STANZAS. 



TO 



I will not love thee : I have ever cast 



Too many passion-flowers on life's dark tide, 



Then, like a truant schoolboy, idly passed 

 My vacant hours to see them onward glide. 



I will not love thee : why should I re-ope 

 My bosom's secret treasury for thee, 



And cull its richest gems, without one hope 

 To see them shine amid thy blazonry. 



I will not love thee : thou shalt never find 

 My hopes to thee, like incense, offered up ; 



I will not fling sweet odors to the wind, 

 Or melt another pearl in passion's cup. 



