#poem2.

I never saw a Purple Cow, I never hope to see one; But I can tell you, anyhow, I'd rather see than be one.

The night has a thousand eyes, The day but one; Yet the light of the bright world dies With the dying sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes, And the heart but one; Yet the light of the whole life dies When its love is done.

If thou must love me, let it be for naught Except for love's sake only. Do not say, "I love her for her smile--her look--her way Of speaking gently,-- for a trick of thought That falls in well with mine, and certes brought A sense of pleasant ease on such a day"-- For these things in themselves, Beloved, may Be changed, of changed for thee,-- and love, so wrought, May be unwrought so. Neither love me for Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,-- A creature might forget to weep, who bore Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby! But love me for love's sake, that evermore Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.

Proud word you never spoke, but you will speak For not exempt from pride some future day. Resting on one white hand and a warm wet cheek Over my open volume you will say, "This man loved me!" then rise and trip away.

O memory, thou fond deceiver, Still importunate and vain, To former joys recurring ever, And turning all the past to pain:

Thou, like the world, th' oppress'd oppressing, Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe: And he who wants each other blessing In thee must ever find a foe.

I did but look and love awhile, 'Twas but for one half-hour; Then to resist I had no will, And now I have no power.

To sigh and wish is all my ease; Sighs which do heat impart Enough to melt the coldest ice, Yet cannot warm your heart.

O would your pity give my heart One corner of your breast, 'Twould learn of yours the winning art, And quickly steal the rest.

The fire of love in youthful blood, Like what is kindled in brushwood, But for a moment burns; Yet in that moment makes a mighty noise; It crackles, and to vapors turns, And soon itself destroys.

But when crept into aged veins It slowly burns, and then long remains, And with a silent heat, Like fire in logs, it glows and warms 'em long; And though the flame be not so great, Yet is the heat as strong.