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WHEN I love, as some have told,
Love I shall when I am old,
O ye Graces! make me fit
For the welcoming of it.
Clean my rooms as temples be,
To entertain that deity;
Give me words wherewith to woo,
Suppling and successful too;
Winning postures, and withal,
Manners each way musical;
Sweetnesse to allay my sour
And unsmooth behavior:
For I know you have the skill
Vines to prune, though not to kill;
And of any wood ye see,

You can make a Mercury.


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"By pain of heart, now checked, and now impelled,
The intellectual power from words to things

Went sounding on, - a dim and perilous way."-WORDSWORTH.

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