Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/350
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Unhappy Love.
I see she flies me everywhere,
Her eyes her scorn discover;
But what's her scorn, or my despair,
Since 'tis my fate to love her?
Were she but kind whom I adore,
I might live longer, but not love her more.
1726.
Her eyes her scorn discover;
But what's her scorn, or my despair,
Since 'tis my fate to love her?
Were she but kind whom I adore,
I might live longer, but not love her more.
1726.
Love Not Me.
Love not me for comely grace,
For my pleasing eye or face,
Nor for any outward part,
No, nor for my constant heart;
For those may fail or turn to ill,
So thou and I shall sever;
Keep therefore a true woman's eye,
And love me still, but know not why—
So hast thou the same reason still
To dote upon me ever.
For my pleasing eye or face,
Nor for any outward part,
No, nor for my constant heart;
For those may fail or turn to ill,
So thou and I shall sever;
Keep therefore a true woman's eye,
And love me still, but know not why—
So hast thou the same reason still
To dote upon me ever.
Forget-Me-Not.
To flourish in my favourite bower,
To blossom round my cot,
I cultivate the little flower
They call Forget-me-Not.
To blossom round my cot,
I cultivate the little flower
They call Forget-me-Not.
It springs where Avon gently flows
In wild simplicity;
And 'neath my cottage-window grows,
Sacred to love and thee.
In wild simplicity;
And 'neath my cottage-window grows,
Sacred to love and thee.
This pretty little floweret's dye
Of soft cerulean blue,
Appears as if from Ellen's eye
It had received its hue.
Of soft cerulean blue,
Appears as if from Ellen's eye
It had received its hue.
Though oceans now betwixt us roar,
Though distant be our lot,
Ellen! though we should meet no more,
Sweet maid, Forget-me-Not.
Though distant be our lot,
Ellen! though we should meet no more,
Sweet maid, Forget-me-Not.