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!
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