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POETRY-I

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POETRY- I BE AT A.—FROM ALFIERI. I I do confess thou'rt nobler far, More blest in face and mind, Than many other maidens are- More sweet and kind. I know thee equable and true, Constant in any fate and good; But silent, and not given to The gushing mood. Thou hast too much of truth and senge To make a show of zeaJ,— Of love or friendship, with pretence Thou dost not feel. The rather doth concealment hold The access of thy heart, All thy delight is kept untold, And all the smart. The harder faith for me. I would Thou wert not like a saint so much, Ha<l'st somewhat more of flesh and blood, And warmth of touch. But still I come with reverent breath, And worship in thee whilst I kneel, Of sweetness, gentleness and faith, The true ideal. FITZ-ROBERT. I

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