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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409116" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Problem</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not to win thy favor, maiden, not to steal away thy heart,<br>Have I ever sought thy presence, ever stooped to any art;<br>Thou wast but a wildering problem, which I aimed to solve, and then<br>Make it matter for my note-book, or a picture for my pen.<br>So, I daily conned thee over, thinking it no dangerous task,<br>Peeping underneath thy lashes, peering underneath thy mask --<br>For thou wear'st one -- no denial! there is much within thine eyes;<br>But those stars have other secrets than are patent in their skies.<br>And I read thee, read thee closely, every grace and every sin,<br>Looked behind the outward seeming to the strange wild world within,<br>Where thy future self is forming, where I saw -- no matter what!<br>There was something less than angel, there was many an earthly spot;<br>Yet so beautiful thy errors that I had no heart for blame,<br>And thy virtues made thee dearer than my dearest hopes of fame;<br>All so blended, that in wishing one peculiar trait removed,<br>We indeed might make thee better, but less lovely and less loved.<br>All my mind was in the study -- so two thrilling fortnights passed --<br>All my mind was in the study -- till my heart was touched at last.<br>Well! and then the book was finished, the absorbing task was done,<br>I awoke as one who had been dreaming in a noon-day sun;<br>With a fever on my forehead, and a throbbing in my brain,<br>In my soul delirious wishes, in my heart a lasting pain;<br>Yet so hopeless, yet so cureless -- as in every great despair --<br>I was very calm and silent, and I never stooped to prayer,<br>Like a sick man unattended, reckless of the coming death,<br>Only for he knows it certain, and he feels no sister's breath.<br>All the while as by an Atle, with no pity in her face,<br>Yet with eyes of witching beauty, and with form of matchless grace,<br>I was haunted by thy presence, oh! for weary nights and days,<br>I was haunted by thy spirit, I was troubled by thy gaze,<br>And the question which to answer I had taxed a subtle brain,<br>What thou art, and what thou wilt be, came again and yet again;<br>With its opposite deductions, it recurred a thousand times,<br>Like a coward's apprehensions, like a madman's favorite rhymes.<br>But to-night my thoughts flow calmer -- in thy room I think I stand,<br>See a fair white page before thee, and a pen within thy hand;<br>And thy fingers sweep the paper, and a light is in thine eyes,<br>Whilst I read thy secret fancies, whilst I hear thy secret sighs.<br>What they are I will not whisper, those are lovely, these are deep,<br>But one name is left unwritten, that is only breathed in sleep.<br>Is it wonder that my passion bursts at once from out its nest?<br>I have bent my knee before thee, and my love is all confessed;<br>Though I knew that name unwritten was another name than mine,<br>Though I felt those sighs half murmured what I could but half divine.<br>Aye! I hear thy haughty answer! Aye! I see thy proud lip curl!<br>&quot;What presumption, and what folly!&quot; why, I only love a girl<br>With some very winning graces, with some very noble traits,<br>But no better than a thousand who have bent to humbler fates.<br>That I ask not; I have, maiden, just as haught a soul as thine;<br>If thou think'st thy place above me, thou shalt never stoop to mine.<br>Yet as long as blood runs redly, yet as long as mental worth<br>Is a nobler gift than fortune, is a holier thing than birth,<br>I will claim the right to utter, to the high and to the low,<br>That I love them, or I hate them, that I am a friend or foe.<br>Nor shall any slight unman me; I have yet some little strength,<br>Yet my song shall sound as sweetly, yet a power be mine at length!<br>Then, oh, then! but moans are idle -- hear me, pitying saints above!<br>With a chaplet on my forehead, I will justify my love.<br>And perhaps when thou art leaning on some less devoted breast,<br>Thou shalt murmur, &quot;He was worthier than my blinded spirit guessed.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Timrod">Henry Timrod</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409116" data-title="The Problem de Henry Timrod" data-description="Not to win thy favor, maiden, not to steal away thy heart,
Have I ever sought thy presence, ever stooped to any art;
Thou wast but a wildering problem, which I aimed to solve, and then
Make it matter for my note-book, or a picture for my pen.
So, ..."></div>
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