| I MUST leave thee, lady sweet! | |
| Months shall waste before we meet; | |
| Winds are fair, and sails are spread, | |
| Anchors leave their ocean bed; | |
| Ere this shining day grow dark, | 5 |
| Skies shall gird my shoreless bark; | |
| Through thy tears, O lady mine, | |
| Read thy lover's parting line. | |
| |
| When the first sad sun shall set, | |
| Thou shalt tear thy locks of jet; | 10 |
| When the morning star shall rise, | |
| Thou shalt wake with weeping eyes; | |
| When the second sun goes down, | |
| Thou more tranquil shalt be grown, | |
| Taught too well that wild despair | 15 |
| Dims thine eyes, and spoils thy hair. | |
| |
| All the first unquiet week | |
| Thou shalt wear a smileless cheek; | |
| In the first month's second half | |
| Thou shalt once attempt to laugh; | 20 |
| Then in Pickwick thou shalt dip, | |
| Slightly puckering round the lip, | |
| Till at last, in sorrow's spite, | |
| Samuel makes thee laugh outright. | |
| |
| While the first seven mornings last, | 25 |
| Round thy chamber bolted fast, | |
| Many a youth shall fume and pout, | |
| "Hang the girl, she 's always out!" | |
| While the second week goes round, | |
| Vainly shall they ring and pound; | 30 |
| When the third week shall begin, | |
| "Martha, let the creature in." | |
| |
| Now once more the flattering throng | |
| Round thee flock with smile and song, | |
| But thy lips, unweaned as yet, | 35 |
| Lisp, "O, how can I forget!" | |
| Men and devils both contrive | |
| Traps for catching girls alive; | |
| Eve was duped, and Helen kissed,— | |
| How, O how can you resist? | 40 |
| |
| First be careful of your fan, | |
| Trust it not to youth or man; | |
| Love has filled a pirate's sail | |
| Often with its perfumed gale. | |
| Mind your kerchief most of all, | 45 |
| Fingers touch when kerchiefs fall; | |
| Shorter ell than mercers clip | |
| Is the space from hand to lip. | |
| |
| Trust not such as talk in tropes, | |
| Full of pistols, daggers, ropes; | 50 |
| All the hemp that Russia bears | |
| Scarce would answer lovers' prayers; | |
| Never thread was spun so fine, | |
| Never spider stretched the line, | |
| Would not hold the lovers true | 55 |
| That would really swing for you. | |
| |
| Fiercely some shall storm and swear, | |
| Beating breasts in black despair; | |
| Others murmur with a sigh, | |
| You must melt, or they will die; | 60 |
| Painted words on empty lies, | |
| Grubs with wings like butterflies; | |
| Let them die, and welcome, too; | |
| Pray what better could they do? | |
| |
| Fare thee well, if years efface | 65 |
| From thy heart love's burning trace, | |
| Keep, O keep that hallowed seat | |
| From the tread of vulgar feet; | |
| If the blue lips of the sea | |
| Wait with icy kiss for me, | 70 |
| Let not thine forget the vow, | |
| Sealed how often, Love, as now. | |
