THOUGH all my loves of old have passed away And lie at rest wrapped in your holy clay, I do not therefore love you less or more, Seeing I love you for yourself, asthore: My own land, with your misty vales and hills Where my heart wanders by the happy rills. I love you for yourself. Your beauty green Calls to me in the night-watches between The day and day; and though I never come Your stars are as a million lights of home Upon your sacred hill-tops, crest on crest, Ere the first bird has wakened the first nest. I love you, love you for your own sweet sake. Ere the first bird awakens the first brake, I dream of you amid your quiet seas. Let others tell your history, memories, Counting your heroes. Not for these or those I love you; only for yourself, Dark Rose. I love you, not for any living or dead, For any gold or any dear black head. Yea, were you desert, I should love no less You with your mother-breast of milkiness, Of milk and honey, that still calls me back, My feet, my heart, on the familiar track. Your hidden glens, your singing waters call, Allure me still at dawn and evenfall; The wind that ruffles all your meadows grey Sighs in my heart at dawn and close of day— Sighs in my heart and will not let me be. The wind from over your mountains troubles me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SIGNATURE OF LOVE by KAREN SWENSON THE OLD MAN OF VERONA by CLAUDIAN FIVE EYES by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 77. SOUL'S BEAUTY by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI ELEGIAC SONNET: 2. WRITTEN AT THE CLOSE OF SPRING by CHARLOTTE SMITH |