sweet and womanly! Her virtues please my virtuous mood, But what at all times I admire Is, not that she is wise or good, But just the thing which I desire. With versatility to sing The theme of love to any strain, If oft’nest she is anything, Be it careless, talkative, and vain. That seems in her supremest grace Which, virtue or not, apprises me That my familiar thoughts embrace Unfathomable mystery.’ 2 I answer’d thus; for she desired To know what mind I most approved; Partly to learn what she inquired, Partly to get the praise she loved. 3 I praised her, but no praise could fill The depths of her desire to please, Though dull to others as a Will To them that have no legacies. The more I praised the more she shone, Her eyes incredulously bright, And all her happy beauty blown Beneath the beams of my delight. Sweet rivalry was thus begot; By turns, my speech, in passion’s style, With flatteries the truth o’ershot, And she surpass’d them with her smile. 4