Page:The Hundred Best Poems (lyrical) in the English language - second series.djvu/47

  How many a month I strove to suit These stubborn fingers to the lute! To-day I venture all I know. She will not hear my music?So! Break the string; fold music's wing: Suppose Pauline had bade me sing!

My whole life long I learned to love. This hour my utmost art I prove And speak my passion—heaven or hell? She will not give me heaven? 'Tis well! Lose who may—I still can say, Those who win heaven, blest are they!

 12.

NEVER any more, While I live, Need I hope to see his face As before. Once his love grown chill, Mine may strive: Bitterly we re-embrace, Single still.

Was it something said, Something done,  25