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Rh When the true heart wont to prove, Not to only say,—I love. Where hath history such a page As of that chivalric age?

Can it be, I have gainsaid, What my lute’s religion made? Have I said, that Love was cold? Said, that faith was bought and sold? Now, shame on the poet’s song Which could do his creed such wrong! Yes, Love! by the burning cheek, Blushes which thy language speak, By the after paler sign, Which doth tell of hope’s decline; By the drooped or flashing eye, By the rose-lip’s lonely sigh, (These are tokens still we see!) Tell they not, oh Love! of thee? I should say, that still thou art, Judging but from mine own heart. Oh yes! spite of chance or change, Worthless vanities that range, Golden bribe, and worldly stain, Smile and sigh still hold their reign. Love of old ruled but as now— Queen of Beauty! take the bow.

L. E. L.