COVENTRY PATMORE

Nay, rather marks more fair the height

Which can with safety so neglect To dread, as lower ladies might,

That grace could meet with disrespect; Thus she with happy favour feeds

Allegiance from a love so high That thence no false conceit proceeds

Of difference bridged, or state put by ; Because although in act and word

As lowly as a wife can be, Her manners, when they call me lord,

Remind me 'tis by courtesy; Not with her least consent of will,

Which would my proud affection hurt, But by the noble style that still

Imputes an unattain'd desert; Because her gay and lofty brows,

When all is won which hope can ask, Reflect a light of hopeless snows

That bright in virgin ether bask; Because, though free of the outer court

I am, this Temple keeps its shrine Sacred to Heaven ; because, in short,

She's not and never can be mine.

��761. 'If I were dead*

C T F I were dead, you'd sometimes say, Poor Child ! '

• The dear lips quiver'd as they spake,

And the tears brake

From eyes which, not to grieve me, brightly smiled. Poor Child, poor Child !

1 seem to hear your laugh, your talk, your song.

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