Coventry Patmore - The Angel in the House стр 6.

Most rare is still most noble found,
   Most noble still most incomplete;
Sad law, which leaves King Love uncrownd
   In this obscure, terrestrial seat!
With bale more sweet than others bliss,
   And bliss more wise than others bale,
The secrets of the world are his.
   And freedom without let or pale.
O, zealous good, O, virtuous glee,
   Religious, and without alloy,
O, privilege high, which none but he
   Who highly merits can enjoy;
O, Love, who art that fabled sun
   Which all the world with bounty loads,
Without respect of realms, save one,
   And gilds with double lustre Rhodes;
A day of whose delicious life,
   Though full of terrors, full of tears,
Is better than of other life
   A hundred thousand million years;
Thy heavenly splendour magnifies
   The least commixture of earths mould,
Cheapens thyself in thine own eyes,
   And makes the foolish mocker bold.

What if my pole-star of respect
   Be dim to others?  Shall their Nay,
Presumably their own defect,
   Invalidate my hearts strong Yea?
And can they rightly me condemn,
   If I, with partial love, prefer?
I am not more unjust to them,
   But only not unjust to her.
Leave us alone!  After awhile,
   This pool of private charity
Shall make its continent an isle,
   And roll, a world-embracing sea;
This foolish zeal of lip for lip,
   This fond, self-sanctiond, wilful zest,
Is that elect relationship
   Which forms and sanctions all the rest;
This little germ of nuptial love,
   Which springs so simply from the sod,
The root is, as my song shall prove,
   Of all our love to man and God.

What measure Fate to him shall mete
   Is not the noble Lovers care;
Hes heart-sick with a longing sweet
   To make her happy as shes fair.
Oh, misery, should she him refuse,
   And so her dearest good mistake!
His own success he thus pursues
   With frantic zeal for her sole sake.
To lose her were his life to blight,
   Being loss to hers; to make her his,
Except as helping her delight,
   He calls but incidental bliss;
And holding life as so much pelf
   To buy her posies, learns this lore:
He does not rightly love himself
   Who does not love another more.

Kind souls, you wonder why, love you,
   When you, you wonder why, love none.
We love, Fool, for the good we do,
   Not that which unto us is done!

The Ladies rose.  I held the door,
   And sighd, as her departing grace
Assured me that she always wore
   A heart as happy as her face;
And, jealous of the winds that blew,
   I dreaded, oer the tasteless wine,
What fortune momently might do
   To hurt the hope that shed be mine.

Towards my mark the Deans talk set:
   He praised my Notes on Abury,
Read when the Association met
   At Sarum; he was pleased to see
I had not stoppd, as some men had,
   At Wrangler and Prize Poet; last,
He hoped the business was not bad
   I came about: then the wine passd.

A full glass prefaced my reply:
   I loved his daughter, Honor; I told
My estate and prospects; might I try
   To win her?  At my words so bold
My sick heart sank.  Then he: He gave
   His glad consent, if I could get
Her love.  A dear, good Girl! shed have
   Only three thousand pounds as yet;
More bye and bye.  Yes, his good will
   Should go with me; he would not stir;
He and my father in old time still
   Wishd I should one day marry her;
But God so seldom lets us take
   Our chosen pathway, when it lies
In steps that either mar or make
   Or alter others destinies,
That, though his blessing and his prayr
   Had helpd, should help, my suit, yet he
Left all to me, his passive share
   Consent and opportunity.
My chance, he hoped, was good: Id won
   Some name already; friends and place
Appeard within my reach, but none
   Her mind and manners would not grace.
Girls love to see the men in whom
   They invest their vanities admired;
Besides, where goodness is, there room
   For good to work will be desired.
Twas so with one now passd away;
   And what she was at twenty-two,
Honor was now; and he might say
   Mine was a choice I could not rue.