I. ART thou so sad, sweet Soul,— Sad with the sadness of narcissus pale, Whose delicate odours lingeringly exhale By rare brown pools the green-blue birches veil, Sad with the sadness, Love, of souls too pure Their own consuming beauty to endure,— Art thou so sad, sweet Soul? II. Love me, too-perfect Soul! For such as thou, stooping to love of me Surely a fault, a recklessness will be To check thy fatal flame of purity,— And yet a fault the gods may well forgive. For this,—for any reason,—let me live,— O love me, perfect Soul! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BUCOLIC COMEDY: FOX TROT by EDITH SITWELL THE BAY FIGHT by HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL GRIEF by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING MELANCHOLIA by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR ON A PICTURE OF LEANDER by JOHN KEATS GO NOW' by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS THE VANISHERS by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER |