---

Thomas Hood - "Love, Dearest Lady, Such As I Would Speak"
Work rating: Low

Love, dearest Lady, such as I would speak, 
Lives not within the humor of the eye;— 
Not being but an outward phantasy, 
That skims the surface of a tinted cheek,— 
Else it would wane with beauty, and grow weak, 
As if the rose made summer,—and so lie 
Amongst the perishable things that die, 
Unlike the love which I would give and seek: 
Whose health is of no hue—to feel decay 
With cheeks` decay, that have a rosy prime. 
Love is its own great loveliness alway, 
And takes new lustre from the touch of time; 
Its bough owns no December and no May, 
But bears its blossom into Winter`s clime.
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.