si WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR…

Do YOu Remember Me?

"Do you remember me? or are you proud?"

Lightly advancing thorugh her star-trimmed crowd,

Ianthe said, and looked into my eyes.

"A yes, a yes , to both: for Memory

Where you but once have been must ever be,

And at your voice Pride from his throne must rise."

Well I REmember…

Well i remember how you smiled

To see me write your name upon

The soft sea-sand…"O! what a child!

You think you’re writing upon stone!"

I have since written what no tide

Shall ever wash away, what men

Unborn shall read o’er ocean wide

And find Ianthe’s name again.

Si THOMAS MOORE…

"At the Mid Hourof Night…"

AT the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly

To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in thine eye;

And i think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air

To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me there,

And tell me our love is remembered even in the sky.

Si LORD BYRON…

"When We Two Parted"

When we two parted

in silence and tears,

half broken-hearted

to sever for years,

Pale grew thy cheek and cold,

Colder thy kiss;

Truly that hour foretold

Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning

Sunk chill on my brow—

It felt like the warning

Of what i feel now.

They vows are all broken,

And light is they fame;

I hear thy name spoken,

And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,

A knell to mine ear;

A shudder comes o’er me—

Why wert thou so dear?

They know not i knew thee,

Who new thee too well—

Long, long shall i rue thee,

Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met—

In silence i grieve

That thy heart could forget,

They spirit deceive.

If ishould meet thee

After long years,

How should i greet thee?

With silence and tears.

ug si…E.B. BROWNING…

from Sonnets from the Portuguese

                              XLIII

    How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
    I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
    My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
    For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
    I love thee to the level of everyday’s
    Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
    I love thee freely, as men might strive for Right;
    I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
    I love thee with the passion put to use
    In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
    I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
    With my lost saints,–I love thee with the breath,
    Smiles, tears, of all my life!–and, if God choose,
    I shall but love thee better after death.