LOVE AND MARRIAGE.

By Thomas Moore

Still the question I must parry,

Still a wayward truant prove:

Where I love, I must not marry;

Where I marry, can not love.

Were she fairest of creation,

With the least presuming mind;

Learned without affectation;

Not deceitful, yet refined;

Wise enough, but never rigid;

Gay, but not too lightly free;

Chaste as snow, and yet not frigid:

Fond, yet satisfied with me:

Were she all this ten times over,

All that heaven to earth allows.

I should be too much her lover

Ever to become her spouse.

Love will never bear enslaving;

Summer garments suit him best;

Bliss itself is not worth having,

If we're by compulsion blest.