What poets say about love - 1

When love’s well-timed ’tis not a fault to love;
The strong, the brave, the virtuous, and the wise,
Sink in the soft captivity together.
        Addison—Cato. Act III. Sc. 1.

When love once pleads admission to our hearts,
(In spite of all the virtue we can boast),
The woman that deliberates is lost.
        Addison—Cato. Act IV. Sc. 1.

Mysterious love, uncertain treasure,
Hast thou more of pain or pleasure!
Endless torments dwell about thee:
Yet who would live, and live without thee!
        Addison—Rosamond. Act III. Sc. 2.

Che amar chi t’odia, ell’è impossibil cosa.
        For ’tis impossible
  Hate to return with love.
        Alfieri—Polinice. II. 4.

Somewhere there waiteth in this world of ours
  For one lone soul another lonely soul,
Each choosing each through all the weary hours,
  And meeting strangely at one sudden goal,
Then blend they, like green leaves with golden flowers,
  Into one beautiful and perfect whole;
And life’s long night is ended, and the way
  Lies open onward to eternal day.
        Edwin Arnold—Somewhere There Waiteth.
Ma vie a son secret, mon âme a son mystére:
  Un amour éternel en un moment concu.
La mal est sans remède, aussi j’ai dû le taire,
  Et elle qui l’a fait n’en a jamais rien su.
  One sweet, sad secret holds my heart in thrall;
    A mighty love within my breast has grown,
    Unseen, unspoken, and of no one known;
  And of my sweet, who gave it, least of all.
        Felix Arvers—Sonnet. Trans. by Joseph Knight. In The Athen?um, Jan. 13, 1906. Arvers in Mes Heures Perdues, says that the sonnet was “mite de l’italien.”

Ask not of me, love, what is love?
Ask what is good of God above;
Ask of the great sun what is light;
Ask what is darkness of the night;
Ask sin of what may be forgiven;
Ask what is happiness of heaven;
Ask what is folly of the crowd;
Ask what is fashion of the shroud;
Ask what is sweetness of thy kiss;
Ask of thyself what beauty is.
        Bailey—Festus. Sc. A Party and Entertainment.

 Could I love less, I should be happier now.
        Bailey—Festus. Sc. Garden and Bower by the Sea.

I cannot love as I have loved,
  And yet I know not why;
It is the one great woe of life
  To feel all feeling die.
        Bailey—Festus. Sc. A Party and Entertainment.

Love spends his all, and still hath store.
        Bailey—Festus. Sc. A Party and Entertainment.

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