'TIS not her birth, her friends, nor yet her treasure, Nor do I covet her for sensual pleasure, Nor for that old morality Do I love her, 'cause she loves me. Sure he that loves his lady 'cause she's fair, Delights his eye, so loves himself, not her. Something there is moves me to love, and I Do know I love, but know not how, nor why. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NAMES by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE SAILING BEYOND SEAS (OLD STYLE) by JEAN INGELOW THE ABSINTHE-DRINKER by ARTHUR WILLIAM SYMONS ESCAPE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN SPRING'S WOOING by NELLIE BRISTOW WASHINGTON by EVALYN TERRY BROOKS |