A Sketch

"Emelie, that fayrer was to seene

Than is the lilye on hys stalke grene.....

Uprose the sun and uprose Emelie."

DOST thou thus love me, O thou beautiful?

So beautiful, that by thy side I seem

Like a great ducky cloud beside a star:

Yet thou creep'st o'er its edges, and it rests

On its lone path, the slow deep-hearted cloud--

Then opes a rift and lets thee enter in;

And with thy beauty shining on its breast,

Feels no more its own blackness--thou art fair.

Dost thou thus love me, O thou all beloved,

In whose large store the very meanest coin

Would out-buy my whole wealth? Yet here thou comest

Like a kind heiress from her purple and down

Uprising, who for pity cannot sleep,

But goes forth to the stranger at her gate--

The beggared stranger at her beauteous gate--

And clothes and feeds; scarce blest till she has blest.

Dost thou thus love me, O thou pure of heart,

Whose very looks are prayers? What couldst thou see

In this forsaken pool by the yew-wood's side,

To sit down at its bank, and dip thy hand,

Saying, "it is so clear!"--And lo, erelong

Its blackness caught the shimmer of they wings,

Its slimes slid downward from thy stainless palm,

Its depths grew still that there thy form might rise.

O beautiful! O well-beloved! O rich

In all that makes my need! I lay me down

I' the shadow of thy love, and feel no pain.

The cloud floats on, thee glittering on its breast,

The beggar wears thy purple as his own:

The noisome waves, made calm, creep to thy feet

Rejoicing that they yet can image thee,

And beyond thee, God's heaven, thick-sown with stars.