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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=359172" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Angel In The House. Book II. Canto VI.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Preludes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I Love's Perversity <br>How strange a thing a lover seems<br>To animals that do not love!<br>Lo, where he walks and talks in dreams,<br>And flouts us with his Lady's glove;<br>How foreign is the garb he wears;<br>And how his great devotion mocks<br>Our poor propriety, and scares<br>The undevout with paradox!<br>His soul, through scorn of worldly care,<br>And great extremes of sweet and gall,<br>And musing much on all that's fair,<br>Grows witty and fantastical;<br>He sobs his joy and sings his grief,<br>And evermore finds such delight<br>In simply picturing his relief,<br>That 'plaining seems to cure his plight;<br>He makes his sorrow, when there's none;<br>His fancy blows both cold and hot;<br>Next to the wish that she'll be won,<br>His first hope is that she may not; <br>He sues, yet deprecates consent;<br>Would she be captured she must fly;<br>She looks too happy and content,<br>For whose least pleasure he would die.<br>Oh, cruelty, she cannot care<br>For one to whom she's always kind!<br>He says he's nought, but, oh, despair,<br>If he's not Jove to her fond mind!<br>He's jealous if she pets a dove,<br>She must be his with all her soul;<br>Yet 'tis a postulate in love<br>That part is greater than the whole;<br>And all his apprehension's stress,<br>When he's with her, regards her hair,<br>Her hand, a ribbon of her dress,<br>As if his life were only there;<br>Because she's constant, he will change,<br>And kindest glances coldly meet,<br>And, all the time he seems so strange,<br>His soul is fawning at her feet;<br>Of smiles and simple heaven grown tired,<br>He wickedly provokes her tears,<br>And when she weeps, as he desired,<br>Falls slain with ecstasies of fears;<br>He blames her, though she has no fault,<br>Except the folly to be his;<br>He worships her, the more to exalt<br>The profanation of a kiss;<br>Health's his disease; he's never well<br>But when his paleness shames her rose;<br>His faith's a rock-built citadel,<br>Its sign a flag that each way blows;<br>His o'erfed fancy frets and fumes;<br>And Love, in him, is fierce, like Hate,<br>And ruffles his ambrosial plumes<br>Against the bars of time and fate.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>II The Power of Love <br>Samson the Mighty, Solomon<br>The Wise, and Holy David all<br>Must doff their crowns to Love, for none<br>But fell as Love would scorn to fall!<br>And what may fallen spirits win,<br>When stripes and precepts cannot move?<br>Only the sadness of all sin,<br>When look'd at in the light of Love.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>The Love-Letters.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I<br>‘You ask, Will admiration halt,<br>‘Should spots appear within my Sun?<br>‘Oh, how I wish I knew your fault,<br>‘For Love's tired gaze to rest upon!<br>‘Your graces, which have made me great,<br>‘Will I so loftily admire,<br>‘Yourself yourself shall emulate,<br>‘And be yourself your own desire.<br>‘I'll nobly mirror you too fair,<br>‘And, when you're false to me your glass,<br>‘What's wanting you'll by that repair,<br>‘So bring yourself through me to pass.<br>‘O Dearest, tell me how to prove<br>‘Goodwill which cannot be express'd;<br>‘The beneficial heart of love<br>‘Is labour in an idle breast. <br>‘Name in the world your chosen part,<br>‘And here I vow, with all the bent<br>‘And application of my heart<br>‘To give myself to your content.<br>‘Would you live on, home-worshipp'd, thus,<br>‘Not proudly high nor poorly low?<br>‘Indeed the lines are fall'n to us<br>‘In pleasant places! Be it so.<br>‘But would you others heav'nward move,<br>‘By sight not faith, while you they admire?<br>‘I'll help with zeal as I approve<br>‘That just and merciful desire.<br>‘High as the lonely moon to view<br>‘I'll lift your light; do you decree<br>‘Your place, I'll win it; for from you<br>‘Command inspires capacity.<br>‘Or, unseen, would you sway the world<br>‘More surely? Then in gracious rhyme<br>‘I'll raise your emblem, fair unfurl'd<br>‘With blessing in the breeze of time.<br>‘Faith removes mountains, much more love;<br>‘Let your contempt abolish me<br>‘If ought of your devisal prove<br>‘Too hard or high to do or be.’</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>II<br>I ended. ‘From your Sweet-Heart, Sir,’<br>Said Nurse, ‘The Dean's man brings it down.’<br>I could have kiss'd both him and her!<br>‘Nurse, give him that, with half-a-crown.’<br>How beat my heart, how paused my breath.<br>When with perversely fond delay,<br>I broke the seal, that bore a wreath<br>Of roses link'd with one of bay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>III<br>‘I found your note. How very kind<br>‘To leave it there! I cannot tell<br>‘How pleased I was, or how you find<br>‘Words to express your thoughts so well.<br>‘The Girls are going to the Ball<br>‘At Wilton. If you can, do come;<br>‘And any day this week you call<br>‘Papa and I shall be at home.<br>‘You said to Mary once—I hope<br>‘In jest—that women should be vain:<br>‘On Saturday your friend (her Pope),<br>‘The Bishop dined with us again.<br>‘She put the question, if they ought?<br>‘He turn'd it cleverly away<br>‘(For giddy Mildred cried, she thought<br>‘We must), with 'What we must we may.'<br>‘Dear papa laugh'd, and said 'twas sad<br>‘To think how vain his girls would be,<br>‘Above all Mary, now she had<br>‘Episcopal authority.<br>‘But I was very dull, dear friend,<br>‘And went upstairs at last, and cried.<br>‘Be sure to come to-day, or send<br>‘A rose-leaf kiss'd on either side.<br>‘Adieu! I am not well. Last night<br>‘My dreams were wild: I often woke,<br>‘The summer-lightning was so bright;<br>‘And when it flash'd I thought you spoke.’</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Coventry+Patmore">Coventry Patmore</a><div class=q>
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I Love's Perversity 
How strange a thing a lover seems
To animals that do not love!
Lo, where he walks and talks in dreams,
And flouts us with his Lady's glove;
How foreign is the garb he wears;
And how his great devotion mocks
Our poor..."></div>
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