UNTO THIS LAST.

A boy's young fancy taketh love

Most simply, with the rind thereof;

A boy's young fancy tasteth more

The rind, than the deific core.

Ah, Sweet! to cast away the slips

Of unessential rind, and lips

Fix on the immortal core, is well;

But heard'st thou ever any tell

Of such a fool would take for food

Aspect and scent, however good,

Of sweetest core Love's orchards grow?

Should such a phantast please him so,

Love where Love's reverent self denies

Love to feed, but with his eyes,

All the savour, all the touch,

Another's — was there ever such?

Such were fool, if fool there be;

Such fool was I, and was for thee!

But if the touch and savour too

Of this fruit — say, Sweet, of you —

You unto another give

For sacrosanct prerogative,

Yet even scent and aspect were

Some elected Second's share;

And one, gone mad, should rest content

With memory of show and scent;

Would not thyself vow, if there sigh

Such a fool — say, Sweet, as I —

Treble frenzy it must be

Still to love, and to love thee?

Yet had I torn ( man knoweth not,

Nor scarce the unweeping angels wot

Of such dread task the lightest part )

Her fingers from about my heart.

Heart, did we not think that she

Had surceased her tyranny?

Heart, we bounded, and were free!

O sacrilegious freedom!— Till

She came, and taught my apostate will

The winnowed sweet mirth cannot guess

And tear-fined peace of hopefulness;

Looked, spake, simply touched, and went.

Now old pain is fresh content,

Proved content is unproved pain.

Pangs fore-tempted, which in vain

I, faithless, have denied, now bud

To untempted fragrance and the mood

Of contrite heavenliness; all days

Joy affrights me in my ways;

Extremities of old delight

Afflict me with new exquisite

Virgin piercings of surprise,—

Stung by those wild brown bees, her eyes!